arts & culture

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Arts & cultureBEIJING HAS LONG BEEN CHINA’S CULTURAL WELLSPRING. THE COUNTRY’Smost innovative minds, in the past drawn by government positions and serious patron-age, and in modern times by top universities and a thriving intellectual community, haveconferred a pedigree upon the capital that Beijingers are anxious to uphold. Not thatthey need worry: The city is currently the nexus of the hottest art scene in Asia, and star-tling quantities of money and international recognition continue to pour in. But whilemost artists—from writers and actors to painters and musicians—agree that Beijing is theplace to be, no one is really sure of the direction that Chinese art is going to take. WillBeijing’s artists successfully recast their rich cultural tradition to depict the mix of angstand excitement that many feel in the face of an increasingly global future?

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LITERATUREWriting (wen) lies at the heart of Chineseculture (wenhua, change brought about bywriting) and civilization (wenming, thebrightness of writing). The source of learn-ing and knowledge, writing––and by exten-sion, literature––was what positioned theMiddle Kingdom at the center of the worldand elevated it a step above its neighbors.

Although Confucius himself was nopoet, his emphasis on education and his leg-endary status as the compiler of The Book ofSongs (ca 600 B.C.), China’s first anthologyof poetry, undoubtedly paved the way for

the enormous influence of literature onChinese society. Formal poetry was the styleof choice for over a millennium, and oncethe bureaucratic examination system wasintroduced in the seventh century, compos-ing verse became an essential component insecuring a government position.

In terms of artistic achievement, poetrylost its edge to drama during the 13th century, and drama was in turn succeededby fiction in the 14th century. Nevertheless,

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Artist Zhang Xiaogang and his “BigFamily” series


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despite this rich tradition, up until a centuryago, literature in China had one major draw-back—it was written in classical Chinese andthus could only be read by a relatively selectfew. This changed with the reform-mindedMay Fourth Movement (1919). A handful ofwriters—notably Lu Xun, Mao Dun, GuoMoruo, and Bing Xin—set out to make lit-erature vastly more accessible by writing inbaihua, or common speech.

Widely regarded as the founder of con-temporary Chinese literature, Lu Xun(1881–1936) wrote fiction, essays, and criti-cism, in addition to translating French andRussian literature. Born in southeasternChina, he was awarded a government schol-arship to study medicine in Japan. However,while still in school he came to the conclu-sion that medicine was of little use—it wasonly capable of treating individuals andcould not cure the pervasive spiritualmalaise and apathy that, he believed, afflict-ed most of his countrymen. He abruptlyswitched his focus to literature, seeing writ-ing as the most effective means to raise pub-lic consciousness and instigate change. Aftertaking up a teaching position in Beijing, he

published his first short story, the satire “AMadman’s Diary,” in 1918. A number ofother stories followed, including “Kong Yiji”and “The True Story of Ah Q,” all of whichwere finally published in the seminal collec-tion Call to Arms (1922). Although much ofhis writing is harshly critical of Chinesesociety, he nevertheless evokes a certain ten-derness in the portrayal of his characters,and he remains one of the most influentialcultural figures of the 20th century.

The writer with the deepest attachmentto Beijing is Lao She (1899–1966), anotherMay Fourth writer. Of Manchurian descent,Lao She grew up penniless in Beijing andworked his way through school, while sup-porting his mother, before moving toLondon for several years to work at theSchool of Oriental and African Studies.After returning to China, he published hisfirst and most famous novel, Rickshaw Boy(1936), which describes the life of a peasantwho comes to Beijing to work as a rickshawdriver, tracing a tragic arc of physicalexhaustion and poverty that culminates in a solitary death. Lao She is also famous forthe play Teahouse (1957), which follows theevents in a Beijing teahouse over a 50-yearperiod. He was heavily criticized during theCultural Revolution, and he eventually died,perhaps by suicide.

Communist rule understandably did lit-tle to encourage individual creativity, anduntil the 1980s there was little real literaryoutput. One of the first voices to break thesilence was Wang Meng, a Beijing nativeborn in 1934. Like many writers of his gen-eration, Wang wrote stories, such as “TheButterfly” (1983), that deal with the lives ofthose who were reeducated by the party andsent to work on communal farms. (Wanghimself was sent to the northwesternprovince of Xinjiang for seven years.) Heserved briefly as the minister of culturebefore resigning after the TiananmenSquare protests in 1989. He was nominatedfor the Nobel Prize for literature in 2003.

