For decades, my book collection has been broadly divided into the following categories: “History of Western Art” (including foreign-language editions), “History of Ancient Chinese Art,” “History of 20th-Century Chinese Art,” “History of Philosophy and Intellectual History,” “History of Historiography,” and “Modern and Contemporary Chinese History.” Recently, as I was planning to donate all my books in the category of “History of 20th-Century Chinese Art” to the Chinese University of Hong Kong, I started reorganizing this portion of my collection, which I began assembling in the early 1980s. Among the large number of different magazines in which I have published articles, there is also a set of the journal Literary and Art Research (Wenyi Yanjiu), which published articles of mine almost every year from 2006 to 2016. When I flipped through them, I noticed that the articles published - whether art history narratives or case studies - were all related to the history of Chinese art in the 20th century, such as “The Dimension of Civilization: The History of Western-style Painting in the Late-Qing Dynasty and Its Relationship with the History of Modern Chinese Art” (August 2014 issue) treating the 19th century as the precursor of the 20th century, or “The Buds of Contemporary Chinese Art: Taking Zhang Xiaogang’s Early Artistic Thoughts and Expressions as an Example” (May 2016 issue), an in-depth study of contemporary artists, all of which did not go beyond the scope of modern and contemporary art history. However, today, for a variety of reasons, but mainly due to the shift in my writing, I decided to donate this part of the collection that has accompanied my writing for thirty or forty years. I transferred two other sections of my collection, “History of Western Art” and “History of Ancient Chinese Art,” to my students for library use.
My study of art history began with translation. Due to historical chance, those born in the 1950s were perhaps more fortunate than those born in the 1940s. In 1976, they gained the possibility of a meaningful future, as students were soon to be allowed to resume attending university in 1977. Prior to this, China was mired in the devastation of the Cultural Revolution. Driven by my instinctive love for painting, although I did not matriculate to enter a fine arts college, I began to pursue art-related knowledge while studying in the Political Education Department of Sichuan Normal University. In 1978, there were virtually no new books treating the humanities published in China. Xinhua Bookstore brought out old books from the 1950s and early 1960s that had survived the Red Guard “clearances” during the Cultural Revolution (novels by authors like Balzac, Dickens, or Hugo) and took them to schools for students to choose from. However, the selection of books cleared from the warehouses was surprisingly limited. In fact, until 1982, it was still difficult to find books on Western art history at Xinhua Bookstore outlets. Therefore, my study of art history began by copying out Qian Junbo’s History of Western Art (1949) from the Sichuan Provincial Library. This book provided me with a basic understanding of Western art history. Later, I began translating English versions of Werner Haftmann’s Twentieth-Century Painting and Herschel B. Chipp’s Modern Art Theory, given to me by a foreign teacher at Chengdu University of Science and Technology. These two books helped me understand the basic concepts of Western modern art. Due to the widespread thirst for Western knowledge at the time, after graduating from university, I translated the letters between Cézanne, Van Gogh, and Gauguin from Modern Art Theory and sent them to Sichuan Fine Arts Publishing House. This was soon published as The Letters of Cézanne, Van Gogh, and Gauguin (1986). In 1984, my friend Yi Dan returned from graduate school in the United States. I borrowed Wassily Kandinsky’s The Spiritual in Art from him, and soon after, I translated it and had it published by Sichuan Fine Arts Publishing House (1986). In the early 1980s, there were few avenues for studying Western art history. The Zhejiang Academy of Fine Arts’ “Art Translation Series” and the Central Academy of Fine Arts’ World Art and Art Research magazines were important sources of information on Western art history. Of course, books on the history of Western art began to appear at that time, the most influential of which was Herbert Read’s A Short History of Modern Painting (1979). This book reinforced the systematic understanding of Western modern art history that I had begun to gain when I translated Twentieth-Century Painting with a friend. Together with Modern Art Theory, it shaped my overall understanding of Western modern art. For many years during the 1980s, I frequently received new books from Mr. Hirano, a former editor at the People’s Fine Arts Publishing House. These books gradually deepened my understanding of European art history, from ancient Greece and Rome to the 19th century. Intermittently, I also read books translated by Lu Xun and works on art history written by Chinese teachers like Li Yu. The poorly printed plates in these books provided my earliest visual memories of Western art history. Despite the blurred colors and unclear outlines, the compositions, forms, and symbols