[Interview] Between Emptiness and Fullness, Everything and Nothing：A Dialogue between Shen Chen and Qian Zhijian（2011）

Qian: Last Friday, when Bei Dao, Zhang Zhen, Cheng Qifeng, and I came by your studio to look at your most recent work, you said one of your paintings should be viewed upside down. I forget who said this, but someone asked, “If you hadn’t said it needed to be turned upside down, we wouldn’t have known.  Upside down or right side up, it seems the same.”  In 2008, I remember I was in Nantong for your solo exhibition, and also at your group exhibition at the Museum of Chinese in America (MoCA), where there were people who also said something similar. I guess a lot of your viewers have similar doubts when they see your paintings.  Today, let’s begin with the issues surrounding your work from the viewer’s perspective, understanding, and acceptance.  In recent years, you’ve had numerous exhibitions in America, China, and Europe.  What have the reactions been like from viewers who come from varying geographic regions, countries, cultures, and societal backgrounds?  Any similarities or differences?

Shen: Chinese viewers are basically indifferent to my work.  From a professional perspective, the audience’s reaction is almost the same as the response to my abstract ink paintings 20 years ago.  Overall, they still think my work is more alternative, hard to grasp, and unrelated to contemporary Chinese art and Chinese culture. 

Qian: You used the term ‘alternative’ – what kind of art would be considered alternative?

Shen: In the context of contemporary Chinese art as a whole, they think my work has been a departure from the so-called China complex, and the entirety of Chinese culture.

Qian: Would you be more specific?  I’d like to know who said what, and how do ordinary viewers and professional critics see your work?

Shen: For example, they say, my works seem more Western at first glance specifically because the painting is made up of traces of straight lines.  In 2008, a group of people came to my Shanghai studio and concluded that my paintings were typical of ‘Shanghai painting.’  What does that mean?  It means it looks very clean and rational.  It’s drastically different from what they think of as ‘Chinese style abstract painting.’  They thought my work was very Western.

Qian: So you’re saying that ‘Shanghai painting’ is similar to Western painting?  And therefore, ‘Shanghai painting’ is not Chinese painting?  This is rather interesting. 

Shen: The term ‘Shanghai painting’ came from Shanghai culture, which was heavily influenced by Western, especially European, culture.  They think that my painting looks like it was created by a Chinese person who has been very influenced by Western culture.   This doesn’t really bother me. I’m more concerned about how they read my work – that’s what’s crucial. 

Qian:  I don’t quite understand how they connect your work to Shanghai painting?  I don’t see an immediate association of your paintings with Bai Nian, Wu Changshuo, or Zhao Zhiqian and Xu Gu.

Shen: It’s probably because Wu Changshuo used a lot of color and most likely had a lot of Western influence.  But I’m still not sure exactly what they mean by ‘Shanghai painting,’ because at that time, I wasn’t in the room.  Someone told me this later.  I guess they think my work has a very deep Western influence, which they couldn’t accept because they lost their reference to Chinese culture.  I’ve discussed this issue with Fang Zhenning before. I think that a Chinese audience still needs to rely on this kind of reference system in order to appreciate and accept my work. 

Qian: More specifically, they need to rely on the framework of Chinese painting to understand your work.  In that case, they see your work as a kind of Western painting, so do they accept or reject it? 

Shen: I think that most people tend to reject it.

Qian: Do you mean an ordinary audience or professional artists and art critics?

Shen: It includes highly professional critics, artists, curators, and museum specialists. 

Qian: If they reject your work, then why do they want to exhibit it?

Shen: Of course, there are some people who find my work interesting even if they don’t fully understand it.  For example, the Today Art Museum is very interested in my work.  They think it’s very unique.  I’ve had some interactions with them, and they have some understanding of my work.  They know my ink painting background, which gives them an idea where I am going.  They know there must be some rationale behind the way I’ve come so far from ink painting. 

Qian: I’m so curious, is it the curator or the director of the Today Art Museum that appreciates your work?

Shen: The director approved my exhibition.  He first saw some prints of my work and found them interesting.  In late 2007, he saw my original works at the New York Asian Contemporary Art Fair, and thought they were so unique.  Since then, we’ve had some conversations about my work, which has given them a deeper understanding of my work. They find that my work has a greater emphasis on the purely artistic.  From a pure art and pure academic perspective, this is an interesting phenomenon. That’s why they were willing to do an exhibition of my work. 

Qian: What do they consider to be the academic aspect of your work?

Shen: This is a question worthy of discussion.  From the understanding of the Chinese, what does pure academics and pure art refer to?  On the whole, I feel that most contemporary Chinese art deals with narrative rather than discussing the issue of art itself.  Or, it’s about social issues.  It usually involves a specific subject, and the work is kind of an illustrative diagram. My work doesn’t deal with this social and political subject matter; it’s purely about beauty and concept.  This last point piqued their interest, but to the Chinese audience, this purity is ‘alternative.’  It’s quite different from most of their exhibitions.  They think they should support this and do an exhibition to carry out academic exchange and inquiry. 

