我們?nèi)绾闻袛嘁粋€(gè)藝術(shù)家的創(chuàng)作已經(jīng)達(dá)到成熟？藝術(shù)的成熟意味著什么？是強(qiáng)有力的筆觸？還是完美的表現(xiàn)方式？是藝術(shù)家對(duì)主題能展開深入的探討？還是形成了一種標(biāo)志性的風(fēng)格？是觀念上的連貫？還是美學(xué)的特質(zhì)？是物理性的重復(fù)？還是工作手法的一致？是得到一篇積極的評(píng)論？還是在美術(shù)館展出并得到市場(chǎng)的認(rèn)可？或者被載入藝術(shù)史？這些對(duì)于藝術(shù)評(píng)論家來說都是很難回答的問題。藝術(shù)的本質(zhì)總是被介定、卻又遭到質(zhì)疑、而后又被重新討論，周而復(fù)始。但一旦我們發(fā)現(xiàn)它（藝術(shù)創(chuàng)作的成熟）的時(shí)候，我們總是能體會(huì)到，不一定要經(jīng)過理論的論證。能夠見證和發(fā)現(xiàn)一個(gè)藝術(shù)家的創(chuàng)作達(dá)到成熟是一件非常令人興奮的事情。
這不是一個(gè)可靠的賭注，而是一個(gè)冒險(xiǎn)的專業(yè)判斷。有太多的東西能夠左右我們的判斷和決定，這包括了歷史觀、我們的專業(yè)水平、我們的情緒等等。這樣講并不是要賦予評(píng)論家過多的重要性，只是提醒我們這個(gè)工作承擔(dān)著不可輕視的責(zé)任。在這項(xiàng)工作當(dāng)中，我們不是去證實(shí)一件作品的價(jià)值，而是將我們自身的學(xué)識(shí)和實(shí)踐投入于具體的語境當(dāng)中，更重要的是，把作品放置在語境之中來討論，這個(gè)語境要比藝術(shù)家的工作室或展覽空間的物理界限更寬廣、復(fù)雜。和批評(píng)家一樣，藝術(shù)家的工作是在與各種各樣的事物發(fā)生活躍的互動(dòng)和關(guān)聯(lián)之中展開的，這些因素包括了他的成長經(jīng)歷、所受的教育、專業(yè)訓(xùn)練、興趣、性情、工作方法、和世界觀等。上個(gè)世紀(jì)八十年代，德國哲學(xué)家漢斯•貝爾廷和美國藝術(shù)批評(píng)家亞瑟•丹托圍繞藝術(shù)的終結(jié)或藝術(shù)史的終結(jié)提出討論，這種令人震撼的哲學(xué)思考使藝術(shù)家無法再僅僅依賴已有的藝術(shù)史的固有價(jià)值體系來確立成就。這種觀點(diǎn)把藝術(shù)放置于一種處在一直不停變化發(fā)展和開放的狀態(tài)之中來檢驗(yàn)而不是局限在現(xiàn)代主義思潮中單一藝術(shù)史的線性邏輯之中。藝術(shù)在美學(xué)、風(fēng)格、內(nèi)容和觀念上的特點(diǎn)具有地域性和時(shí)間性，而不是本質(zhì)的，或永恒的。
李大方是一位屬于工作室的藝術(shù)家，在那里他日復(fù)一日，每時(shí)每刻地畫；毫不夸張地說，他是一個(gè)自律和堅(jiān)定的人。他養(yǎng)成了每日作畫的習(xí)慣，并且總是饒有興致地堅(jiān)持著。這種在工作室中長時(shí)間的工作和高度的專注是卓有成效的，這和近期的一些藝術(shù)創(chuàng)作潮流形成了鮮明的對(duì)比。在過去的幾年中，中國當(dāng)代藝術(shù)擁有一個(gè)火熱的市場(chǎng)，這種狀態(tài)影響了一種創(chuàng)作的趨勢(shì)，那就是藝術(shù)家展開構(gòu)思，但作品的實(shí)施實(shí)際上是通過雇傭助手來幫助完成的。
李大方的繪畫是完全手工的、需要持續(xù)地工作的、耗費(fèi)大量時(shí)間的并且與創(chuàng)作的過程密切相關(guān)。還有很重要的一點(diǎn)是他沉著冷靜的工作姿態(tài)形成了一種高度個(gè)人化的視覺語言，根本無法被復(fù)制。他在畫布上仔細(xì)地刻畫著每一筆、每一條線和每一個(gè)點(diǎn)，它們的集合產(chǎn)生準(zhǔn)確細(xì)致的圖案，譬如一棵樹、樹林、灌木叢和它們周圍的環(huán)境。有時(shí)候，他的筆觸如此密集，形成一種模糊的感覺。他的畫筆恣意地變化，布滿了畫布的每一個(gè)角落，幾乎沒有留下空白之處，這使他的畫產(chǎn)生了一種獨(dú)特的吸引力。我們幾乎可以說，李大方的畫面布滿了繪畫的痕跡。