Zhang Jie paved the way for femaleauthors with her novels Love Must Not BeForgotten (1979) and Leaden Wings (1980),which challenged social mores and the tra-ditional roles of women within marriage.

H I S T O R Y & C U L T U R E

A bust of the writer Lu Xun stands outsidethe Lu Xun Museum.


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Despite a mere 25-year gap, Zhang’s ideal-ism and quiet provocation seem to be cen-turies removed from today’s sensationalistvoices of Chun Sue, who vividly describesthe rock-and-roll lifestyle of Beijing’s youthculture in Beijing Doll (2004), and Annie

Wang, who mixes sex with gender politics inThe People’s Republic of Desire (2006).

Sex and drugs notwithstanding, Beijing’smost famous contemporary author remainsWang Shuo, a prolific novelist who tacklesurban slackers, political satire, and the mur-der-mystery genre all at once. Only two ofhis many books have been translated intoEnglish: Playing for Thrills (1998) and PleaseDon’t Call Me Human (2000).

Although the capital is home to mostmajor book publishers, one of the mainobstacles for Chinese authors remains cen-sorship. Consequently, many writers areonly able to publish complete editions oftheir works in Taiwan. More recently, therise of the Internet and blogging has given

the younger generation an outlet for pub-lishing their own thoughts and stories.

Other major writers who previouslystudied or lived in Beijing include Su Tong(Raise the Red Lantern, Rice) and the “spiri-tually polluted” (i.e., dissident) voices of

Gao Xingjian (Soul Mountain) and Ma Jian(Red Dust, The Noodle Maker). Gao, a resi-dent of France since 1987, won the NobelPrize for literature in 2000. His work hasbeen banned in China since 1989.

CALLIGRAPHY & INK PAINTINGIt should come as no surprise that inChina’s literary culture, calligraphy—thepractice of instilling writing with beauty—stands at the root of the country’s visualarts. Calligraphy has given a particularlyunique character to Chinese aesthetics: theart of the line.

It is the dual nature of Chinese charac-ters, which are both conceptual (as a word)and visual (as a stylized image), that lends

The titles of the many poems, books, and essays of Lu Xun (1881–1936)––written incalligraphy––adorn a wall of the Lu Xun Museum.


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calligraphy its particular form of expression.The leap from simply writing a character asa word to wanting to endow it with aesthet-ic qualities seems only natural. Yet this leapwasn’t instantaneous—Chinese writingdates back to at least the Shang dynasty(1600–1045 B.C.), but it wasn’t until theSpring and Autumn period (770–476 B.C.)that calligraphy began its long evolution asan art form. Despite the various styles thathave developed over the centuries, the mainemphasis has remained consistently on thebrush strokes that make up each character.These lines are what convey personal feel-ing. As Lu Fengzi wrote in A Study ofChinese Calligraphy: “Lines that expresshappiness are continuous and flowing, with

no pauses or breaks, and no sharp turnings.Lines that express unpleasant feelings usual-ly have stops in them, suggesting difficultyor impediment. When there are too manystops, it is a sign of grief and anxiety.”

The most common form of art in China,calligraphy appears everywhere: aboveentrances to temples, adorning the door-ways and walls of homes and restaurants, asdecoration on teapots and paintings, andinscribed on stone steles at important mon-uments. In Beijing, it’s not unusual to comeacross men practicing water calligraphy onthe ground in public places.

There are five main calligraphic styles,each developed during a different era: sealscript (Zhuan Shu), clerical script (Li Shu),


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semicursive script (Xing Shu), cursive script(Cao Shu), and standard script (Kai Shu).The “chops” or seals dipped in red ink andused as personal signatures are traditionallyin the seal script, the oldest and most com-plex form of Chinese characters.

Traditional paintingTraditional painting, which uses the samemedia—brush, ink, and paper or silk—isinseparable from both poetry and calligra-phy. Artists trained in calligraphy from anearly age, and this training provided thebasis for many of the brush techniques theydeveloped. There are deep connectionsbetween the three arts—paintings generallycontain at least one line of poetry written by

the owner, artist, or master calligrapher—but painting conveys a different realm ofconcepts and emotions.