Qian:  I know that this was a rather large-scale solo exhibition for you in China.  Was there a difference in the reactions between Beijing artists and critics and Shanghai artists and critics?

Shen: We didn’t do a symposium or round table discussion.  We also didn’t invite a lot of critics.  I don’t really know a lot of critics.  Some of my closer artist friends who also do abstract art really enjoyed my work and were supportive.  Curator Fang Zhenning understands my work quite well.  In 1988 I did an ink painting exhibition.  He published an essay on my work in Chinese Culture Magazine on the ‘true sentiment’ of my painting.  This time, he also wrote an essay.  We also did an interview and discussed the ‘true emptiness’ in my painting.  From ‘true sentiment’ to ‘true emptiness’ –these two essays provide a summarized general critique of my paintings over the span of more than twenty years.  The essay also gives an overview and discusses the trends of my work in its development over the course of twenty years.

Qian: Do you have collectors of your work in China?

Shen: In China, almost none.  Most of the collectors of my work are European along with a few Americans. The major collections in America are corporate collections rather than individual collections. There are more individual collections in Europe.  It seems that Europeans have a stronger reaction to my work.

Qian: What do Europeans like about your works?  Are there any European critics or curators who have written about your work?

Shen: At the moment, no.  Last year, I did an exhibition at Shanghai University Museum, and met a British critic.  He was Dean of the Zhejiang Ningbo, University of Nottingham Comparative Culture Institute.  He was very surprised when he saw my paintings, and he liked them a lot.  He expressed an interest in having a dialogue with me and writing a critique because he thinks there are very few works in China like mine.  There is also a German critic who expressed a deep interest in my work. 

Qian: What aspects did they like about your work specifically?

Shen: They see a unique painting style, which is imbued with the Chinese spirit, yet, it’s a huge departure from Chinese painting in terms of form–it’s alternative contemporary Chinese painting. 

Qian: This is very interesting.  The same work is considered very Western by a Chinese audience, while Europeans find it to be very Eastern.  I’ve told you before, how I presented your work to my class next to an early Brice Marden painting.  I hid your names and asked the students to differentiate, compare, and identify which work was created by a Chinese artist and which was done by an American artist, and to state their reasons.  It was interesting how every time, without fail, my students thought that Marden’s early work was done by a Chinese person and yours was done by a Westerner.  They saw familiar elements of Chinese painting in Marden’s early work and more Western visual elements in your work.  That’s why they were very surprised when they found out the true identities of the artists. Did the Europeans who saw your work in Shanghai think that the paintings had an Eastern spirit to them because they saw your name or knew you personally?  Or did they come to this conclusion without knowing anything about the artist?

Shen: They saw my work first. Some saw my original work in the exhibition, while others saw prints of my work.

Qian: So where did they see the so-called Chinese spirit in your paintings?

Shen: We didn’t discuss it that deeply, but they all expressed great interest in my work.  The British critic Paul Gladston follows contemporary Chinese art closely.  At the exhibition opening, he asked for a catalogue and said he would study it, do an interview, discussion, and write a critical piece, all on his own initiative. He said my work is extremely unique.  These are common reactions to my work from Westerners, especially Europeans.  I think that Europeans have an advantage in that they all have some foundation for artistic understanding.  They’re well-educated and familiar with the rational expression in my work that is inherent in Western culture.  The Chinese reaction to the rational is somewhat slower, and they are more easily moved by the sentimental or emotional.  Most Westerners find my work interesting when they first see it.   Chinese people rarely use the term ‘you yisi’—very meaningful to describe my work, but this is common for Westerners.   Not to say that they understand it completely, but it moves them, and it piques their interest or curiosity.  This reflects their basic attitude toward my work. 

Qian: When you say European, do you mean mostly British, or does this include all of Europe? 

Shen: I mean all of Europe: German, Dutch, French, Italian, etc. I recently did a group exhibition at an art museum in the Netherlands, entitled “‘Slow’ Abstract Chinese Art.”  ‘Slow’ refers to the extremely slow creation process of the work.  That was the commonality between all the works in the exhibition.  During a dialogue with the curator, he asked, “How do the works embody or reflect Chinese culture?”  I replied that Chinese culture doesn’t need to be explicitly emphasized because Chinese culture is inherently in my blood.  It’s integrated into every part of my work as well as during the creative process of its creation.  I was educated and raised up in Chinese culture.  I started creating abstract ink paintings over twenty years ago.  I’ve been doing this for so long, and this cultural experience has always been embedded in my work.  I think that what a person has done, and all the things he’s been involved in can’t be erased completely from his mind.  A person’s culture is indelibly etched within, and it will inevitably be reflected in the work. 