李大方的作品具有明顯的地域性，和他家鄉(xiāng)的地理面貌緊密相聯(lián)。他出生成長在中國東北的遼寧省，那里緯度高，冬季漫長寒冷，造就了那一地區(qū)粗獷灰白的地貌風(fēng)景。他第一次在北京生活是從1993年到1997年，第二次是2003年。從那以后，北京就成了他的家。李大方的作品呼吸著北方干燥的沙土和寒冷的氣候，吸收著這個(gè)地區(qū)特有的地理、社會(huì)和文化氣息。他的寫實(shí)風(fēng)景和景象充滿了北方的氣息：凌亂的灌木叢和樹林、城市的景觀、道路、田野和開闊的土地、泥土深厚的顏色、方正堅(jiān)實(shí)的樓房和工廠的廢棄物。在作品《小尖頂》（2009）中，一幅油畫被放在一個(gè)有三層臺(tái)階的綠色樓梯上，畫面中兩棵高大茂盛的松柏緊緊地矗立在一起，幾乎融合成一體，形成對(duì)稱的形狀。在它們后面，一片長滿茂盛野草的土地向遠(yuǎn)方蔓延，在遠(yuǎn)方隱約可以看到一些模糊的樹形。在畫面前方顯著的位置上，有一個(gè)身著藍(lán)色衣服的人背上背著一只小船，站在一堆藍(lán)水桶之中。這是一個(gè)模糊離奇的景象，但這一切看起來卻也熟悉。李大方作品里的這些地點(diǎn)和景象，有一種遠(yuǎn)離現(xiàn)代化都市的感覺，但是對(duì)于經(jīng)常光顧那些在城鄉(xiāng)接壤處被人們遺忘的角落的人來說，或是對(duì)那些見證了城市化變革和經(jīng)濟(jì)發(fā)展的短暫時(shí)刻的人來說又是那么的熟悉。這些不被重視的角落在李大方作品中所建立起來的介于現(xiàn)實(shí)和虛幻之間的空間找到一處安全的居所。
1949年中華人民共和國成立之后，從50年代起，中央政府把李大方的家鄉(xiāng)遼寧省設(shè)定為一個(gè)主要的重工業(yè)基地，生產(chǎn)鋼鐵、機(jī)械設(shè)備、火車機(jī)車和飛機(jī)。但20世紀(jì)70年代末以后，這里也開始面臨國家向市場(chǎng)經(jīng)濟(jì)轉(zhuǎn)變的格局，結(jié)局是該地區(qū)的大部分大型國有企業(yè)走向破產(chǎn)。最后，很多工廠和車間被廢棄，里面堆砌著飽含悲哀和沉默氣氛、破舊荒廢的機(jī)器設(shè)備──這個(gè)場(chǎng)景對(duì)于一個(gè)出生在1971年的畫家并不陌生，也是在其后來的作品中持續(xù)出現(xiàn)的創(chuàng)作主題。事實(shí)上，他的一些作品中帶有一種明顯的工業(yè)化意味。作品《卡子》（2009）被框在一個(gè)三層的綠色木框中，這延伸了畫布的景深，畫面中廢棄空墟的蘇式廠房的場(chǎng)景也被賦予了一種紀(jì)念碑式的嚴(yán)肅性。干燥枯黃的野草布滿了工廠的院子，院子里有一個(gè)人，個(gè)子不高，彎著腰，背對(duì)著畫面以外的觀眾。除此之外，整個(gè)場(chǎng)景非常的平靜和沉寂。在三聯(lián)畫《白小光》（2009）中，一個(gè)辦公樓院落門外的兩根水泥柱和上面部分字體已經(jīng)脫落的公司招牌明確地宣告公司的倒閉。一個(gè)巨大的水泥建筑似乎從天而降，突兀地著陸在院子內(nèi)門口的路上，而門外的幾個(gè)人圍繞著一根管道的口站立著，似乎全然不知周圍發(fā)生的這一切。
李大方對(duì)于他所選擇的繪畫內(nèi)容和風(fēng)格從沒動(dòng)搖過。他并不會(huì)因?yàn)樵趧?chuàng)作中總是回到同一類型的視覺和物理環(huán)境而產(chǎn)生歉意，這些視覺元素實(shí)際上構(gòu)成了他喜歡反復(fù)描繪的主題和主體。比如，森林已經(jīng)變成了藝術(shù)家標(biāo)志性的視覺語言之一，這些樹林為畫面上其他內(nèi)容的展開提供了一個(gè)舞臺(tái)和框架。藝術(shù)家也會(huì)漫無目的地開車到北京的周邊去，主要是去郊區(qū)的荒地、廢棄的工廠區(qū)、房屋拆除的建筑工地和路邊的施工現(xiàn)場(chǎng)等等，這些地方在經(jīng)歷了戲劇性的事件或巨大的動(dòng)蕩之后又回復(fù)到平靜真實(shí)的存在狀態(tài)。房屋被拆除，工廠被關(guān)閉，道路被廢棄。我們無法想象曾經(jīng)發(fā)生在這些地方的事情有多么嚴(yán)重。然而，有的工廠里雜亂地堆放著一些丟棄的機(jī)器，居然離奇地讓人感受到形式上的戲劇性和吸引力。他對(duì)這些地方進(jìn)行拍照并試圖收集起兒時(shí)的回憶，這些印象都以各種方式進(jìn)入到他的創(chuàng)作內(nèi)容之中，在他的作品中留下了痕跡。李大方為巴塞爾藝術(shù)博覽會(huì)藝術(shù)無極限2009創(chuàng)作的項(xiàng)目《張洪波》的題目就來自于他兒時(shí)一位老師的名字。