in these plates constantly resonated with me. Years later, even in any renowned European art museum (such as the Musée d’Orsay in Paris or the Museo degli Studi in Madrid), I could identify works and their artists from a distance. Today, the art history albums we read are beautifully printed, but looking back, I don’t feel the same excitement and pleasure I felt when I encountered Western art through those inferior publications. In the 1980s, my most fruitful study of Western art history came from translating two well researched biographies—Dawn Ades’ Dali (1988) and J.P. Hodin’s Munch (1990). These two books gave me a deeper understanding of the spiritual world and working methods of Western modern artists. Understanding artists’ experiences allows us to appreciate art from different perspectives, both from sensory experiences and from art historical knowledge. Unlike general art histories, which lack details of the specific production and imagining of art in its physical context—although studying art history does not necessarily require observing artists in their daily lives and studios, I also could clearly see the significance of the emergence of European modernism as a break with the traditions established during the Renaissance, posing a challenge to classical methodologies. This observation was soon confirmed when I read the works and articles of E.H. Gombrich, prompting me to pay attention to the methodological issues in the study of art history very early on. Since I read more about modern art than classical art, I quickly skipped over the analytical concepts of Heinrich Wolfflin and the iconography of Erwin Panofsky and tried to learn the latest methods of art historical research.
The 1980s marked the era of China’s modernist movement, with Scar Art and the ’85 Art Movement constituting the fundamental structure of art history during that decade. Knowing He Duoling, Zhou Chunya, Zhang Xiaogang, and many other young artists who graduated from the Sichuan Fine Arts Institute, my understanding of art gradually deepened through discussions at gatherings and exhibitions, as well as over drinks and music. These discussions also touched upon broader issues in the humanities, ranging from issues raised by Hegel and Kant to those introduced by Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, Freud, Camus, and Sartre. Indeed, discussions with equally well-read artists also enriched my understanding of art. From the outset, I felt that simply reading art history without understanding contemporary artistic production might be flawed in terms of comprehension and appreciation.
In mid-1985, the publication of humanities books in China experienced a rapid growth, and translation and writing began to become opportunities for humanities researchers to produce results. In 1986, I was commissioned to write a book introducing Western modern art; titled Modern Painting: A New Figurative Language, it was published in the following year. I began to apply the materials and understanding I gained from translating foreign art history to my own art history writing. In short, throughout the 1980s, I consistently translated Western art history works while simultaneously writing about art and art history. Art: The Revelation of Man, completed in the first half of 1989, encapsulated my understanding at that time of art theory and art history.
Looking back on my studies in the 1980s, Burckhardt’s The Culture of the Italian Renaissance made a lasting impact on me. It instilled in me, from the outset of my art history studies, an understanding of the context in which art was produced and its relationship to other cultural and social factors. This in turn fostered a habit of thinking: understanding art within the specific historical context of art and artists, rather than simply limiting myself to formal analysis. In my 2013 book, How to Study and Research Art History, I reminded readers: “When reading Burckhardt’s The Culture of the Italian Renaissance, you will clearly sense that even without analyzing or describing specific works of art, the author manages to immerse the reader in a historical atmosphere of imagery and visual description. History and art are not separated in such a work; it is simply a historical story based on visual knowledge. Moreover, those cultural details themselves are fundamentally inseparable from art.” Of course, I was also deeply impressed by Taine’s discussion of the influence of geography and climate on art in his Philosophy of Art. Many years later, as my reading evolved, I, like many researchers, felt that Taine’s theories were no longer sufficient. However, to this day, I believe he possessed a comprehensive and historically informed understanding of spiritual life. This understanding may not necessarily be theoretical, but it is essential for those who study and research art. Many art history professors in art academies today seem to lack this understanding, confined to analyzing books and classical images, lacking a sensitivity to the current state of contemporary art. But I think that artistic sensitivity is so important that it may determine whether one truly understands what art is. In fact, many people who study or teach art history often forget that Vasari was a contemporary art historian of the Renaissance.