Qian: I’ve discovered a crisscrossing misperception in the way that a Chinese audience sees a Western spirit that a Westerner doesn’t see, and what you consider to be the Chinese essence or Chinese-ness is very clear to Europeans, but not to the Chinese.  It seems that people are blind to what is inherently familiar to them, or they selectively see but do not see; rather, they focus on what is fundamentally more foreign to them.  This kind of crossover error seems especially evident in the way the audience approaches your paintings. What do you think is the reason?

Shen: I think this is an issue of how you interpret and understand the work.  For most people, it’s difficult to see into my work at first because it seems like there’s not much to look at.  As a whole, my work looks like an extremely simple creative process, so at first glance, it’s like there’s nothing there –it’s empty.  But if you look into it, you’ll see numerous brushstrokes, where each one begins and ends, how water and color were used and its relationship to the canvas, and all those specific details.  These are only surface things.  If you read into it, you’ll discover there’s a depth of ink painting in there.  If you don’t scrutinize the work, you won’t see these things, or be able to enter into its creative process.  For most people who just look it over, they won’t see anything.  Much of my work is a pursuit of a kind of spirit of ink painting. 

Qian: At the very least, from the surface of your work, the spirit of ink painting is difficult for the audience to discern and experience because people can’t identify the familiar visual elements of ink painting, like calligraphic lines or blending ink colors.  Can you speak more specifically about what is the spirit of ink painting?

Shen: I have a deep understanding of the spirit of ink painting because I have been more of an advocate of literati painting.  For example, ‘yongbi’ –meaning, the use of the brush—is a kind of spirit of ink painting because it represents the character of the person.  The character and distinguishing characteristics of these literati paintings are all unique.  Bada Shanren, for example, and Shi Tao have completely distinct ‘yongbi’ methods, and their characters are completely different from each other. 

Qian: But the ‘yongbi’ in your paintings are almost indiscernible.  It seems like the calligraphic ‘yongbi’ found in Shi Tao and Bada’s work isn’t really related to your work. 

Shen:  That’s because the ‘yongbi’ in my work isn’t the main purpose of my work.  I also don’t care whether or not it’s evident.  My work differs from theirs because they need to express ‘yongbi’ while I’m borrowing ‘yongbi’ as a method to supplant ‘yongbi’ itself.

Qian: So you’re saying your purpose in using ‘yongbi’ isn’t so that others can see it, but rather as a means to an end?

Shen: Yes. This is one type of concept in art.  I feel that the purpose of the continuous repetition of ‘yongbi’ is to erase ‘yongbi’ itself to achieve a state of relative freedom. This state of freedom is an important facet of Chinese culture.  Literati painting strives to reach a state of freedom and transcendence. 

Qian: Other than ‘yongbi’ what other elements of your paintings portray an Eastern art sensibility?

Shen:  The entire creation process of my work is Eastern.

Qian: Why do you say that?  You use canvas, acrylic paint and paintbrushes, so I don’t see how your creation methods are similar to Chinese ink painting techniques.

Shen: Canvas doesn’t necessarily represent the West.  I used to create ink paintings on the floor. I work the same way now as I did when I was doing ink painting. 

Qian: What method are you referring to?

Shen: I create work on the horizontal surface of the floor, rather than using an easel, which is vertical.  Also, even though I use acrylic, I apply the paint based on ink painting technique, which is related to my ink painting experience.  This is another characteristic.  

Qian: So you’re saying you add a lot of water to acrylic?

Shen: Yes, it’s extremely thin.  I just apply layers and layers of it.  It’s similar to the effect of bleeding ink in Chinese painting.  Some people have said that my works have the same feeling as Song dynasty painting because of the lushness, the layers and the way they bleed into each other.  Within that lushness, traces of brushwork appear to be there and not there—an almost imperceptible trace of the brush. 

Qian: You said that laying the canvas on the floor is Eastern? 

Shen: To me, yes.

Qian: The American artist Jackson Pollock also worked on the floor.

Shen: I am continuing what I used to do with ink painting technique. When we do ink painting, we work on a flat tabletop; this is a fundamentally Asian technique.  Perhaps Pollock borrowed this Eastern technique.  Westerners work off the canvas vertically; traditionally, they don’t paint on a horizontal surface. 

Qian: I feel like now you’re trying to use words to express what you consider to be an Eastern sensibility.  Even though I think what you’re saying is interesting, I don’t totally agree with you.  For example, painting on a horizontal surface and adding water aren’t exclusively Chinese techniques.  These are techniques that can be found in the West and other cultures.  Westerners also add water to pigments in acrylic or watercolor painting.  Even in oil painting, they may mix in other liquids. I don’t think that this alone is sufficient to show that your painting has an Eastern sensibility.

