Lee Kit: Not an Easy Thing

At Arrow Factory until March 25

Wander down Jianchang Hutong and you might pass this tiny exhibition – and the ’80s pop emanating from its display window – without ever knowing it was there. But it’s worth knowing about. Behind dusty, sliding French doors stands Lee Kit’s installation, a cheap grey chair and beaten-up cabinet table with a cassette player on top, the speakers spilling onto the floor. Behind is a dark black-blue curtain, shutting off what could be a living space. A smiling picture of Cai Qin, the Taiwanese singer whose ’80s success lived longest in both Hong Kong and mainland China, is stuck inconspicuously on the wall. It is her music that wafts out into the street and the lyrics to her song, ‘Just Like Your Tenderness’, which give the exhibition its title.

 

Kit is no stranger to incorporating second-hand objects, having used his studio in Hong Kong as an installation space for years. But he is better known for the pattern-painted, and often colourful, swathes of material used for household objects such as table cloths; ‘Not an Easy Thing’, by contrast, is sparse, recalling the artist’s first visit to Beijing – a cold environment characterised by a simple lifestyle.

 

The song goes, ‘I cannot stop remembering; remembering you and remembering the past’. A few bandages are eerily scattered on the cabinet and chair, a single red bottle on the floor; suggestions of a darker history here. It might be the front of a shop, although it speaks to us more of an ordinary living situation. In the ’80s, private spaces were often curtained off from view within communal rooms. Both shop owners and the average family might have shared miniscule front-room space where they could socialise and greet others in the community. Yet you cannot enter this space from the street. It remains strangely unreachable and empty of people, as if such memories have been pushed into the background. We cannot go in and open the drawers or touch the unused bandages, emblems of a wounded society. A poignant exhibition – if you can find it. Clare Pennington

Originally posted in Time Out Beijing

Zhan Wang: My Personal Universe

While scientists turn to the Large Hadron Collider to examine the universe’s origins, 39-year-old Beijing artist Zhan Wang takes a more contemplative approach. The love child of the artist and his backer, Louis Vuitton, 'My Personal Universe' marks a new point in what Zhan calls his artistic ‘road’, surpassing anything he has done before. And yet, in the last month, it has undergone something of a devolution.

Dominating the interior of one of the UCCA’s halls until mid-January stood four wall-like screens. Inside this enclosure (subtitled ‘Outer’), visitors were greeted by 7,000 glittering, meteorite-like steel rocks, strung out like a giant baby mobile. The only light came from the screens, which showed a super-slowed video of a boulder Zhan had blown up somewhere in Shandong; six screens played out the blast from different angles. It reached into your chest in a deep, drawn-out rumble – this was the dawn of the universe.

Now the hall is silent. Gone are the screens, which expanded the six-second explosion to three minutes. The sculptures, however, which were moulded upon actual debris from the explosion, have been re-arranged to resemble the first millisecond of Zhan’s man-made Big Bang (subtitled ‘Inner’). The arrangement still links it to the demolition – the fine details from the fragments visible on the moulded metal – but by reference only.

Before, this piece engulfed the viewer with image and form. Now the rocks stand alone, capturing the exact moment they were broken apart by tremendous forces. On the surface, at least, this piece now gets much closer to the simplicity it strives for. Less fun for the casual viewer, perhaps, but there’s a purity to the work now, which the screens to some extent obscured. After all, the aim was always to induce contemplation – amid the pizzazz there was little room for thought.

Yet this exhibition still remains impressive. The sheer scale and glittering, eye-catching blues and silvers are unprecedented in the artist’s work. Zhan has never shied away from using contemporary, flashy materials, even celebrating them to some extent; here, his use of steel draws us back from the dawn of time to the modern age. If this kind of scale and use of mixed media marks a new path in the artist’s journey  – or ‘road’ – it will be interesting to see what he does next. Clare Pennington



Originally posted in Time Out Beijing

Developing Phantom

China is developing at breakneck speed. Social practices and landscapes are being eroded, warped and torn down – yet few have had the guts to tackle this with as much thought as 'Developing Phantom', a group exhibition bringing together the work of two young artists and two collectives, which holds more than a few shocks.

Photography and film by WAZA, the Wuhan-based artist collective founded by film director Hu Ge, both ushers you into the exhibition and marks your exit. After its 2007 exhibition 'WAZA KUZA', the group began involving the public in the art-making process. Here, it continues to include the public (albeit uncredited) in their works, with a series of amateurish photographs that occupy cheap-looking rectangular frames. These shots include everything from installations to a shirtless worker napping on a bench. It’s a chaotic selection, recording WAZA’s collaboration with what it calls ‘social youths’, although how they’re collaborating is left unclear.

In the room opposite is a far more striking work that immediately resuscitates interest. An eerie soundtrack accompanies 'Social Youth HD Movie' (2011), a gritty depiction of two young men who turn to violent, shockingly premeditated crimes; neither rape nor murder are directly shown, but viewers are left in no doubt as to their occurrence. Shabby apartment blocks and dry countryside merge with sparse dialogue and scenes of bored inaction to form a sinister portrait of disaffected youth in today’s China.

Like WAZA, Jiang Zhi explores issues of violence with 'Let There Be Light' (2006). In the middle of a dark, circular room shines a pale searchlight, which stops with a loud click to project a one-minute film. Anonymous figures confront a powerful spotlight, symbolising divine transformation, fame and brilliance; some try to stare out the damaging rays, others squirm. You come away with a visceral sense of discomfort, enriched by a cold contemplation of the human need to be heard.

Also on show are works by new collective Hexie Baroque that bring China’s development into a wider context with pieces such as 'Right Now' (2011). An artistic one-liner, it features an old TV looping a clip of President Obama announcing America will not accept anything but first place. On top stands a worn, upside-down table. Their work injects a dark humour into the exhibition, although it perhaps lacks the depth of WAZA and Jiang's.

One issue here is the utter lack of information, which leaves most visitors at a loss as to whose works belong to who (this has since been slightly improved). Nevertheless, they possess an uncanny ability to disturb, being visceral and, at times, unforgivingly satirical. Placed together, they lead visitors through changes in both China’s landscape and its people, enriching each other and forming a first-rate group exhibition. Clare Pennington




Originally posted in Time Out Beijing