李大方先用淺亮綠色將該項(xiàng)目的空間的墻面涂上墻圍，還創(chuàng)作了一幅巨大的油畫作品，這幅作品描述了一片剛剛耕耘過，還留有拖拉機(jī)輪子痕跡的、開闊的田園景象。作品被放置在空間中央靠墻的一個(gè)由數(shù)千張有墨水和鉛筆圖畫的素描紙搭起的長方形底座上。如同在他的其他作品中一樣，一個(gè)無名的人物出現(xiàn)在他的作品之中，只是這一次是一個(gè)真人尺寸的人物雕塑，出現(xiàn)在這個(gè)老式教室的空間中。除了題目，作品當(dāng)中沒有任何與這個(gè)真實(shí)人物“張洪波”相關(guān)的其他內(nèi)容。這個(gè)現(xiàn)場(chǎng)裝置中一切事物的模糊性延續(xù)了他繪畫中所展現(xiàn)的荒誕性。
李大方在作品的表現(xiàn)形式上也并不總是一成不變的。他的作品來自于并依賴于現(xiàn)實(shí)，以及他對(duì)現(xiàn)實(shí)的體驗(yàn)和準(zhǔn)確的感知。盡管他的很多作品遵循著現(xiàn)實(shí)主義的手法，并且所表現(xiàn)的東西很令人信服，藝術(shù)家始終如一地調(diào)動(dòng)一些視覺的元素，來展現(xiàn)他對(duì)真實(shí)性和故事情節(jié)的連貫和邏輯性的有意漠視：離奇的道具、畫面中突兀的明亮顏色、不存在的生物、不準(zhǔn)確的比例，這些給他作品的表面帶來一種模糊的憂郁感和在時(shí)間和空間上夸大的分離感。它們展現(xiàn)出荒誕的現(xiàn)實(shí)，畫家在畫布上重新編撰故事的情節(jié)以及現(xiàn)實(shí)的不斷再現(xiàn)直至它們的意義和感情的具體指向得到銳減。
從一開始起，李大方就有一個(gè)野心勃勃的設(shè)想，他希望用他的畫筆來開辟一個(gè)戲劇和講述故事的空間，讓平坦的畫布等同于一個(gè)舞臺(tái)。他向我講述過他兒時(shí)在戲劇和文學(xué)方面得到的熏陶和熱愛。他描繪人物、場(chǎng)景、設(shè)計(jì)緊張的關(guān)系、為人物編撰對(duì)話和語言、給出線索、設(shè)計(jì)懸念、模仿電影拍攝中長鏡頭的效果。他是作品里的所有荒誕劇的編劇，并且能牢牢控制住劇情的敘述，不讓它們放任自由。但是，藝術(shù)家更急于說明他作品里的敘述是不值得信任的。它們其實(shí)沒有任何意義，我們也不要試圖將藝術(shù)家在作品中小心翼翼描繪的細(xì)節(jié)拼湊成一個(gè)故事。除了作者，沒有人能夠明白這些迷團(tuán)，或者解釋這些情節(jié)的邏輯性。
盡管我們無法比較二者之間的荒誕程度，但李大方作品里所展現(xiàn)的畫面和現(xiàn)實(shí)情況之間存在的差異，很難被我們覺察，卻適時(shí)地存在于畫布的空間中。李大方是阿爾弗雷德•希區(qū)柯克的狂熱崇拜者，我們對(duì)這點(diǎn)并不感到驚奇，因?yàn)橄^(qū)柯克的力量體現(xiàn)在他可以在故事情節(jié)中利用延長時(shí)間和縮短空間來制造懸念。希區(qū)柯克還善于將日常生活的情境和潛在危險(xiǎn)的端倪進(jìn)行平行地?cái)⑹雯ぉに踔猎谒碾娪昂?bào)上寫道：“當(dāng)心背后有人”，以及電影中的主角對(duì)于即將臨近的危險(xiǎn)的無知，都有力地刺激著在我們潛意識(shí)里深藏著的恐懼。
但是李大方的作品不僅僅在于調(diào)動(dòng)觀眾的本能。畫家自信地把營造戲劇性的各種可能的因素集中到一起，盡管它們彼此之間可能互不相融。他最近為他的畫加上了木制階梯和梯狀物的臺(tái)子，或者放大和夸張的木框，來支撐繪畫，這些附加物很難將其歸類或?qū)ζ溥M(jìn)行解釋。這是一種希區(qū)柯克式的策略。樓梯的形象經(jīng)常在希區(qū)柯克的電影中占有重要的地位或被突出地進(jìn)行描繪，這種在風(fēng)格上對(duì)樓梯的興趣要?dú)w結(jié)于德國表現(xiàn)主義對(duì)他的影響，德國表現(xiàn)主義總是突出地表現(xiàn)范式化和危險(xiǎn)的樓梯。李大方的繪畫裝置作品里的梯子是一種風(fēng)格上的取向，而不是為了某種象征意義的。它們是巨大的、人造的、顯眼的，使李大方的畫產(chǎn)生出一種嚴(yán)肅莊嚴(yán)的氣息。但它們沒有任何責(zé)任去表現(xiàn)某種意義。正像藝術(shù)家所指出的，這是他希望理解和認(rèn)識(shí)什么是繪畫、什么是藝術(shù)而展開的嘗試的途徑之一而已。