Shen: Adding water is only one technique, but it’s more about how you add water –there’s a lot to be studied in this alone.  Ink painting values the relationship between water and ink.  I talk about this in “March Conversations” also.  Diluting acrylic with water is common because acrylic is water-soluble.  But if you are mainly painting with water, then it’s a different matter.  Perhaps I can say that I’m fundamentally painting with water, and water is the main pigment. I need to create layers upon layers because the color is so faint.  There’s also the simplicity of color.  The change in colors occurs on the canvas, not before in the process of testing and mixing colors.  As for ‘yongbi,’ I use a large Chinese brush; each stroke of the brush leaves its own individual mark.  Ink painting values the same principles of ‘yongbi.’  The completion of the work occurs in the creative process; there’s no preliminary sketch.  It’s all mapped out in the mind.   My entire creation method and process follows the method and process I used when I did ink painting.  This is what distinguishes me from how Westerners use acrylic. 

Qian: I’m a bit concerned, why do you keep emphasizing this Eastern sensibility?

Shen: It’s not that I’m intentionally emphasizing this, but because we were discussing this issue, I have to address it. What is or isn’t related to this Eastern sensibility?  Actually this topic of Eastern and Western is boring; it doesn’t matter.  But if we’re talking about it, I have to point out certain aspects. We really don’t need to talk about this topic.

Qian: So is there a Western method, a Western sensibility in your work?

Shen:  You’re bringing this up again.  I think the spirit of reason is very important.  This is perhaps something borrowed from the West, but of course it’s more than just borrowing, it’s more of a comparison.  This might be why some people think there’s something Western in my work. 

Qian: How is this reason reflected in your work?

Shen: For example, my painting requires a relatively rigid order for it to reach completion.  As you already know, once the draft of my work is completed, most mistakes can’t be fixed, which is why I need to follow a relatively strict order.  The entire process is very rational and controlled.  Such large paintings couldn’t be completed otherwise because the distance between each brushstroke must be carefully maintained.  It’s a very rational method. 

Qian: So you’re using Western rationality to control Eastern techniques and methods?

Shen: You don’t need to say it that way.  Put simply, my painting process is very rational.  But, I believe this rational approach to artistic expression is something lacking in Chinese painting and in the past generation of art education.

Qian: Do you still believe that Chinese painting lacks rationality?

Shen: Chinese painting fundamentally lacks rationality.  Based on this point alone, many Chinese people believe my work doesn’t have a Chinese characteristic. 

Qian: Is it because they think your work is too rational, too ordered?

Shen: Yes.

Qian: But I don’t totally agree with you that Chinese painting lacks rationality. 

Shen: Speaking generally about that concept, Chinese painting is about a mood; it’s more about a feeling.   

Qian: Do you think your Chinese sensibility has been obscured by Western rationality, which might be why your Chinese audience has a hard time identifying it?

Shen: I think it’s not a question of obscuring it; rather, I’ve combined them into one.  I’ve been in the West for so many years that I can’t not be influenced by it. I find that blending East and West is very interesting because it results in something that is no longer East or West.

Qian: Then why is it that a Chinese audience will immediately think your work is Western?

Shen: Rationality, straight lines, minimalism—aren’t all these Western?  I think it’s an issue of the attitude of the audience.  I didn’t specifically try to cover or not cover it up. 

Qian: Do you think it’s just because of the audience’s attitude?  Has their attitude determined the way they see your work?  Or is it because of the way your paintings present themselves that hinders them from resonating with the work, which is why they can’t enter into your paintings? 

Shen: I think it might be both.  Also, another issue is that Chinese art education makes a Chinese audience feel distant from work like mine.  Regardless of whether it’s abstract, or minimalist, these concepts in Chinese art education aren’t usually emphasized. 

Qian: I agree with you.  According to my understanding, Chinese art education is lacking in the area of modern and contemporary Western art, especially in rational minimalism, and its academic research and interpretation.  

Shen: Let’s use Agnes Martin as an example.  I would imagine that the majority of a Chinese audience would look at her work and find it extremely boring because other than lots of horizontal lines, there’s nothing else there—at least that’s what it seems like.  Is it still even considered painting?  I remember one time I took a few artists to a gallery, where Martin’s smaller paintings were on display.  They barely walked into the gallery before they were already on their way out…

Qian: Yes.  You have to look carefully in order to see that all the lines in her works are different: some are done in paint, others in graphite, some are white lines.  Some of her works use only graphite to create lines and grids. 

Shen: The extreme simplicity and unconventionality of straight lines enters into the realm of inaction.  This was so boring for those Chinese artists.  What meaning did it have for them? 