One of the fundamental artistic princi-ples of ink painting is qi. In most contexts,qi is translated as “energy.” In painting,however, qi has a more figurative meaning.It is the inner spirit or underlying essence ofwhatever is depicted, animate and inani-mate objects alike. Chinese artists weren’tnearly as concerned with capturing theexact likeness of something as they werewith expressing its qi or underlying reality.

Early artists painted aristocratic portraitsand religious parables or figures; the mostunique style of Chinese painting, landscapepainting, developed later. This genre, whichshifted the focus of visual art from humanactivities to the natural world, began in thefifth century and gained importance withthe works of the eighth-century poet andintellectual Wang Wei (699–761). Heavilyinfluenced by the philosophies of Taoismand Chan (Zen) Buddhism, landscapepainting reached full maturity during the Song and Yuan dynasties. The mostsophisticated works portrayed visual repre-sentations of the tao, or underlying force of the universe.

One of the unique characteristics oflandscape painting is its temporal dimen-sion. Such paintings weren’t meant simplyto be viewed; they were intended to be expe-rienced. Mounted on scrolls, landscapepaintings were often unrolled from right toleft, which added an element of time: sea-sons changed, rivers flowed, voyages weremade. Ideally, landscape painting was a spir-itual experience that used the imaginationto convey otherwise inexpressible ideas.

Sadly, many of China’s priceless artisticmasterpieces were looted by foreign powersin the early 20th century, shipped to Taiwanby nationalist forces a few decades later, ordestroyed during the Cultural Revolution ofthe 1960s and 1970s. Today the best place tosee traditional Chinese artworks in Beijingis the Capital Museum.

Using water, an artist expresses histhoughts in Beihai Park––“Dragon dancing, Phoenix Flying.”


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BEIJING OPERANo other art form so clearly marks the dif-ferences between Chinese and Western cul-tural tastes than opera. Other traditionalarts might be just as abstruse, but even the

untrained eye and ear can pick up on ele-ments of pure aesthetic beauty. A Beijingopera, on the other hand, transports viewersinto a world that is utterly foreign. In a way,this is one of the best means of visiting an


The audience is treated to a stunning acrobatic performance at the Lao She Teahouse.



ancient China that has otherwise disap-peared. The elaborate costumes, expressivemakeup, shrill falsetto, and whirling acro-batics come together to form the country’smost sophisticated and popular form ofentertainment.

The exact origins of Chinese opera––aconvergence of folk tales with traditionalmusic and dance––are debatable, but mostscholars agree that by the Yuan dynasty ithad become a recognized art form.Traveling opera troupes staged perfor-mances in outdoor settings such as tea-houses, markets, and temple complexes,which is generally thought to account forthe piercing style of music––a naturalmeans of amplification.

As dynasties rose and fell, hundreds oflocal opera variations slowly spreadthroughout the empire; Beijing opera isactually a relative newcomer to the stage. In1790, several troupes from southeasternChina performed for the court of EmperorQianlong. A tremendous success, the actors(men only) stayed on and over time devel-oped Beijing opera, which became the mostpopular form of opera in the country.

Known as jingxi, or opera of the capital,in Chinese, Beijing opera incorporates ele-ments of Chinese opera from the Anhui andHubei Provinces and is sung in Mandarin.Since stage props are kept simple, mostactions in Chinese opera are suggestive andrely on the audience’s imagination. Openinga door and holding a battle are easy enoughto grasp, but other actions, such as going ona journey (indicated by walking in a circle)will take more guesswork. Likewise, emo-tions and character traits are also depictedthrough symbolic gestures and makeup. Ared face stands for loyalty and bravery, whilea white face indicates cunning; a sleeveraised in front of an actor’s mouth meansembarrassment, while trembling handsindicates anger. These stylized gestures areconsidered to be a focal point, and the abili-ty to execute them with grace is how per-formers are generally judged.

Though it’s virtually impossible for for-eigners to follow the plot (common themesare mythical stories, battles, and love storiesdriven by ethical conflicts), it is at least pos-

sible to keep track of the characters. Thefour main roles in Chinese operas are themale (Sheng), the female (Dan), the “paint-ed face” (Jing, usually a god or warrior), andthe clown (Chou). Colors also distinguishthe characters: The imperial family appearsin yellow, high-ranking officials in purple,virtuous characters in red, servants and stu-dents in blue, and common folk in black.

