Zhang Linhai: Self-expression and social commentary through childhood memories
14th July, 2020
Light seeps through the windows, illuminating the walls of the studio space; Zhang’s artworks dominate the wall space, houseplants sit in every corner, and paints cover the workbenches—a truly ethereal setting—Zhang Linhai’s studio. He exudes humility, for he was abandoned barely a year after his birth and found himself living in a poor, drought torn area of China near the Tai Hong Mountains (Gao, p. 60-62). In this area, Zhang would likely not have survived the duration of his formative years if not for the love and devotion he received from the family who took him in, as he spent the subsequent years of his life suffering from various illnesses (Gao, p. 62).
Zhang Linhai was born in 1963 and grew up in the midst of the Cultural Revolution (1966-79). He was destined to be subjected to educational systems that outrightly discouraged difference; individuality was not to be pursued without consequence, mirroring the wider political ideology (Tetmajer von Prezerwa, p.91). In the September of 1979, a ‘public’ exhibition was initiated by the Stars group, involving twenty-three artist and one- hundred and fifty artworks hung on the fences outside the National Art Museum in Beijing (Jervis, 2013), transcending that limitations of the gallery space in manner that created a ripple effect which brought ‘…demands for individual freedom of expression…’ into the limelight (Yao, 2018, p. 117-118). The way in which space is constructed within Zhang’s studio in Beijing constitutes a similar atmosphere and discussion to that produced by the Stars exhibition, as both are hubs for self-expression.
Zhang Linhai, Purple Series No. 13, 2007, oil on canvas.
Since the rise of the People’s Republic of China, Chinese art has been inherently tied to the political, existing within the confines of the political demands of the Chinese (Gladston, 2014, p.7). Individualistic thought patterns were discouraged, in favour of more conservative notions that fitted the wider political norms. Galleries and schools became politically charged spaces with an exclusive agenda (Yao, 2018, p.118). However, this is not to say that these spaces have ever been curated without a purpose. In China they’ve become intrinsically ‘…bound up with the construction of the modern Chinese state’ leaving miniscule room for self-expression in these contexts—though this is not to say that independent thinking does not take place outside of these boundaries (Gladston, 2014, p. 7). Through the manipulation of space, questioning the agendas of said artistic spaces and the social systems dictating these agendas, Chinese contemporary art allows freedom of expression to blossom; however, due to the homogenous and controlled nature of mainstream artistic production in China this blossoming of independence is intrinsically tied to isolation. Therefore, this essay will specifically focus on and analyse the artwork of Zhang Linhai, in order to explore the way in which the he negotiates a balance between self- expression and the demands of the state, whilst still providing social commentary.
While not biographical in nature, this essay must take into consideration the struggle adversity that Zhang endured and the consequent suffering that set the tone of Zhang’s early life—both emotions existing as pillars of his artistic production. The overarching dark, gloom-stricken atmosphere of Zhang’s oeuvre allows the viewer to easily become lost in the plethora of negative emotions and trauma sprouting from the canvases, forgetting the positive and hopeful nature of his art—a light in his life, his method of escape and betterment (Gao, p.65). Zhang’s paintings often feature a herd motif, often depicting a lone figure breaking the illusion of perfect unity, subtly breaking the flow and transcending the herd’s limitations; connoting a sense of independence that is somewhat undermined by a feeling of intense isolation—of otherness. Loneliness was a well explored theme of the poetics of the Tang Dynasty. Though dynastic rule may have ended in 1911, exploration of this theme continued within Chinese art forms. A particularly prolific example of this is Zhang Linhai (Wang, p. 161). Wang Xiaoyuan constructs this idea further, arguing that this lonely aesthetic reflects the deep-seated anxieties of the Chinese people; ‘…of knowing nowhere to rest their souls’ (p. 161). Thematically similar explorations of the soul have been conducted, for example by Yinong Shao (2015) who states, ‘Our culture and system castrate the independence of our soul’, again pointing to the homogenous nature of Chinese social systems (p.49). Alternatively, when considered in relation to the discussions generated by the actions of the Stars group having had illuminated the problematic nature of art institutions, and who worked to aligned Chinese contemporary art ‘…with a renegade spirit’(Yao, 2018, p.118). It becomes hard to pinpoint exactly what the zeitgeist of Chinese contemporary art is—perhaps diversity against adversity, a phrase reminiscent of Zhang’s biography.
There is a childlike hope, and a sadly beautiful nostalgia behind Zhang’s artworks. During a visit to Zhang’s studio in mid-2019, he spoke about the scars left behind by experiences; memories flow through scenes often depicting locations from the region where he lived out his childhood. These memories in a way have also become the medium. Zhang sometimes trades canvas in favour of wood, specifically wooden trays. These trays, like Zhang, originate from Northern China found at flea markets and are once a part of what some would say are life’s most significant events having been used to serve food to guests at wedding, birthday and death ceremonies (Zhang, 2019). Zhang (2019) tells us that the trays hold secret memories, a moment in time preserved, changed and given new life by the artists hand; a rather romantic notion. The past is a place Zhang seems to dwell, with the subject matter of numerous paintings focusing on varying aspects of childhood though not constantly in order to comment on issues directly relating to the Chinese youth but rather to express his concerns and/or response to current social issues (Zhang, 2019).