Qian: Actually, Martin and other post-minimalist artists truly appreciated Eastern arts and were greatly influenced by Chinese and Japanese art.

Shen: But most Chinese audiences don’t see it.   They don’t see how these artists were influenced by Asian art.

Qian: From a purely visual perspective, these straight lines don’t seem to be an obvious clue to that connection.  

Shen: Two years ago, there was an exhibition at the Guggenheim Museum, “The Third Mind-American Artists Contemplate Asia 1860-1989.”  At the time, several artists and critics from China visited New York and I brought them to see the exhibition.  I noticed that they invariably enjoyed the works which displayed a deep Chinese painting or Asian art influence.  I could understand their general reaction to my work based on their attitudes to this type of work.  This was to be expected. 

Qian: Which artists and their works did they find most accessible? 

Shen: There were so many people there.  It’s hard to remember the specific works and artists.  For example, one of the works they liked was a small room that was entirely covered in gold leaf.  In the center of the room was a coffin-like wooden box.  It was like the artist prepared a place for his soul after death.  They thought it was interesting.  Why?  Gold leaf is commonly used in Japanese painting.  In the Ming and Qing dynasty, gold leaf was also used on screen paintings.  It seems that they were able read into this or feel something from this.  There were other works that had lines that looked like Chinese calligraphy.  There was an artist whose work had a very pale background—a grayish white, but I can’t remember his name right now.  It looked a bit like Chinese calligraphy.  They were so excited to see it. 

Qian: Perhaps you’re talking about Mark Tobey or Brice Marden.  Both of them took a lot from Chinese calligraphy.  Mark Tobey had contact with Shanghai artist Teng Baiye in the 1930s.  Marden also studied Chinese calligraphy.  They both discovered the beauty of line through their study of Chinese calligraphy.

Shen: Yes, Mark Tobey.  They were more interested in works with Eastern lines or the feel of ink, like Robert Motherwell, especially his early ink sketches.  They were eager to see this kind of work.  From their reactions, I could gauge what their reaction would be to my work.  They can’t see all the things I just mentioned in my work, so they didn’t feel any kind of resonance with it.  When they saw Xie Deqing’s work, they basically didn’t have any reaction to it because they couldn’t understand it. 

Qian: That’s because Xie Deqing’s work is no longer something of a purely visual language—it’s entirely spiritual.  His performance art actually emanates this Eastern spirit.  Apart from the way he deals with the limits and challenges of the human body, I feel like it also contains this Daoist philosophy of quiet inaction.

Shen: This is a very common phenomenon.  I just gave these examples to show how an ordinary audience reacts to my work, and you can see why that is.  They can’t find a clear point that interests or resonates with them, or even a starting point for them to begin to understand.  This is also related to the long-standing status of Chinese art education. 

Qian: I also think a lot of people don’t see the inherent Zen spirit in the process of your work.  I’ve brought this up before when I wrote about your work, as well as in our conversations. Most people merely see what is presented in the finished work and are ignorant of the process of creating the work because they only see the result.  It takes about a month at the very least from the start –conception, sketching out the idea to the final work on the canvas.  The entire act of creating your paintings is an inherent and important part of your final work.  Sometimes I think that this very act of artistic creation is even more important. 

Shen: I didn’t speak about this point, but since you bring it up, it’s true that this is the most important part of my work.  The main reason why a general audience can’t understand my work is because they only see the surface.  They can’t see within it, nor can they imagine its creation process.  Only those who have truly read into it recognize the importance of the process.  Only then can you know why these colors and lines come out of these layers, and understand how they were created out of these layers.  If you don’t see into it, you won’t see these things.  In reality, many people don’t have the patience.  My creation process requires patience.  Understanding my work also requires patience.   

Qian: Yes.  It truly requires patience.  To me, the fact that so much energy was spent creating something that is barely visible in the finished work, is in itself very meaningful.  I compare your behavior to Japan’s Ryoanji Zen monks who rake patterns into the gravel every morning.  I think there are a lot of similarities.  From my understanding, artistic creation is not only about the resulting work, but it’s also about the experience of the interactive connection between an individual action and material.  Your kind of art is so like Song dynasty Zen painter Liang Kai and Mu Xi in spirit.  On the surface, Liang Kai and Mu Xi’s paintings seem to explore concise yet lively ‘yongbi’ or perhaps it’s about the spirit of ink, but on a deeper level, they bring out this kind of Zen spirit.   Whether it’s Liang Kai’s ‘Immortal in Splashed Ink’ or ‘The Sixth Patriarch Cutting the Bamboo’ or Mu Qi’s ‘Six Persimmons’ – all these paintings have this same spirit.  We see what appears on the surface but these paintings convey so much more.  In other words, “what you see is not what you see,” because what you see is not necessarily what you think you see; it might be an impression, maybe even a false impression.  We have to understand the background and context, as well as the entirety of the artist’s artistic process of creation in order to understand the artist’s true goal for the work.  The final work is only the last stage of the artistic creation process; this final product that emerges at the very end is only a tiny portion of the entire process.  That’s why I think that if we use Liang Kai and Mu Qi’s paintings as a reference for interpreting and understanding your paintings, we might find a better entry point into your work. 