In 1988, I curated the “1988 Southwest Modern Art Exhibition” in Chengdu. Many artists who would later become famous were featured, such as Zhang Xiaogang, Mao Xuhui, and Ye Yongqing. However, up to this point, my understanding of art history had rarely been integrated with the Chinese art scene. That same year, Li Luming of Hunan Fine Arts Publishing House asked me to write a book about modern Chinese art. At the time, I had no interest at all. To me, modernism or “New Wave Art” in China was merely a rehash of Western modernism, and there seemed to be nothing interesting to write about.
It was in 1989 that I began to rethink the question of “what is art?” At the end of that year, reality made me ponder a question: What exactly did the past decade of reform and opening up, or the liberation of thought, signify? Specifically, in the art field I’m familiar with, from Scar Art, the Stars Art Exhibition, to the 1989 “China Modern Art Exhibition,” what was the significance of the efforts of young artists during this period?
Art criticism and history certainly place great importance on the importance of form and language, because the formal language of an artwork directly reflects the artist’s visual approach. A sentence from Herbert Read’s book has always lingered in my mind: “The entire history of art is a history of visual approaches.” This perspective underpins Read’s writing on the history of modern Western art. When Yi Dan and I agreed to complete Li Luming’s commission for A History of Modern Chinese Art: 1979-1989 in the second half of 1989, we wrote in the book’s preface:
We will see that the journey of Chinese modern art over the past decade is more than just a journey of “visual methods.” To a certain extent, the transformation of “visual methods” is merely a symbolic expression of spiritual change. And this spiritual transformation, regardless of its attitude, opportunity, or logic, is always closely linked to various social and cultural factors in China. Reality seems to constantly remind us in various ways that the scope of our search for the inherent driving force and essence of the development of Chinese modern art should not, and cannot, be limited to “visual methods.”
As can be seen from the text, in writing about the Chinese art scene, I began to appreciate the importance of context and historical environment, as Burckhardt had suggested. I do not believe that things imbued with sincerity, passion, and a sense of the times simply recur. The task of historical research is to identify and sort out the social and internal reasons that lead artists to their work. If we fail to understand the causes of an artistic phenomenon and simply analyze it based on its form, we risk losing our historical writing. In other words, why were Chinese artists in the 1980s able to successfully adopt a “visual approach” that was different from those previously followed—even if that visual approach originated in the West? At this time, the reality of the situation made it clear that changes in China’s culture and art are linked to overall changes in society. Therefore, I needed to demonstrate just how the Chinese New Wave art of the 1980s was not simply a matter of form or language:
The complexity of debates surrounding artistic tradition in China in this century stems from the fact that the debate over artistic practice and theory has completely transcended the boundaries of art and even culture. Ultimately, astute artists and critics have discovered that the very impurity of modern Chinese art possesses a pure authenticity, for we are confronted not with a partiality but with the whole.
A History of Modern Chinese Art: 1979-1989 was published in mid-1992, coinciding with the preparations for the Guangzhou Biennale. Only relatively recently had the perception of art I brought with me in Guangzhou had shifted. In the year previously, I had edited several issues of the journal Art: Market with Sun Ping of Hunan Fine Arts Publishing House. Along with planning the Guangzhou Biennale, I, along with Huang Zhuan and Shao Hong, who taught at the Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts, Yang Xiaoyan, an editor at Lingnan Fine Arts Publishing House, and Yan Shanchun, who worked at the Shenzhen Art Academy, attempted to “manipulate history.” Scholars are generally resistant to this concept, as they are all familiar with the requirements of historical writing: one cannot simply write news as history. How can one easily use the word “history” to describe something that has just happened, or hasn’t even happened yet? Indeed, from the very beginning of writing A History of Modern Chinese Art: 1979-1989, I was mindful of R. G. Collingwood’s warning:
Contemporary history confuses its author not only because he knows too much, but also because what he knows is incomplete, incoherent, and fragmentary. Only after careful and long reflection do we begin to understand what is essential, what is important, and why things happened the way they did. Only then can we write history, not news.【1】
Thinking back on it today, it was perhaps an instinct difficult to pinpoint (or possibly simply a “sense” of history) that fueled my transition from textbook research on Western art history to on-the-ground reflection on Chinese modern art (the term “contemporary art” only began to be used after 1991). This led me to create historical material based on my own understanding, ultimately writing the “history” of the recent past. I hadn’t studied the historical theories of the French Annales School in any detail, but in the early 1990s, I was deeply influenced by the ideas of Derrida and Foucault. The greatest inspiration they provided was to avoid the pursuit of absolute truth. While this principle was already present in Nietzsche’s thought, it was not until the early 1990s that I truly understood that abandoning the pursuit of absolute truth was another approach to liberating thought. When I learned that postmodern theory overturned the metaphysical essentialist claims, I quickly formed a very clear and affirmative position: history is not inevitable, it is not the exclusive domain of anyone, and it is written by the actions and words of those with a sense of history.
