Laughing To Death With David Williams: An Interview on White Rabbit Gallery’s ‘XSWL’
Fig 1. Expand Constantly (2000) Zhang Peili
Photo courtesy of the Artist and the White Rabbit Gallery (2024).
XSWL explores the niche in which the Chinese internet universe intertwines with the unique characteristics of censored, and overworked Chinese life. The product of this situation is the exhibition's 'laughing to death' (xiào sǐ wǒle), a phrase taken up by netizens to describe their sardonic internet persona - a sense of burnout masked by hyperactivity. Yet this topic, has been taken up by artists, who play with, and critiqie this self-same irony. Bright and colourful, drawing on a range of art historical quotes while creating innovative visual langauges, I sat down with the exhibition's curator, David Williams, for a fruitfil discussion to learn more.
Kye Fisher- The exhibition, XSWL, examines a uniquely digital, humorous internet culture in China. Can you tell us what initially drew you (and/or the artists) to this concept and the process for exploring China’s internet culture in a gallery setting?
David Williams- This exhibition uses the internet acronym ‘XSWL’ as a launchpad to explore themes of black humour, games, childhood, and more broadly the dark side of play. It is short for “xiào sǐ wǒle” (笑死我了) which means “laughing to death” and is equivalent to the English “LOL”. But here we have taken a different perspective on ‘XSWL’ to ask the question: what are the darker themes that ‘fun and games’ hides?
Some of the artists in the exhibition certainly have a strong connection to internet culture. For instance, Skirua (aka Guo Yuheng), who was born in 2003, is a young artist who grew up on the internet and social media. Internet platforms have dramatically shaped how she experiences the world, and her self-portrait illustrates her various avatars and selves that exist both online and offline. She also speaks candidly about censorship in China on the internet, which has a great impact on what she has access to.
However, many of the artists in the exhibition were selected because of how their work uses colourful or cheerful facades to confront darker or more serious themes. For instance, Huang Hai-Hsin’s series of paintings Indoor Practice seem to depict colourful scenes of ‘happy families at play’ at surface level. But in reality, they illustrate the ‘duck and cover’ drills that are part of the civil defence strategy of the Taiwanese government. She says, “These trainings are meant to prepare us for an uncertain future, but in the moment, what we feel and perceive is a mix of emotions that is somewhat eerie and difficult to describe.”
Fig 2. XSWL Level 1 (2024) Shih Yung-Chun.
Photo courtesy of the Artist and the White Rabbit Gallery (2024).
KF- The title of the exhibition, XSWL, or 笑死我了 (xiào sǐ wǒle) and the exhibition’s curatorial focus itself on 丧 (sàng) and 躺平 (tǎng píng) which emerges from a context of Chinese working life and internet humour. Given this, how have you attempted to curate this culturally specific humour and irony for an audience of Australians, or even diaspora Chinese who may not understand the pop-cultural nuances of the exhibition?
DW- Sàng culture and the Tǎng Píng movement have of course emerged out of a specific Chinese cultural landscape. But the overarching sense of disillusionment, nihilism, and despondency fused with black humour that these movements represent can also speak to many cultures outside China. Across the world, people feel helpless in the face of mounting pressures: job and housing insecurity, wealth disparity, environmental crises, systemic inequality etc. And yet in times of darkness, many turn to humour, even if it is simply for a moment of relief.
Whilst the artworks do come from a specific cultural context, they are also universal and speak to a global audience. Many artists do not want to be pigeon-holed, and we find that humour is a great way to transcend cultural, social, and linguistic barriers. For instance, Liao Chien-Chung’s playful artworks communicate with the audience through a physical, almost slapstick style of humour. His artwork White Shark utilises an over three metre, fibreglass sculpture of a shark to contend with ideas around fear. But when you peer into the shark’s eyes, you find a hilarious video of the artist attempting to surf on the back of this faux shark. In his other artwork God Damn Life, he replicates a Harley Davidson. But the accompanying video records the artist, who replaces horsepower with manpower, struggling to pedal the Harley like a bicycle through the streets of Taiwan. Through humour he comments on wealth disparity and the disillusionment with consumerist dreams sold through advertising.
Fig 3. Half-Hundred Mirrors (2018-2019) Yu Hong
Photo courtesy of the Artist and the White Rabbit Gallery (2024).
KF- A strong binding of this exhibition, is the repetition of masks and distorted bodies. How do you conceive of this exhibition and situate it amongst the history of Chinese contemporary art, in which masks and distortion are a recurring leitmotif, such as with Zang Fanzhi and Fang Lijun?
DW- The masks that appear are again tied to this idea of play and disguise. It goes back to that initial idea that things are not always what they seem to be, despite their cheerful facades. The artists play with all kinds of surfaces to explore what is hidden and concealed, or what is even hidden in plain sight. There are all sorts of double meanings, again just like how certain memes in China’s digital landscape can appear like one thing, usually playful and innocent, but actually mean something else more dangerous.