Shen: As an artist, I usually don’t consider or discuss these issues because I put everything I’m contemplating, everything I want to say into my work, and allow people to see it through my work. I feel that my work exemplifies and addresses the issue of the spirit of Chinese painting and the theories you just discussed within the entire process.  I emphasize the creative process, as well as its continuation, time, and psychological space; all these things have gradually been incorporated through the process.  I once said, “both the creation process and the work itself are equally important.”  Of course, the audience often has difficulty imagining this kind of process because they only see the presentation of the painting, which makes it hard to interpret.  On the surface, my paintings are merely made up of layers and layers of brushstrokes.  It’s challenging for an audience to see the elements of time, psychological space, and the negative elements within it. 

Qian: You’ve been painting like this for over ten years now, right?  Do you think you will continue in this path?

Shen: When I did an exhibition at Sanshang Contemporary Art Museum, Huang Shi also asked me this question.  Overall, I think I will continue painting as such.  But, in terms of what the canvas will look like specifically, I can’t say.  I’m constantly exploring and changing.  Look at my recent paintings from the last few years, for example, compared to my acrylic series, which I began in 1996.  My works from 1996 till now have already changed enormously.  I’m sure that the next ten, twenty years from now will also show huge changes.  As to how they’ll change, I don’t know.  I don’t have a specific plan at the moment.  Huang Shi said, your works already seem so perfect, will they continue to be this perfect?  I replied, it’s not really about perfection, so whether it will be perfect from now on, I don’t know.  Actually, my work isn’t illustrative of any theme, or any narrative, neither is it especially perfect.  Strictly speaking, my work is about a process, a state of being.  I usually don’t use the word Zen because it’s too lofty; but it’s through the process that I’m studying how to experience this spirit. 

Qian: If you only want to emphasize this spirit, why do you use painting? 

Shen:  Because I love painting.  I’ve been painting for so many years.  It’s the most familiar to me.  If you wanted me to start sculpture now, I’d have to start from the very beginning.  Painting has been my hobby since I was young.  I have to paint.  I also think that painting is most adeptly able to express this process and spirit. 

Qian: When you first decided to go into abstract ink painting, what were your inspirations or influences?  Would you talk about which artists influenced you most in terms of the spirit of Chinese art?

Shen: Bada Shanren had the deepest influence on me early on.  In 1974, I first saw his original work in Jiangxi Province, Nanchang Qingyunpu.  At the time, I didn’t really understand his work, nor did I know anything about his personal life, but it struck me—a certain feeling emanating from his work moved me.  I thought that his ‘yongbi’ and painting were very special.  He painted his birds and fish looking sideways.  Later, after reading his biography, I learned that this was a reflection of his cynical attitude towards the Qing dynasty, which supplanted the Ming Dynasty.   I especially liked his lively brushstrokes.  Each stroke had its own meaning and charm, and expressed a state of being.  These things surprised me when I saw them at the time; it was a unique feeling.  Of course, back then, I hadn’t seen a lot of Chinese painting.  I started studying painting through the ‘Mustard Seed Garden Painting Primer’ when I was young.  I also copied Qi Baishi’s paintings.  Bada’s work influenced me for a lifetime.  I can never forget the feeling it gave me.  Later, I began to scrutinize his work, imitating it, and learning from it.  I also imitated Li Kuchan’s works, which were influenced by Bada.  Qi Baishi, Li Kuchan and others were influenced by Bada.  Bada’s ‘yongbi’ and the spirit of his ‘yongbi’ had an enormous influence on me.

Qian: Exactly how did Bada Shanren’s ‘yongbi’ influence you?

Shen:  For example, his painting of a lotus leaf seems casually painted.  The brushstrokes look light and easy, but within softness there is steel.  It’s very academic but there’s more to it.   In his painting of a bird, a feather is conveyed in a single stroke.  A blade of grass or an orchid blossom is rendered in another delicate stroke, but each of these brushstrokes is so wonderful and interesting.  His painting specialty is that the brush surpasses ink in a complete freedom and release.  Chinese painting values this quality.  Literati painting values this kind of ‘yongbi.’  I gradually began to understand that ‘yongbi’ embodies the spiritual state of the artist; it is his form of expression, which embodies his personality, his thinking.  Bada’s ‘yongbi’ revealed his attitude toward society, as well as his attitude toward life.  This is why Chinese literati painting emphasizes the importance of ‘yongbi.’  I think Bada’s goal was to convey something beyond a realistic portrayal of fish.