After 1992, to make a living, I spent a lot of time immersed in the affairs of the company’s management. By 1998, my academic life seemed to be almost wasted. In 1996, I wrote “Conclusions at Forty,” an article commissioned by Peng De, which described my mental state from 1993 to this time which compelled me to gradually reduce my writing and think about the future:
I decided to seek to build an economic foundation - I started running a company, started dealing with people who were only interested in money, started being bossed around by rich people, started to feel unfamiliar with the past, started to attach great importance to money but lacked passion for fame and fortune, started to notice that I could die at any time and therefore reminded myself that gains and losses in life were insignificant, started to develop an attitude of being ready to fail even if things had a good start, started to understand that there are a hundred truths for a hundred people and that the only truth is very difficult to prove, started to know that the game of life has different rules and the key is which game you participate in, started to understand that hard work is necessary but does not necessarily have to have an expected result, started to find that Hamlet’s anxiety about responsibility has become a joke today, started to find that something called love is more tangible and less poetic, started to find that everyone is busy but fewer people have time to think about the purpose of being busy, started to find that the material form of life The state of mind has become more refined while the spiritual state of life has become more coarse. I began to find that intellectuals are increasingly interested in money while businessmen increasingly seek to satisfy their vanity within cultural circles. I noticed that those who continue to call themselves “intellectuals” are continuing to cover up the weakness and embarrassment of intellectuals. I noticed that today’s literati are still intentionally or unintentionally imitating the words and deeds of the old literati, but they seem increasingly superficial and out of date. I began to envy teenagers. I began to truly understand that the preciousness of youth that our teachers in middle school never tired of telling us is true. I began to understand the attitude of the elderly towards the young. I began to truly realize the preciousness of time. I began to do things steadily and calmly. I began to be fearless but relaxed. I began to repeatedly recall a scene or a person’s posture or details in the past. I began to give a good evaluation of everything in the past, whether good or bad. I began to think again about the true meaning of friendship, understanding and sympathy... all kinds of beginnings that do not entail a great expenditure of emotion.
The lack of reading in the 1990s was certainly devastating, but the experiences of this period also exposed me to many of life’s joys and lessons, which have deeply influenced my understanding and appreciation of art and history. This kept me from giving up my passion for writing. A History of Contemporary Chinese Art: 1990-1999 was written in my company’s office. Without any specific formatting guidelines, I simply collected and reflected on the artistic phenomena of the past decade, defining the format for this decade’s artistic development: the advancement of the market economy, the emergence of market issues, and the global flow of Chinese contemporary art. I have no qualms about my colleagues questioning my writing. The Guangzhou Biennale has become a crucial exhibition in the writing of art history of this decade. The issues it addressed—transactions, laws, and regulations—are closely linked to subsequent trends in marketization. This exhibition was clearly the earliest and most important case study, and subsequent undergraduate, graduate, and doctoral dissertations and monographs have further debated its historical significance. Over twenty years later, the value of the Guangzhou Biennale has been widely acknowledged. Many of the issues it addressed were linked to the establishment and transformation of a new art system in China. In fact, the issues of Chinese art history are now deeply intertwined with social change, and the question of “art’s essence” is only one part of art history. During the preparations for the Guangzhou Biennale, we maintained the slogan “Operate History!” Huang Zhuan even wrote an article titled “Who Will Sponsor History?” to create an atmosphere of concern. Although many criticized this, I thought at the time: We are writing history. My understanding is that knowledge of art history, common sense, and a sense of history can help us understand what constitutes “news” and “history” in current events. In 2000, at the publication launch of A History of Contemporary Chinese Art: 1990-1999, hosted by Huang Zhuan, Professor Yin Jinan of the Central Academy of Fine Arts said to me, “You’re writing history into history today for something that happened yesterday!” There was certainly a tone of doubt in his voice.