2007年以后有些帶梯子的作品出現(xiàn)，我想解釋一下，最開始的時(shí)候是想表現(xiàn)架上作品有把玩兒性，作品里的世界是一個(gè)獨(dú)立的世界，周圍的環(huán)境變了，那個(gè)世界也變了，和梯子之類的器物結(jié)合后有被欣賞的意味，但這也符合我對(duì)藝術(shù)的態(tài)度。尤其是這兩年，我在找對(duì)藝術(shù)的一個(gè)假設(shè)，就是具體，合理或不合理的東西勉強(qiáng)組合符合某種特殊的目的，可觸摸（這里的觸摸還是指思想里的觸摸感）。再有我對(duì)繪畫的認(rèn)識(shí)，繪畫于我來說是一個(gè)詞，一個(gè)記憶，由它生發(fā)的以后的想和做，或某種目的性，某種理由，我都把它們理解成繪畫，這種綜合有時(shí)展示出來是比較荒唐的。1
這些論述打消了任何對(duì)李大方的作品過多地進(jìn)行社會(huì)學(xué)、哲學(xué)和心理學(xué)意義闡釋的企圖。李大方是繼20世紀(jì)90年代中活躍在人們視野中的以劉小東為代表的寫實(shí)畫家和賈樟柯為代表的電影導(dǎo)演之后出現(xiàn)的一代藝術(shù)家。那個(gè)時(shí)候，藝術(shù)界開始集體回歸到日常生活當(dāng)中，因?yàn)槟菚r(shí)的現(xiàn)實(shí)生活本身充滿極端的戲劇性和活力。藝術(shù)家需要做的僅僅是從這種現(xiàn)實(shí)生活中截取片斷，在我看來，不加以任何的批評(píng)或分析就原本地呈現(xiàn)。而那種通過真實(shí)客觀地記錄和展現(xiàn)一個(gè)迅速前進(jìn)的強(qiáng)大現(xiàn)實(shí)的誘惑和需求在今天已變得沒有那么迫切，這在李大方等藝術(shù)家的作品里可以看出來。對(duì)李大方來說，把他的藝術(shù)和他個(gè)人聯(lián)系起來的不僅是他畫里描述的主題，或者作品與社會(huì)的關(guān)系，更多的是通過繪畫來在體驗(yàn)和思考繪畫在個(gè)人層面上對(duì)他意味著什么：
我假設(shè)藝術(shù)是被形容成具有某種意義的，小的，具體的，對(duì)個(gè)人而言有實(shí)際用處，對(duì)他人而言無用，或用處不大，或無法理解的存在形態(tài)。我認(rèn)為這是藝術(shù)應(yīng)有的位置，它存在著，又不能被期望太高，期望高它就模糊，應(yīng)該象“白菜”“騙子”等有具體的價(jià)值。2
李大方強(qiáng)烈地提倡要放棄對(duì)藝術(shù)應(yīng)該有某種功能或者作用的期望，這個(gè)觀念完全體現(xiàn)在他2009年在麥勒畫廊的個(gè)展“拐了！拐了！”的副標(biāo)題：“繪畫是為了恨某種發(fā)光的東西”這句話之中。
李大方在展覽中展出了他于2009年完成的七件系列作品，這次創(chuàng)作是表達(dá)一種態(tài)度，而非一個(gè)主題。和前幾年的作品相比，這些作品在風(fēng)格和觀念上沒有激進(jìn)的轉(zhuǎn)變，而更是一種延續(xù)。那細(xì)致的作畫風(fēng)格還是李大方所特有的，畫面的朦朧性還保留著，樹也還是那些樹，那些無意識(shí)的情節(jié)仍使人無比困惑?？赡苡腥藭?huì)認(rèn)為李大方近期的一系列作品同前期的作品相比，在繪畫技巧上和審美上并沒有一個(gè)大的飛躍。但李大方恰恰認(rèn)為，在藝術(shù)上，事物發(fā)展或進(jìn)步的普遍邏輯并不適用。
要談?wù)摾畲蠓降睦L畫，只需要忠實(shí)地描述它們，并不需要加以分析和解釋，這也與藝術(shù)家的原意達(dá)成一致。但寫到這里，我甚至質(zhì)疑是否有描述它們的必要。如果只是簡(jiǎn)單地重復(fù)顯而易見的事物，對(duì)任何人來說都不會(huì)有興趣。除了描述，我無法告訴你他每一幅作品的意義，或者提供一些可能的故事情節(jié)來把它們聯(lián)系起來；并任由每位觀眾在此基礎(chǔ)上產(chǎn)生自己的解釋和理解。但我所意識(shí)到的是，通過完成這些繪畫作品，李大方更加深刻地理解他自身對(duì)繪畫的期望以及繪畫對(duì)他而言所具有的具體價(jià)值。在藝術(shù)史的語境中，對(duì)作為一種媒介的繪畫的定義和歷史觀經(jīng)歷了很多轉(zhuǎn)變、顛覆、局限和超越。但是李大方自己對(duì)繪畫理解的轉(zhuǎn)變也有其特有的過程和經(jīng)歷。在我看來，李大方的繪畫是他個(gè)人理解繪畫和當(dāng)代藝術(shù)的工具和途徑——一種自我發(fā)現(xiàn)。從這個(gè)意義上來看，李大方的繪畫已經(jīng)達(dá)到了他對(duì)其所期待的目的。