Qian: His fish and birds have already become the spirit of the fish and bird, which is exactly what Bada’s essential ‘yongbi’ is.  He endows the fish and bird with a certain spirit, which is also his own individual spirit.  This is also the result of aesthetic empathy. 

Shen: Right.  These fish and birds aren’t just ordinary fish and birds.  From his art, I gradually experienced the way the brushstrokes in themselves constructed a spiritual artistic language, which stood on its own.  Perhaps Bada didn’t need to rely on a duck or a fish to speak for him; after all, the duck or fish can’t really say much.  The subject isn’t important; what’s truly important is how the subject matter is rendered through ‘yongbi’ to reveal a spiritual essence.  Through Bada’s art, I experienced ‘yongbi’s’ spirit, which made me gradually realize how to distill the brushstroke to become its own artistic language. 

Qian: We get a general idea about the origin of the Chinese spirit that you emphasize from what you’re saying.  But in the end, your works don’t seem to be at all related to Bada Shanren’s work.   For example, Bada’s ‘yongbi’ had lots of intricate variations while yours barely changed, and perhaps almost disappears?  

Shen: I’ve been thinking about this question: how do I use ‘yongbi’ to reveal this particular independent spirit, this personalized spirit?  Bada influenced me deeply in my early ink painting studies, where I tried to be sparse with brushstrokes.  I would throw down a few brushstrokes and it was done.  Now, I’ve gone in the opposite direction and deviated from Bada’s path, but I’ve gained so much understanding through him.    Twenty some years ago, I emphasized brushstrokes, space, and negative space in my abstract paintings—all of which I learned from Bada, especially the use of negative space.  The use of negative space is another important characteristic of Bada’s work, as well as Chinese painting.  On the surface, it seems that negative space doesn’t say much, but it actually says a lot.  For example, when Bada paints a fish, he uses negative space to show that the fish is swimming in water, in the river, in the creek.  You can’t see water, but you understand that the fish is swimming in water through your imagination.  Ink and negative space are two important elements that complement one another.  After over twenty years of understanding  ‘yongbi’ and negative space, I began to consider how negative space speaks to the concept of “emptiness” and how emptiness represents many things.  I wondered, what would it be like if I could turn this around and fill the emptiness of negative space? Emptiness to fullness and fullness to emptiness are corresponding philosophical principles.  I’m taking the other route right now, deviating from over twenty years of sparse brushstrokes to my current work, which is saturated in brushstrokes.  However, they both reveal the same spirit. 

Qian: I’ve seen your work and interacted with you for a relatively long time, so I understand the relationship between “fullness in emptiness, emptiness in fullness.”  Many people may only see emptiness, or nothing, however, I see that emptiness is also fullness.  Not only is it full of material brushstrokes, but it’s also filled with all that your spirit projects into the painting.

Shen: This is a continuation of an experiment in ink from over twenty years ago.  These two contrast each other.  Emptiness and fullness, fullness and emptiness, these two concepts are actually about the same thing, which is ‘kongling’—a state of emptiness.  The state of the word ‘kong’ –emptiness, is also a real state in my painting process.  When I’m painting, I empty my mind and don’t daydream.  All my attention is focused on ‘yongbi.’  You could say that I’m so focused on concentrating that I attain a state of non-consciousness.  This is also related to reason, which I referred to earlier. 

Qian: When you say ‘kong,’ do you mean that emptiness contains nothing?  There has to be something there, right?  Otherwise, how do you paint?  What do you discard to attain emptiness?

Shen: It’s because I’m so focused that I forget about anything irrelevant.  I can’t think of specific everyday things.  This is the only way to reach this kind of state, this realm, which is a place where my heart and spirit are extremely peaceful and quiet.  Once you forget many things, then you can focus on one thing, and you will experience this soaring feeling of exhilaration.  It’s so free, so transcendent, and so far removed from everyday life.  It’s like a religious experience.  It’s hard to describe.  There’s nothing like it in everyday life. 

Qian: Is it like the feeling of completely losing yourself in a certain spiritual state?

Shen: It’s a dreamlike feeling, a state where you totally forget about yourself.  At the end it’s like you enter into this endless repetition of spinning through a magnetic field. 

Qian: So it’s only when you’re in a state where you completely forget yourself that you can do what other people would find boring and exhausting? 

Shen: Yes. 

Qian: I remember you described it to me once: you’re holding a long-handled brush, repeating strokes on the canvas, and doing this for hours at a time until your back aches, but by the end, you’re numb and there’s no consciousness. 