In 2001, I became Professor Fan Jingzhong’s doctoral student. Considering my limited knowledge of the history of ancient Chinese calligraphy and painting, I wanted to take this opportunity to catch up. I chose the history of landscape painting during the Northern and Southern Song dynasties as my research topic. I noticed that it was the landscape paintings of the Five Dynasties and the Northern and Southern Song dynasties that established the basic forms of landscape painting thereafter. Regarding its format, I was inspired by Kenneth Clark’s Landscape into Art, which I translated in the 1980s. Throughout the history of understanding and representing nature, humans share certain commonalities: a naive understanding of nature, such as symbolic generalization and representation. Later, visual understanding and depictive techniques became well-matched, making the realistic depiction of nature the painter’s mission, an experience shared by painters in both the East and the West. Later, I noticed that Clark’s definition of the European “ideal landscape” and the Chinese “stylization” shared a common human psychology: the pictorial form of landscape or “mountains and waters” is determined by certain criteria. At the same time, perhaps we can also find a psychological connection between Impressionist and Expressionist works and the so-called “freehand” (xieyi) style of Chinese painting. As for landscape painting before the Five Dynasties, I am not so convinced. The landscapes of the two Li brothers are more like landscapes. As for the legendary Wang Wei’s Wangchuan Tu, since I have not seen the original, I cannot verify Zhu Jingxuan’s praise of Wang in his Famous Paintings of the Tang Dynasty. My study of Western philosophy and long-term translation have accustomed me to empirical language. It is difficult for me to apply commentaries like the following to specific works: “The mountains and valleys are dense, the clouds fly, and the waters move, the meaning is beyond the world, and the strangeness emerges from the brush” (Zhu Jingxuan) or “The brushwork is graceful, the spirit is clear and elegant” (Jing Hao). I always believe in caution when using language from Chinese painting theory. I am also aware that the words, language, and descriptive methods used in my Clear and Distant Streams and Mountains: The History and Transformation of Interest in Landscape Painting in the Northern and Southern Song Dynasties (2004) are different from those in other papers or books on similar topics.
In the second half of 2004, my leisure time in Sanya prompted me to start writing A History of Chinese Art in the 20th Century. Previously, there had been no art history book covering the entire 20th century. I believe that elements shaping this period of art history encompass three main topics: 1. The balance between realism and modernism in the Western painting movement during the Chinese Republican period. This aims to accurately present the influence of European art on China during this period, as people previously emphasized Xu Beihong’s realism and downplayed the importance of modernism in the art of Republican China. 2. The difficulty in writing about the state of art during the period from 1949 to 1976 lies in how to grasp the relationship between art creation and the political movements that took place during the same period. Based on the historical logic of art ontology, many researchers believe that art creation during this period was the result of the influence of an ideological system and therefore did not have artistic significance. What then is this art’s value? In my opinion, studying the causes of an artistic phenomenon and the changes in the corresponding themes and formal language is the task of historical writing; 3. In my own opinion, the most important task in writing History of Chinese Art in the 20th Century was to place modernism and contemporary art since 1978 within the narrative of the entire history of the 20th century. This is for those who believe that artistic phenomena such as “85 New Wave” or “Cynical Realism” and “Political Pop” cannot enter the scope of art history. This of course involves the issue of art history. Since we have established the position that history is a history of problems from the very beginning, when selecting materials and conducting analysis and judgment, we will naturally incorporate these artistic phenomena that emerged with the “reform and opening” within the historical review. A History of Chinese Art in the 20th Century (2007) was my most important work to date on art history. This book summarizes the historical perspective I gradually formed and confirmed in my art history writing: to examine the artistic process since the late 19th century in relation to the social, ideological, and political changes that occurred over the past century. I identify the problematic links within each period and connect them through the solutions provided by artistic language, thus constructing a history of artistic development that is completely detached from real society. It is from this perspective that I revised the book twice (in 2009 and 2013). Aside from some technical errors and subtle additions, I believe I have completed the writing of this period of art history. The editions in different languages have helped to make this period of Chinese art history more widely disseminated. I believe this book can serve as a critical reference for future researchers writing about 20th-century art history.