Musicians are another integral part ofthe performance. Operas use a standard

(and comparatively small) repertoire ofinstruments. Melodies are played on thehuqin or erhu, two-stringed violins, andaccompanied by the ruan or yueqin (aplucked four-string lute). The person whoplays the ban (a wood block or clapper)directs the orchestra and gives the actorstheir cues. The 1993 film Farewell MyConcubine by Chen Kaige offers an intrigu-ing behind-the-scenes look at Beijing opera.

MUSICMusic is a particularly popular form ofentertainment and expression in Beijing.The disenfranchised youth have ralliedaround hard rock and punk groups since

A female opera performer receives the final touches to her makeup before a show at the Lao She Teahouse.


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the 1980s, setting themselves apart from thesappy pop stars of Hong Kong and Taiwan.At the other end of the spectrum, China’smost brilliant musicians are pursuing classi-cal Western music with unanticipatedenthusiasm and talent at the CentralConservatory of Music. Chinese virtuososhave already begun dazzling the West, andsome believe that the future of classicalmusic will, to a certain extent, be deter-mined by Chinese talent.

In the wake of all this development, tra-ditional folk and classical music have unfor-tunately lost a great deal of their popularityin Beijing. Two of the best places to hearclassical music concerts include the Lao SheTeahouse and the Sanwei Bookstore. Thereis an enormous variety of Chinese instru-ments; the most common include: the guqinand guzheng (zithers), erhu and huqin (two-stringed violins), pipa (lute), yangqin (ham-mer dulcimer), and dizi and sheng (flutes).Northern Chinese processions (typical ofweddings and funerals) feature the suona, atype of high-pitched clarinet—you’ll knowit when you hear it.

CINEMAFollowing its establishment in 1949, theBeijing Film Studio (Beijing Dianying Zhi-pianchang) was immediately made into theproduction center for government propa-ganda, fulfilling the vision of Mao Zedongand other CCP leaders of creating art thatglorified the masses. Its counterparts, theBeijing Film Academy (Beijing DianyingXueyuan) and Central Drama Academy(Zhongyang Xiju Xueyuan), were bothfounded in 1950 and served as the trainingground for waves of proletarian heroes andcapitalist villains. And such was cinema inChina for a good three decades. Followingthe relative loosening of censorship in the1980s, the unique and lavish imagery ofChinese cinema suddenly began to makeheadlines at international festivals. The “fifthgeneration” directors—the first crop of stu-dents to graduate from the Beijing FilmAcademy following the Cultural Revolution—led the charge. Directors Zhang Yimou(Red Sorghum, Ju Dou, Raise the RedLantern, To Live), Chen Kaige (Yellow Earth,

Farewell My Concubine, Temptress Moon),and Tian Zhuangzhuang (The Horse Thief,The Blue Kite, Springtime in a Small Town),along with the iconic actress Gong Li (agraduate of the Central Drama Academy),have produced some of China’s most widelyacclaimed movies. Many of these earlierfilms, due to their controversial nature, wereproduced in Xi’an in lieu of the more con-servative Beijing Film Studio.

As both Zhang and Chen graduallymoved away from politically provocativethemes toward more commercial ventures(Hero, House of Flying Daggers, and ThePromise), a new group of independentlyminded graduates from the Beijing FilmAcademy and the Central Drama Academy—the sixth generation—sprung up in theirstead. The films of Wang Xiaoshuai (BeijingBicycle), Zhang Yuan (East Palace WestPalace), and Jia Zhangke (Xiao Wu, StillLife) are generally low budget and offer anunglamorous yet compelling vision of life incontemporary China.

Aside from being the location of China’stop two film schools, Beijing is also fre-quently used as a setting for many movies,both local and foreign. Shower (1999), byZhang Yang, is a touching drama revolvingaround a strained father-son relationshipthat captures the tension between traditionand modernity that tugs at the hearts ofmany in Beijing. Beijing Bicycle (2001) alsoportrays a type of social tension common toBeijing, that of the migrant and the local, inits story (a nod to The Bicycle Thief) of twoteenagers who both lay claim to the samestolen bicycle. Foreign films shot on loca-tion include Bernardo Bertolucci’s The LastEmperor (1987), the first Western produc-tion filmed in the Forbidden City. Morerecently, foreign directors have also startedshooting pictures at the Beijing Film Studio,including Ang Lee (Crouching Tiger, HiddenDragon) and Quentin Tarantino (Kill Bill).