Shen: There’s no consciousness because you don’t feel anything, but my enjoyment comes from each brushstroke as it falls onto the canvas to when it comes off, and the process of continuous repetition.  Most people probably wouldn’t be able to experience this as enjoyment.  You might ask, where’s the fun in repeating brushstrokes down and up over and over again?  You’ll find it very boring.  Only when you enter into this state will you then understand and relish the movement, the action, and the process.   This entire process reveals my individual state, which is what I want to express in my work—a state where I forget both myself and material things. 

Qian: Do you also deal with the relationship between each brushstroke?  As ‘yongbi’ creates layers upon layers where thick and thin brushstrokes and lines create a rich layered depth.  I see how all the surfaces create many different lines, especially in your recent triptych “Untitled11111-10” where this richness was especially evident.  Lines of varying widths arranged in endless repetitions, rows, and layerings create lines that seemed inconceivably fine.  Also, by diluting the acrylic with large quantities of water, you create this lush layering of depth and lightness, and an exceptionally rich sense of color.  I feel like your use of line already surpasses the concept of line itself, as well as its cultural attributes; it could be Chinese and also Western.  The line itself already has its own ingrained meaning, and therefore, it no longer needs to be something Chinese or Western.  In the 21st century, artists understand other cultures and all artistic languages and elements, so it no longer matters whose line it is.  In this way, I feel that your artistic universe and your art overlap. 

Shen: In actuality, lines or brushstrokes don’t matter.  I discussed the connection between ‘yongbi’ and Chinese painting because I was experimenting with ink from twenty years until now in abstract painting, and I myself, couldn’t detach myself from the line or brushstroke.  But, strictly speaking, these aren’t important, even painting itself isn’t important to me.  I believe that I’m using the technique of painting in order to erase the concept of painting because in the endless repetition, you’re covering up what you just painted.  You’re negating what you’ve already done.  In this process of continuous negation, the original meaning of painting, in actuality, has already disappeared by the end.  What remains on the canvas is the vanishing process and diminishing traces. 

Qian: In Chinese art history, are there any other artists who have inspired you?

Shen: Song dynasty’s Fan Kuan, in his nearly vertical ‘yongbi.’  Also, the four greats and eight saints of the Qing dynasty, who also valued ‘yongbi.’  They influenced me greatly. 

Qian: I want to hear you talk about how Western artists have inspired you.

Shen: Lots of Western artists have inspired me.  In China, I had heard many of their names, but it was only when I was in America that I really saw their work.  I really like the abstract expressionists like Jackson Pollock, Franz Klein, Robert Motherwell, and the color field painter Mark Rothko, but the Minimalist artists, like Donald Judd, Agnes Martin and Brice Marden inspired me even more.  When I make work, however, I am more focused on my own feeling and state of being. 

Qian: What is your state of being? 

Shen: I’m a Chinese person living in the West, so my way of life, thinking, behavior and state are different from others, which means that my attitude towards art and artmaking are also distinct.  While my art is derived from both Chinese and Western traditions, it also simultaneously surpasses these two traditions. This is a characteristic of multi-cultural society, where many cultures come together.  I talked about this extensively in an interview I did with American artist Guy Goodwin.  In the New York art world, you see so much interesting work, but it’s impossible to classify it into pre-existing styles.  I was listening to a discussion on NPR about how there’s a similar trend happening in the music world.  Many artists are also recent immigrants; it’s a very interesting phenomenon.   

Qian: So, your art isn’t Chinese or Western?  Currently, Chinese art critics and Chinese artists are advocating this “return to tradition” and a revival of national art.  It’s as if an art revival is indispensable to a national revival.  It seems like you don’t have the same mission as many other artists? 

Shen: That’s right.  My art is my own individual art.  Jonathan Goodman wrote an article in the April edition of ‘Art Magazine’ where he talks about this.  I believe that the more individualist the work, the more it truly reflects humanity.  An artist’s mission is to be himself, not to be a particular people, country, or culture.  The artist should be an independent entity.  Contemporary Chinese art used to be avant-garde and revolutionary.  If political concepts became “mainstream,” then it would be even harder for people to understand it compared to the previous official art system, which they once rebelled against.  It will become a new official art system, which is deceptive and misleading to society as a whole.  This baffles me.  The way you describe the situation reflects a backward group mentality and a sense of dejection, which is fatal to Chinese artists.  An artist’s individuality or “mission” is for him to do his work to the utmost.  The accomplishments in art history are also accomplishments for humanity.  As such, do we have any need to talk about the revival of “national art”?

Today Literary Magazine, Summer 2011, Hong Kong Forest Hills, New York. Shen Chen’s Art Studio, June 10, 2011    

Qian Zhijian is an art historian, art critic, and curator.  He is currently on the faculty of Parsons the New School for Design in New York City.  His articles have been published in Art Journal, ArtAsia, and Art Today, among other art publications.  His research interests include art and politics, art and visual culture, and art and urban culture.