當(dāng)代藝術(shù)的瓶頸在于大家的期望太高，“創(chuàng)造論”“進(jìn)步論”“顛覆”等腔調(diào)太高，這種情況也充斥在各個(gè)領(lǐng)域，創(chuàng)新才是正路。于是個(gè)性時(shí)常就變成了懶惰或隨便，我想走歪路，贊成“退步論”，做好難，做壞容易些，不能把藝術(shù)抬的太高，也不得不帶著它，就該平庸的進(jìn)行著。3
藝術(shù)本身或者藝術(shù)的表現(xiàn)形式，已經(jīng)不再是現(xiàn)代主義的審視對(duì)象，而是關(guān)于藝術(shù)家如何在自己的實(shí)踐中發(fā)現(xiàn)并建立一種與藝術(shù)之間的聯(lián)系。繪畫本身作為藝術(shù)表現(xiàn)形式，其技術(shù)實(shí)驗(yàn)和觀念創(chuàng)新已經(jīng)很難再提起任何興致。今天的藝術(shù)家終于可以松一口氣，終于可以放棄創(chuàng)新的企圖。從藝術(shù)歷史上看，沒有任何一個(gè)觀念沒有被爭(zhēng)論過，沒有任何一個(gè)理論沒有被挑戰(zhàn)過，每一種東西都被顛覆過了。
我們沒有必要把李大方的創(chuàng)作或其他任何一個(gè)活躍的藝術(shù)家的實(shí)踐歸結(jié)到任何一個(gè)當(dāng)代藝術(shù)的類別里或列入到已有的藝術(shù)史的框架之中。話說回來，我們又如何能對(duì)今天的當(dāng)代藝術(shù)進(jìn)行分類呢？是按照媒介？是按照主題？還是按照觀念？這些做法都很難適用于現(xiàn)在多樣性的創(chuàng)作。我們已經(jīng)處在藝術(shù)史敘述的終結(jié)，窮盡了按照藝術(shù)的歷史敘述來介定藝術(shù)家創(chuàng)作的可能性。李大方的實(shí)踐和其他世界各地活躍的藝術(shù)家們的創(chuàng)作所能提供的是一個(gè)個(gè)豐富和具體的實(shí)例研究。它們不是孤立的個(gè)體，但又在個(gè)自的世界和語境里獨(dú)立、具體地存在。隨著時(shí)間推移，它們會(huì)指引藝術(shù)家如何努力發(fā)展和形成自己的工作方式，加深對(duì)他所做的事情的理解。這些創(chuàng)作將對(duì)策展和批評(píng)實(shí)踐提出新的問題和挑戰(zhàn)，有鑒于此，或許展現(xiàn)并討論藝術(shù)家創(chuàng)作的語境與討論藝術(shù)家的個(gè)別作品會(huì)顯得同等重要。因此，欣賞李大方的每幅作品與理解他繪畫觀點(diǎn)的復(fù)雜性和形成他實(shí)踐背景的合理性一樣的重要。
翻譯：唐海龍
1 李大方轉(zhuǎn)發(fā)給作者的E-mail郵件，2009年8月20日。
2 同上
3 同上
The Value of Painting as that of Cabbage and Thieves: On Li Dafang
by Carol Yinghua Lu
At which point could we say that the art of an artist has reached maturity? And what does maturity mean in terms of art? Forceful strokes? Perfect presentation? In-depth exploration of subject matter? A signature stylistic quality? Conceptual consistency? Aesthetic identity? Material recurrence? A consistent way of working? A positive review? Museum shows and market recognition? Or even inclusion in the writing of art history? These are tough questions for art critics. What the nature of art is has been defined, questioned, and then reformulated, and sometimes when we spot it, we know it. It is always thrilling when realizing that the work of an artist has reached maturity.