In 2012, I completed A History of Contemporary Chinese Art: 2000-2010 (interestingly, the English edition was published in 2012, while the Chinese edition was published in 2014). The book’s format identifies the art system that was taking shape amidst the development of China’s market economy as a crucial historical thread, juxtaposing it with the work of artists and artistic development. In terms of the changes in the art world over the past 40 years of reform and opening, the emergence of artists’ bases, the mushrooming of galleries and art fairs, and the relentless buzz of auction houses have constituted a significant historical landscape that has profoundly influenced the art world. I believe this is the shape of this history itself, and I simply shaped it through words.
Historical researchers are well aware that case studies are a path to historical writing. Through case studies, we can vividly and meticulously analyze and depict historical clues and issues. This was the fundamental starting point for my book, Bloodlines: The Zhang Xiaogang Story, which examined his life and career prior to 1996 (the book was published in 2015). Given that contemporary Chinese art still lacks sufficient historical writing to support it, I believe that Bloodlines: The Zhang Xiaogang Story can serve as an important case study for future researchers examining the art history of this period, providing a spiritual basis for this period and placing this generation of artists on the same historical level as those who came before them and so are recognized as important artists in art history. In the Foreword to this book, I wrote:
When people discuss twentieth-century Chinese art history, names like Xu Beihong, Liu Haisu, Lin Fengmian, Yan Wenliang, Huang Binhong, Fu Baoshi, Pan Tianshou, and Li Keran often come to mind. However, time can inform people, if they are able to heed what is occurring, that Zhang Xiaogang is an artist of this generation who not only serves as his generation nation’s historical memory, but is also an integral part of world art history. By upholding a particular historical viewpoint required to bring this project to completion, I attempt to apply critical analysis to the contradictions and conflicts constantly raised by the work of Zhang Xiaogang and his generation, and to provide a multi-dimensional narrative and analysis of Zhang Xiaogang’s artistic career, so that readers can acquire an understanding of the genuine history and complexity of his creative thought, art practice, and emotional life, as well as a better understanding of what constitutes the historical value that our era and future civilized society require.
In 2018, I completed a research biography treating another artist, Mao Xuhui, titled Story of the Patriarchy: Mao Xuhui in the 1980s. Such writing can help readers understand the growth of this generation of artists and the history of art.
In conclusion, I can assert that writing about art history at different times has given me a particularly warm feeling. Sometimes, depending on the subject, I will choose music with a similar tonality and mood to help me bring out a unique mood conducive to writing. Looking back, I’ve never considered writing art history a required project (like those national, provincial, or municipal projects you often hear about in school). Whenever I wrote, I was driven by a strong inner need, a feeling that I had to write. My previous experiences writing art history were some of my most heartwarming moments. In 2014, I published How to Study and Research Art History. Some academic colleagues commented that my format resembled a volume on “How to Study History”—I specifically included topics such as “What is History,” “The Historian’s Work,” “General History,” “Micro History,” “Historical Sense,” “Empathy,” and “Imagination.” Indeed, my research into art history, especially modern and contemporary Chinese art history, deepened my interest in history, not just art history. As I frequently read theoretical works on the history of historiography, especially those of the New Historiography, I’ve come to believe that writing history can also be seen as a form of literary writing based on factual materials. In other words, history is something we create. However, the more I sought to connect specific artistic issues to their contextual connections, the deeper my gaze swept into those contexts. This line of thought ultimately led me to reflect on historical events and issues that occurred in the 20th century. As a result, the warm days of writing art history disappeared, and I began the heavy work of writing A History of China in the 20th Century. As I searched through my articles which had been published at different times in Literary and Art Research, I noticed that my shift from art history to historical writing would indeed only be a matter of time.
Friday, 7 June 2019