In November 1999, on the eve of the new millennium, I took a dozen Chinese contemporary artists and other creative people to London to participate in an exhibition, titled, Revolutionary Capitals: Beijing in London, which was staged at the ICA (Institute of Contemporary Arts). The week-long event comprised a programme of music, dance, film, and performances, launched around the nucleus of an art exhibition that was largely focused on new media and installation art. In its six-day run, Revolutionary Capitals drew almost seven thousand visitors, and yet received minimal press coverage, even in art publications. Of the handful of features that were published in the mainstream press, the general drift was marred by an undertone of cynical scepticism. Or, by an exclusive focus on the ambiguous sexuality of the dancer, Jin Xing, who was performing self-choreographed pieces (Jin is one of the first public figures in China to undergo a sex change). Either way, the words ‘China’ and ‘Contemporary Creative Practices” were never permitted to share common ground in the same sentence.

Fang Lijun. Series 2 No. 2. Oil on Canvas. 1991-2.
IMAGE COURTESY THE ARTIST

Most people who saw Revolutionary Capitals were unaware that this was the second major showing of new Chinese art in the U.K. The first was Silent Energy, curated by David Elliott, which was presented at the Museum of Modern Art in Oxford in 1993. In retrospect, Silent Energy was well ahead of its time: too far ahead, one might say, for “Silent” also described the reception it received from both the general public and the international art world. In 1993, ‘China’ and ‘Contemporary Art Practices’ were, in the Western mind, very separate coins, for which there were no known rates of exchange. A mere six years later, Revolutionary Capitals was a very different event. The art works it presented appeared to be from another era entirely. Reflective of the Chinese present, the art and its creators were no longer silent. The show was loud and proud to be so – it had new energy and it rarely paused for breath. Between 1993 and 1999 – between Silent Energy and Revolutionary Capitals – the trends and concerns that dominated artistic practices in China had changed. ‘Society’ had overtaken ‘Art’ – this was a measure of how the socio-economic and political climate in China had evolved, impacting lifestyles, mindsets, philosophies, and experiences, along the way. It was not a question of one generation of artists being more experimental than the other (although the younger generation made allowances for a margin of error that the older artists had not learned to tolerate). Rather, it gestured towards the sense of confidence and liberation that the younger artists possessed. So, although the maturity of the eight participating artists in Silent Energy was never in dispute², it was clear from even a cursory glance at the work in Revolutionary Capitals that this emerging generation had taken their predecessors’ trends and concerns, deconstructed and reinvented them. As a result, their artworks had a greater range, reflecting an increased awareness about international art practices as well as reflecting the broader context of contemporary China – where politics and ideology were just one part, and not the core, around which national life revolved.

The early 1990s had afforded China’s artists of all generations little in the way of exhibition opportunities in China. This explains the use of “Silent”, in the title of Silent Energy, to describe their creative energies. And since at least half the participating artists in the 1993 show resided abroad, the word also aptly referenced the silence that enshrouded them before they developed fluency in the vernaculars of their adopted countries.

Wang Guanyi. The Great Criticisms Series: 107 cms x 79 cms.
10 pieces. Artist's Proof. Lithographs. IMAGE COURTESY CHRISTIE"S

Beginning in the mid-1990s, this void started to fill in dynamic and thrilling ways, especially in major cities across China, which saw a groundbreaking series of large-scale artist-organised events. One can point to a resurgence of artist-organised events beginning as early as 1991³, such as the conceptual exhibition, titled, Garage⁴, held in Shanghai. The younger artists – most of them in Revolutionary Capitals – decided to adopt a ‘self-help’ approach, because by 1995, they had abandoned any hope of official support. Nor did they feel the need for it. Taking a cue from Young British Artists-style independent initiatives in alternative spaces, they began to identify and seize opportunities that rose out of the transformations around them. Artists were able to use China’s economic progress to secure some funding – by appealing to the egos of the nouveau riche for support – and find temporary exhibition arenas. They even caught the attention of the local media, which, as China prepared to join the World Trade Organisation⁵ (WTO), was becoming increasingly interested in contemporary art – even though it would take a good deal longer to encourage it.

In many ways, the final years of the 1990s remain the most dynamic period of creativity and innovation that new art in China has seen so far. There was still no market to speak of, and little by way of broad public interest, either commercial or cultural, which meant no external force exerted any sphere of influence. There were also no galleries, no 798 Art Factory (in Dashanzi Art District, 798 is now home to a vibrant art community in North East Beijing), and no private or active public museums6. This meant that artists had to find inventive ways to show their work. Whilst in some cases, artists found it hard to determine a way of directing their ambitions, the cohesiveness of the art community functioned as a fundamental support network. This was also partly why the 1990s, and the latter part of the decade in particular, was such a dynamic period: some artists posited ideas and theories that other artists consistently put to the test. This also resulted in a positive, if intense, degree of competitiveness between rival factions and individuals. There was a lot at stake in the ‘game’ that pitted Chinese artists against an international audience that had yet to acquire a broad interest in China (as could be seen in its apathy towards Silent Energy, for example). In the Western world, Cold War attitudes did not dissolve as fast as expected. In spite of this, within China, Silent Energy marked the beginning of a trend. In the following years, the main focal points for the Chinese contemporary art world would be international exhibitions, like the Venice Biennale and Documenta⁷, and curated surveys of Chinese contemporary art that were taking place abroad8. Last, but not the least, artists attached enormous importance to being included in the small, but significant, number of artist-organised shows within China.