This is often less a safe bet than it is a risky professional calculation. There are too many things to tint our judgments and decisions: our historical outlook, our professional qualifications, our mood. This by no means assigns too much importance to the work of an art critic; instead, it reminds us of the daunting responsibility of such a job. We are not out to verify an artist’s work, but perhaps to put our own learning and practice in context and, more importantly, to view an artist’s work in a context that is much more complex than the physical confines of a studio or an exhibition space. Like an art critic, an artist works in active relationship to a vast diversity of things—his or her upbringing, schooling, professional training, interests, temperament, way of working, world view, and much more, and all should be considered accordingly. In the 1980s, both German philosopher Hans Belting and American art critic Arthur Danto proposed the end of art or art history, an explosive philosophical take on art that made it impossible for artists to search for their success within the set value system of existing art history. This perspective puts art in a forever fluid and open state of being rather than within the linear logic of a singular art history in the modernist fashion. The aesthetic, stylistic, narrative, and conceptual attributes of art are seen as particular to specific places and times rather than as essential or timeless.
Li Dafang is an artist who belongs to his studio, where he paints hour after hour, day after day; it’s no understatement to say that Li is disciplined and steadfast. He has developed a daily routine for work that he happily and faithfully adheres to. This mode of production, with long studio hours and intense concentration, is effective, and it stands in contrast to certain recent trends in artistic production—inspired by the market craze for contemporary Chinese art in the past few years—characterized by the separation of the conception of work by the artist and its actual execution by hired help.
Li Dafang’s work is manual, persistent, time-consuming, and process-based. More importantly, the level-headedness of his working style gives form to a highly distinctive visual language that is impossible to replicate. He painstakingly applies each single stroke, line, and dot onto the canvas. Their accumulation creates precise and detailed depictions such as a tree, woods, a bush, and their surroundings. Sometimes the density of his strokes is such that it creates a blurred effect. The inexhaustible variation of his brush strokes, which cover the full spread of his canvases and leave no space untouched, contributes to the unique appeal of his paintings. One could almost say that Li’s paintings are full of paintings.
Li Dafang’s paintings are specifically regional. They are related to the geography of where the artist has come from. He was born and grew up in Liaoning Province, in northeast China, where the high altitude and long, harsh winters have created a rough and grey landscape. He lived in Beijing for the first time between 1993 and 1997, and for the second time in 2003. Since then, Beijing has become home. Li Dafang’s paintings breathe in the dry dust and cool climate of north China and absorb the geographical, social, and cultural temperament integral to this region. The realistic landscapes and imagery of his paintings are unmistakably northern: unkempt bushes and forests, cityscapes, roads, vistas of fields and open lands, the deep colour of the earth, the stocky appearance of buildings, and industrial leftovers. In Small Ogive (2009), the painting is placed atop a three-stepped, deep green stairway and depicts two lush, tall pine trees standing so closely together that they are merged into a symmetrical shape. Behind them, a field overgrown with grasses stretches towards a distant horizon with blurry images of trees. In the foreground, a man dressed in a blue outfit carries a boat on his back and stands among a group of blue buckets. It’s an indistinct scene with an uncanny scenario, yet, at the same time, everything looks so familiar. The sites and scenes in Li Dafang’s paintings tend to be removed from the urban side of the contemporary city, but they are sights familiar to those who travel frequently to the city’s forgotten corners, where it meets with rural areas, or to those who witness transitory moments of urban and economic development. They are often considered lesser places, safely residing between the real and the fictional in the space of Li’s paintings.
In the 1950s, Li Dafang’s hometown, Liaoning, was designated as a major centre of heavy industry by the government to produce the country’s first steel, machinery tools, locomotives, and airplanes following the founding of People’s Republic of China in 1949. The switch to a market economy in the late 1970s, however, drove most of the area’s large-scale, state-owned manufacturers to bankruptcy. As a result, many factories and workshops were abandoned and became dilapidated, stacked with sad, silent machinery: a sight well known to the artist, who was born in 1971, and a visual motif to which he would continue to return in later years. In fact, some of his paintings have an unambiguous industrial flavour. Clip (2009) is framed in three levels of green wood, which extends the perspective of the canvas and gives a certain degree of formality to a scene of dilapidated and hollow Soviet-style factory buildings. Dried yellow grass covers its front yard, where a tiny figure crouches with his or her back facing the viewer. Otherwise, the site appears to be undisturbed and gloomy. On the triptych canvases of Bai Xiao Guang (2009), the two concrete pillars that form the gateway to a compound of office buildings bear evidence of a shut-down business: engraved names of the company are missing many characters. A monstrous concrete structure has landed onto the road inside of the gate, yet the few individuals standing outside the entrance surrounding the mouth of a long tube seem to be distanced from and unaware of its presence.