CONTEMPORARY ARTToday Beijing’s art scene bubbles over withcreative fervor and excitement. In the blinkof an eye, Chinese artists have begun fetch-ing six-figure sums for their work, and moreand more collectors are traveling to China




Award-winning actress Gong Li (above) has starred in some of China’s most famous movies.Stunning images shimmer across the screen in House of Flying Daggers (below), ZhangYimou’s beautifully filmed martial arts romance of 2004.


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specifically to invest in contemporary art.While some critics have likened the situa-tion to an economic bubble driven by spec-ulation, others claim that the contemporaryart market is only in its nascent stages—local Chinese collectors have just begun totake interest, and their presence is sure toincrease in the coming decades.

Of course, economic success is hardlyindicative of artistic merit—it’s only onefactor among many that have helped fuelthe community’s growth. The city’s artisticmovement has been in the making sinceChairman Mao’s death, slowly growingfrom a handful of subversive figures to thetrendy galleries and exhibition spaces scat-tered around the capital today. Even if therewasn’t such a sudden demand for Chinese

art, the massive social upheavals of 21st-century Beijing have given artists plenty ofmaterial to work with. The constantly loom-ing threat of political repression and theexcitement of working with media previ-ously unknown in China—video installa-tions, abstract oil painting, performancepieces—have given Beijing the edge and creativity to propel the city to the forefrontof modern art in East Asia.

When it all began back in the 1980s, lifeas an artist was a precarious existence. Someof the luckier figures, such as Ai Weiwei(who founded the influential avant-gardegroup The Stars in 1979), managed to moveabroad and work in freedom. In 1989,Beijing’s first exhibition of Chinese contem-porary art was immediately shut down after




two artists fired guns at their works. Thestudent protests at Tiananmen Square fol-lowed later that year, and the Chinese artworld took a decisive turn, ushering in themovement known as cynical realism. Two ofthe most prominent names in Chinese art,Fang Lijun and Yue Minjun, developed theirstyles during this time. Cynical realism wassucceeded by pop art, a response to growingconsumerism and Western influence onChinese culture and industry.

Independent galleriesThe international community began payingattention in the 1990s, though intense polit-ical control remained the norm and exhibi-tions were often underground events. Itwasn’t until the turn of the millennium that

things really exploded in Beijing. Perhapssensing that art had an economic value,authorities eased up on restrictions, andsuddenly independent galleries, both for-eign- and locally owned, were everywhere.

For now, these independent galleriesremain the best places to experienceBeijing’s unique energy. The 798 Art District(Dashanzi), founded in 2001, is a renovatedindustrial zone that has flourished as a sub-culture in its own right, with cafés, bars,bookshops, and more than a hundred artgalleries. Although the 798 Art District orig-inally served as a live-work space for artists,high rents have forced most of the artists toseek new studios. Some of the top gallerieshere include White Space Beijing, Red GateGallery, and the 798 Art Space, an enor-mous warehouse.

Caochangdi Village, founded by AiWeiwei in 2000, is a 30-minute ride fromcentral Beijing and, perhaps because of thisremoteness, draws more of a cutting-edgecrowd. In addition to the artist’s owngallery, The China Art Archives andWarehouse, the enclave is home to the cura-tor Pi Li’s gallery, Universal Studios Beijing(no relation to the one in California), the F2Gallery, and Shanghai’s ShanghArt.

Established artists who have become bignames in international circles include: FangLijun, who depicts disillusionment andangst among China’s youth; ZhangXiaogang, who paints surrealist, family-styleportraits; Wu Guanzhong, who mixes tradi-tional styles with European impressionism;Liu Xiaodong, a haunting figurative painterwho also collaborates with the independentfilm movement; Liu Wei, who works pri-marily with installations, sculpture, andpainting; Zhang Peili, a video installationartist; Zhu Wei, who marries modernismwith traditional ink paintings; and HuangRui, an abstract painter.

The high points of the year take place in May during the 798 International ArtFestival, and October, the month of boththe China International Gallery Expositionand the Beijing Biennale (2009). ■

A woman examines a piece of sculpture at the 798 Art Space in Dashanzi.


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