Stylistically Zhang’s more recent works portray assembly halls in the style of Soviet architecture, evoking memories of his childhood particularly the gatherings, and meeting of groups involved in collective movements of the Cultural Revolution (Zhang, 2019). The portrayal is not entirely true to reality; red curtains hang drawn to the sides, and stage lights are suspended from the ceiling—the assembly hall having become a stage. The hall stands out, solitary, against a dark and ominous sky creating a vivid contrast with the snow-covered ground; though both the sky and the ground remain equally as harsh and stark as each other. In the midground we again find a herd, this time a congregation of sheep distinct paths lead to the mass body of animals drawing the audiences gaze towards them, and away from the smatterings of sheep that stand apart from the group. Centralised within the frame stands two announcement speakers however, strangely enough the attention of the viewer is pulled towards the sheep in the closest proximity to the viewer. Their gaze giving them near human agency. This especially striking motif is not an uncommon aspect of Zhang’s paintings. Whilst the stage in question remains devoid of a puppet and its master, similar works are not instead alluding the tyrannical and dictatorial rule of the Chinese state by the government. Whether reading into the isolation of figures as a metaphor for the stand point of Chinese contemporary art, or the illusions to the ‘puppet master’, it is a persistently present factor in his work. Through use of this representation, Zhang utilises his childhood memories to comment on the current political situation in China, highlighting the undeniably political aspect of his artistic practice.
Zhang Linhai’s studio, 2019.
Pauline Yao explores the idea of conceptual space, referring to it as a ‘…shared consciousness…’ born out of shared concept and belief, this belief being that ‘…art should exist as something free and unfettered…’ by the state (2018, p.120). In Zhang’s studio a work stands out against the rest, unique in that it is part painting, part metal cage, closer to an installation than a painting—within the cage resides a pig-like demonic creature. When questioned about this work Zhang (2019) replies that he felt that there is a need to cage this animal to leave space and freedom for the people, to stop the animal from causing pain; the connotations of the work conforming to Yao’s ideals. The obvious interpretation of such a work being a political one, however as this work is consistent with the iconography of his wider oeuvre it could also be interpreted in a more nonchalant manner in an attempt to gain a level of acceptance in the sphere of officially operating institutions (Yao, 2018, p.122). The theme of freedom is expressed in a multitude of ways in Zhang’s paintings. A fantastical, somewhat euphoric atmosphere takes over some of his works as children or animals leap into the air, frozen in a moment of inhuman ability, suspended miles above the earth’s surface and free from the constraints of its ideologies and systems of thought.
The Sandbox Series I, painted from 2011 to 2013, consists of roughly fifteen works jumping from mildly joyous works to disheartening ones, which evoke a sense of profound hopelessness. One ork from the Sandbox Series (170 x 233cm), displays in the upper third of the painting an aged wooden boat, the slats of wood separating creating room for the turbulent water below to flood in but it in the moment depicted it remains safe hovering above, held by measly ropes. Splayed and crumpled against the bow, clothed in nothing but a loose blue shirt, barely clinging to the boat; meanwhile the pigs occupying the boat look on with apathy, ignorant to the boy and the water below. Walls provide a backdrop for the scene, the render crumpling away to leave a pattern reminiscent of the world map. The boat here constructed as a symbol of freedom, exploration and escape is bound and captured, when this work is read in conjunction with a second work from the Sandbox Series (120 x160cm), this being an elephant launching itself across the room only to find itself faced with another wall, the only other objects in the room a red chair and a boat, and Sandbox Series, of the same dimension and year; a pig swims through an icy sea, away from the only landmass present an iceberg in an attempt to escape it and the three walls closing in around the animal. In all three paintings there is a play from freedom, even if it lasts momentarily. Additionally, these moments of freedom are enclosed and isolated, the characters enclosed often within the harsh grey brick of the walls. Space in this context, does not provide the same liberating effect of the artists’ studios, instead hones in on the solitary reality of not being wholly accepted by Chinese society as alluded to by Yao (2018, p.122).
There are many multifaceted interpretations of Zhang’s artworks, likely an intentional aspect of his art, it adds another layer of substance to the social, political and cultural commentary. An article in the magazine, The World of Chinese, claims Zhang Linhai to be produce politically engaged art (Huang, 2015), contrary to supplementary writings which at times dismissed Zhang depiction children and childlike things such as dolls, teddy bears and more vividly the ‘…endless rows of male children…’ as commentary on the one child policy (Winchester, 2006, p.82). The article proposes Zhang’s work to be ‘…capturing the zeitgeist of Chinese children today…’; those in rural areas a suffering due to the absence of parental figures, and metropolitan children as having a ‘mentality’ which has been ‘twisted by…so- called ‘education’’ amongst other things (Huang, 2015). Evening Bell, painted 2004, renders endless rows of male children onto the canvas, through which notions of conformity spring to mind. Azure skies, blend into a deep purple along the horizon line behind a desert like mountain range, in the shadow of which stands row after row of bald-headed figures. In the foreground stands a single figure, clothed in white in contrast to a sea of red, back pressed up against the picture plane their head bowed. The starkness of this figure in white points to this sense of nonconformity, representing to a degree the individuality of the Chinese contemporary artist though simultaneously commenting on the state of the childhood (Zhang, 2019).
Chinese contemporary art has often been defined as having ‘…consistently cast itself as outsider or as in some way peripheral to the central axis of academic or officially accepted art forms’ (Yao, 2018, p. 120). The studio spaces of Beijing exist on the peripheries of mainstream artistic production encapsulate this definition of Chinese contemporary art. In the spaces of the artists’ studios, we find people who are seemingly hyper-sensitive to the social issues of twenty-first century China. Zhang Linhai expresses his views on the current social issues in China and has done for the last two decade if not longer, in a clever manner— utilising his childhood memories and trauma, transforming them into a self-admitted absurd expression of current truths (Zhang, 2019). Through this multifaceted methodology Zhang has maintained a careful balance between self-expression and the constraints resulting from the ideologies of the state.
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