Li Dafang is unwavering about what he paints and how he paints, and he is not apologetic about returning again and again to the same type of visual and material environments that, in the majority of his paintings, provide the many motifs he likes to repeat. The forest, for example, has become something of a signature that, for the artist himself, sets the stage for the rest of what goes onto a canvas. He also aimlessly drives around Beijing, mostly to the outskirts and wastelands, to deserted factories, sites of demolition, and roadside constructions, where real life unfolds quietly in the aftermath of drama or trauma. Houses have been pulled down, factories have been shut down, roadsides are deserted. There is no way to gauge the intensity of what has happened in these places and scenes, where a factory space of dishevelled and unmanned machinery, for example, offers the perverse attraction of being formally theatrical and attractive. He takes photographs of these places and recollects childhood memories, both of which contrive to leave marks on or find their ways into the content of his paintings. Li Dafang’s project Zhang Hongbo for Art Unlimited in Art Basel, 2009, took its title from the name of one of his childhood teachers. He painted the lower part of the walls in the project space in a retro light green and created an enormous panoramic painting of an open field freshly furrowed by tractor wheels. This painting was placed against the middle wall of the room on a rectangular base made of piles of thousands of sketch paper sheets splotched with ink and pencil drawings. An anonymous human figure, like those that are often present in his paintings, appears as a life-sized sculpture in this room, which itself evokes the image of an old-style school classroom. There was no other reference in the work to the real person of Zhang Hongbo other than its title. The ambiguity of everything in this site-specific installation continues to remind us of the absurdity of his paintings.
There is, at the same time, no guarantee of consistency in his representation. Li’s work is derived from and dependent on reality, on his experience and acute perception of it. However, as much as his paintings conform to the technical means of realism and are convincing as representations, the artist consistently plays with visual tricks that reveal his deliberate disregard for the authenticity and coherence of his plots: improbable props, abrupt sweeps of bright colours, nonexistent creatures, and inaccurate proportions that bring a misty and melancholy quality to the surface of his paintings as well as an overstated sense of isolation in time and place. They suggest an absurd reality, yet the artist fiercely reinvents the plots and their reappearances on canvas until the specificity of their references and emotions are drastically reduced.
From very early on, the artist revealed his grand ambition to carve out a space for drama and storytelling, the flat surface of his canvases are the equivalent of a theatrical stage. He recalls his childhood exposure to, and fixation on, theatre and literature. He paints human figures, depicts scenarios, creates tensions, invents dialogues and monologues for his characters, gives out clues, designs plots of suspense, and emulates the effect of the long exposures found in movie making. He is the scriptwriter of all the absurdities in his paintings; he has tight control over the narrative structure and won’t let it run on its own free will. Yet, the artist will hasten to add that the narratives in his paintings are not to be trusted. They simply make no sense, and it’s no use trying to piece a story together from what he chooses to paint in such meticulous detail. No one other than the artist can figure out the puzzles or bring any logic to his images.
However, the discrepancies between the depicted and the actual in Li Dafang’s paintings, although it’s often an impossible task to gauge the degree of absurdity between the two, is almost imperceptible and securely in the contained space of his canvases. It’s no surprise that Li Dafang is a fervent admirer of Alfred Hitchcock, whose strength lay in his ability to formulate suspense through the extension of time and the closing in of space in his story-telling. The simultaneous depiction of everyday situations and hints of potential danger, which Hitchcock even spelled out by writing such lines as “Watch your back, there’s someone there” on the posters for his movies, as well as the obliviousness of his protagonists to their immediate jeopardy, played masterfully on the fear that exists deep within our subconscious minds.