Fig 4. God Damn Life (2008-2009) Liao Chen Cheng
Photo courtesy of the Artist and the White Rabbit Gallery (2024).
KF- Would you be able to elaborate on why, for an exhibition which is focused on the digital transformation of China, there is such an emphasis on mediums which are generally perceived to be traditional or conservative? I.e. over half of the exhibited works are on canvas.
DW- In a world dominated by screens perhaps there is a need or desire to take a break and reflect on our virtual lives in a different way. Our artist Geng Yini contemplates this through her painting Virtual Power which was created during the COVID-19 pandemic – a time when many of us turned to online spaces for connection and support. The surfaces of her canvases are multifaceted and feel as though we are jumping from window to window, or between different eras and times. The symbolism of the bat, repeated across the canvas, references the animal in which COVID-19 purportedly originated. Whilst the symbol of the fern, which predates humanity by millions of years, highlights the fact that the history of humanity is miniscule in relation to the timeline of the planet.
Other artists blend the virtual with the analogue, such as Yu Hong. In Half-Hundred Mirrors she reflected on her life at age 50, resulting in 32 incredible paintings that capture her life from childhood through to adulthood. It is accompanied by an experimental VR component so that we can step inside her memories from the Cultural Revolution through to the transformative 1980s. Her work serves a mirror not only of her life but of a society in flux.
Fig 5. Between I (2012-2023) Shyu Ruey-Shiann
Image courtesy of the Artist and the White Rabbit Gallery (2024).
KF- The use of irony has an illustrious resume in the annals of Chinese art history; from Literati painting, through Political Pop and Cynical Realism to today. How has the rise of the internet in China through Wechat, Weibo, Douyin and Bilibili morphed and shaped the current iteration of artistic irony of 丧 (sàng) and 躺平 (tǎng píng) you are displaying in this exhibition?
DW- Yes indeed, irony has existed for centuries but has taken many different forms and guises. The language of irony has changed as well as its aesthetics, perhaps mutating alongside the internet as well as pop culture more broadly. This certainly manifests in many of our artists. For instance, Yan Jingzhou’s paintings communicate through absurd irony and black humour. His paintings can even be quite crass at times. He paints in a style that references the plasticine style of childhood animation that many millennials in particular might find nostalgic. The central character of his paintings is called “Buster” who becomes a symbol of the modern everyman trapped in the daily grind. Another painter Zhang Zhaoying includes pop culture references in his modern take on fairy tales, including figures such as Spongebob Squarepants and Patrick, Homer Simpson, and Barbie and Ken to speak about more serious themes.
Tianzhuo Chen is a different example of an artist whose practice embodies a kind of postmodern pastiche, using irony, parody, and blending ‘high’ and ‘low’ pop cultural sources with other historical references. His practice is imbued with hybridity, sitting at the edge of design, fashion, music, performance, and rave culture. In this exhibition he has created a music video called PARADI$E BITCH that blends Cantonese rap, drug culture, hip hop, Japanese Butoh, queer voguing, and Tibetan Buddhism to comment on the ‘false gods’ of celebrity idols, consumer desire and pop culture. His work mirrors the times and the internet too in an age where we are bombarded by so many different influences, subcultures, ideas, styles, times, information, and more, all at once.
Happy Valentines Day (2011) Tu Wei-Cheng
Photo courtesy of the Artist and the White Rabbit Gallery (2024).
KF- For an exhibition which, as your promotional material states, is coded by cultural criticism, how has the tight ship of Chinese soft-power and cultural diplomacy impacted your ability to curate in Australia and/or interact with artists in the Chinese mainland?
DW- I think the limitations that exist are largely felt by the artists themselves which perhaps affects what they can or cannot create. This trickles through curatorially to what kind of work is produced and available. I am lucky enough to be able to curate from Judith Neilson’s incredible collection of over 3000 artworks which is expansive and covers a unique time period of the year 2000 onwards.
As a rule, the gallery doesn’t take any political stances but rather serves as a neutral platform on which to give space to the voices of the artists. There are indeed artists who contend with political themes in their work. We want to be sensitive to the needs of our artists and to do what is in their best interest, but we also do not want to censor topics that are difficult or controversial. So, it is a fine balance.
For example, Tu Wei-Cheng is a Taiwanese artist who has created an installation called Happy Valentine’s Day!!, a chocolate shop that displays what appears to be chocolates in the shape of military arms. The artwork comments on Taiwan’s international relations, particularly its relationship with China but also other nations such as the United States and France. So, it is a politically loaded topic that is hidden beneath the innocent veneer of a sweet, pink, chocolate shop.
Whilst there are many artists whose work comments on politics, there are also many who don’t and who reject the repeated pigeon-holing of Chinese artworks as always containing political themes. Many artists want to explore themes outside politics too and we want to hear what they have to say. One such example is a fascinating artist called Nabuqi whose sculpture and installation artworks explore the relationship between humans and objects, as well as the possibility that objects may have their own agency.
Image courtesy of the Artist and the White Rabbit Gallery.
Photography: Hamish McIntosh