But Li Dafang’s paintings are far away from playing exclusively on instinct. The artist is confidently in charge of bringing together various possible elements of theatricality despite their obvious incompatibility with each other. His recent addition of wooden stairways and ladder-shaped podiums to support the canvases, or enlarged and elaborate wooden frames, defies easy classification or interpretation. It’s another Hitchcock-esque strategy. Images of staircases often play a central role or are featured prominently in Hitchcock’s films; his stylistic interest in staircases can be attributed to the influence of German Expressionism which often featured heavily stylized and menacing staircases. Yet the staircases in Li Dafang’s painting installations are more stylistic than symbolic. They are bulky, artificial, and conspicuous, lending a solemn and monumental quality to Li’s canvases, yet they bear no responsibility in conveying meaning. As the artist points out, they are, instead, an embodiment of his attempt to understand and exercise perception about what is painting and what is art:
Works with staircases have appeared in my work since 2007; I want to try and explain [them]. Initially, I wanted to explore a playful possibility for painting. The world inside of my work is an independent world. The environments surrounding it change; our world changes also. Combined with stairways, [my paintings] have the possibility to be viewed and appreciated. This conforms to my perception of art. Especially during the past two years, I am looking for a presumption of art, which is specificity. To place sensible or insensible objects next to each other serves a certain special purpose that is tangible [tangible in intellectual terms]. It is also related to my understanding of painting. For me, painting is a word, a memory. My thoughts and actions, or a certain purpose born out of it, or a certain reason are what I consider in painting. This assembly of things could appear to be rather absurd at times. 1
These statements deflate any temptations for one to read too many sociological, philosophical, or psychological connotations into Li Dafang’s paintings. Li Dafang’s paintings have departed from the new generation of figurative painters such as Liu Xiaodong and filmmakers such as Jia Zhangke, who have emerged in the spotlight since the mid-1990s. At that time, there was a collective return of the artistic community to everyday life, which was extremely dramatic and dynamic in itself. What the artists had to do was to extract samples from this social reality and then represent them without, in my opinion, having to demonstrate any critical or analytical position. But the temptation and need to truthfully document and expose a fast-moving and powerful reality is less urgent today, as exemplified by artists such as Li Dafang. For Li, what connects his art to his own being is less the subject matter his paintings depict or its relationship to society than the possibility of experiencing and reflecting through the act of painting on what painting means to him on an individual level:
I suppose that art is described as having a certain purpose, something small, something specific, that art is practical from an individual point of view yet useless for others or of not much use, or that art exists in an incomprehensible form. I think this is the position that art deserves. It is around but there shouldn’t be too high an expectation of it. The higher the expectation, the more ambiguous it becomes. It should have such specific value as that of ‘cabbage’ or ‘thieves’. 2
Li Dafang strongly advocates the withdrawal of any expectation that art should have a function. The attempt to resist such expectations is exemplified in Painting is an Aversion to All that Glitters, the subtitle of his 2009 solo exhibition at Urs Meile, MAKE WAY! MAKE WAY!
Li Dafang presented in that exhibition a series of seven works completed in 2009 that were created through an expression of attitude rather than a theme. There is no radical stylistic rupture or conceptual transition from his paintings of the last few years, but more of a continuation. His detailed brushwork is unmistakably Li Dafang, the foggy quality is enduringly present, the trees cannot be mistaken, and the senseless scenarios are still perplexing. One might even suggest that this latest series of paintings isn’t necessarily a step forward from his previous works in terms of their technical or aesthetic proficiency. And Li might just agree with not applying the logic of evolution or progression to art.
It’s true to the intention of the artist to simply describe his paintings as they are rather than trying to analyze and interpret them. But I question the necessity even of my own descriptions at this point of writing. It excites no one to simply repeat what is clearly evident. Beyond description, I can’t tell you what each of his paintings actually means, or offer any plausible plots to connect them, and each viewer will bring their own meaning to them. What I propose, instead, is that at the end of working on these paintings, Li Dafang has reached a deeper understanding of his own expectation of painting and the specific value painting could have for him. The definition and historical understanding of painting as an art medium have experienced many turns, overthrows, limits, and transcendences in the context of art history. But the transformation of Li’s own understanding of painting has its own course and process. I suggest that Li Dafang’s paintings function as his own personal tool for understanding painting and contemporary art—a kind of self-discovery. In the context of this aim, Li Dafang’s paintings have served the very specific purpose the artist has wished they would.
The obstruction for contemporary art is that people have too high an expectation. Talk of ‘innovation,’ ‘progression,’ and ‘overthrow’ are too highbrow. The same situation is taking place in every field. Innovation is generally considered as the right direction. Thus individuality often becomes laziness or casualness. I want to take the wrong turn, to support ‘regression.’ It’s easier to be bad than to be good. We can’t give so much weight to art but we have to carry it along still. So let’s press on in an ordinary way. 3
Art itself, or the means of representation in art, is not so much the subject of scrutiny as in modernism, but more about how the artist discovers and establishes a certain relationship with, and perception of, art in his or her own practice. The technical experiments and conceptual reinventions of the medium of painting itself can barely raise any excitement. It’s an immense relief that today’s artists can finally abandon the ambition to create something new. In the context of art history, there is no idea that has not been contested, no theory that has not been challenged; every stone has been turned over.
It is a vain attempt to allocate Li Dafang’s practice, or that of any artists active today, into any category of contemporary art or any position within the chronology of the existing art history. After all, how can we possibly categorize contemporary art today? By its medium? By its subject matter? By its concept? None of these make sense. We have long since arrived at the end of the narrative of art history and have exhausted the possibility of contextualizing an artist’s work within the historical narrative of art. What Li Dafang’s practice does offer, together with that of his peers and colleagues all over the world, are rich, specific case studies. They do not exist as isolated cases, but they are certainly independent and specific to each of their own contexts. They shed light on how the artist strives to develop and formulate his or her own way of working and deepen an understanding of what he or she does as time moves forward. They raise new concerns and challenges in terms of curatorial and critical practices, and, in light of this, it’s perhaps as important to present and discuss the contexts of the work of the artist as it is to discuss single or particular pieces of artwork. It is therefore as important to look at each individual piece of work by Li Dafang as it is to understand the complexities of his opinion about painting and the rationalities that form the very context of his practice.
【編輯：霍春常】
