與談人，編輯: 李雨潔

文稿整理: 陳聆

Read the English version here.

1993年的海外展覽—把給藝術的材料費放到銀行裡

李雨潔: 1988年的時候你就曾經有作品在漢堡展覽，這個是怎麼發生的？

吳山專: 我是1986年從浙江美院畢業的，畢業我就回到我的小島——舟山群島普陀山那裡。我們學校1984年以後一直有一個對外的交流項目，主要的還是跟美國明尼蘇達的，那偶然地也跟歐洲合作。1987年的時候，他們請到了一個德國的資本主義現實主義的人物K.P. Brehmer，他來學校給我們學生講西方藝術史。當時范小梅老師做接待，他打電話來舟山，說，這裡有個漢堡美術學院的，他對你東西感興趣，然後我就帶了一疊幻燈片，從舟山到杭州，見到K.P. Brehmer，他說他可以做一個展覽，這個後來實踐了。

李雨潔: 所以你本人沒去佈展？

吳山專: 沒有。展覽在漢堡紅燈區的Galerie Vorsetzen，這個時候K.P. Brehmer已經是這個畫廊的持股人，所以他才有一定的決定權，做一些中國當時的藝術。另外那時候中德也常有一些交流，在一個政治的平台上， 畫廊也會做一些關於中國的展覽，那麼我就變成了《 3 x China…》的其中一個參展藝術家。

李雨潔: 你參展的作品是什麼呢？

吳山專: 我不知道作品是怎樣呈現的，他看了一疊幻燈片，然後抽出五六張帶回德國去了。如果做一個展覽的話，我想，我的作品應該是以印出來的方式呈現。

李雨潔: 你93年參加了好多展覽，那包括了那些最大的在香港的《後89中國新藝術》，柏林的《中國前衛》，還有在俄亥俄大學Wexner Center的展覽，這些是比較大的群展。

吳山專: 對，這個時候中國當代藝術好像很熱門，每個人都做一點，丹麥做了一點嘛那麼英國也要做一點，德國也要做一點，整個歐洲的一些國家都要做一點，然後Wexner Center也要做一點嘛。但是都不是主流的博物館做的，蠻有意思的。

李雨潔: 你參加了這麼多在那一年的展覽， 都在不同的地方，作為一個當時所謂中國前衛藝術家的代表，你覺得每個機構說故事的方法有什麼不一樣？

吳山專: 他們最主要的一個態度：A Package。那麼其實藝術家也知道我們只是一整組其中的一個，是一個集合。他們說故事的方式其實完全一樣。造成參展人數不同的原因有很多，一個可能是資金問題，一個可能當時簽證也很難拿到。

李雨潔: 你本人去了哪裡佈展？

吳山專: 去了威尼斯，丹麥，荷蘭，美國。

李雨潔: 你第一次去威尼斯雙年展的感覺是什麼？

吳山專: 在第一屆的威尼斯可能作為組合中的一份子的感覺還少一點，我參加的是開放展 Aperto。93年威尼斯雙年展有兩個項目展出了中國藝術家的作品，一個Oliva (Achille Bonito Oliva) 組織的《東方之路》( Passaggio ad Oriente)，另一個是《開放展》 (Aperto) 。開放展的那個策展團隊當中有孔長安，已經開始由他者來呈現，其實很了不起了，開放展大概有十個小的策展人， Oliva跟大家一起選。孔長安可以推薦三個，之後Oliva定，華人選了我，王友身，還有台灣來的李銘盛。

李雨潔: 你們三個是孔長安提進去的?

吳山專: 對，所以說跟東方之路是兩回事。Oliva還是有一點NGO的這種態度，這種包容力蠻不錯的。我的作品是《把給藝術的材料費放到銀行裡面》。當時運輸單位來拿作品，他說，我們到漢堡來取一件作品，名字叫做《把藝術的材料費放到銀行》，他以為是一個實體作品。其實那個作品是把威尼斯雙年展給我的錢放到銀行裡。

李雨潔: 他們真的去取了？

吳山專: 運輸公司是跟主委會是沒關係的嘛，運輸公司只是收到通知，漢堡有一件作品是《把給藝術的錢放到銀行》，但其實它是呈現藝術家跟社會的關係。就是說我在一個地方收到邀請，說是給我作藝術，給我材料費，結果我把材料費放到銀行裡，然後砸爛這個銀行的收據。那當然在93年來說的話，這個作品是非常傑出的，作者本人完全脫離了責任，同時這個行為又非常徹底。好比杜象也一直在逃離一種責任。我後來聽說，大概前前一屆的Documenta吧，有一個人做了一模一樣的作品：《把給藝術的錢放在銀行》，好幾個人告訴我這件事。我當年做的其實是三個方案中最後實行的一件，第一個是把展覽的空間租掉，第二件是把給藝術的材料費放到銀行裡， 第三件是就地打工以生存。所以說，從這三個方案，你就看到一個藝術家的生存問題多重要，這個藉口多麼地強大，以至於可以成為藝術品。 今天看來我還是很高興的，在93年的時候做成了這個三個方案。

李雨潔: 你怎麼呈現它們？

吳山專: 《把給藝術的材料費放到銀行》就是object at large，就是我們不知道這筆錢在哪裡。另一件是那個把展覽空間租掉做其他用途，也就是說作者對這個空間沒有責任了，同時也呈現藝術家的生存問題。後來1993年在荷蘭鹿特丹的時候，這件事做成了，在威尼斯我沒有做成。

李雨潔: 在威尼斯只有做成銀行的那一件？

吳山專: 對，那件也只有一百美元。那麼當時還做預算，考慮到多少錢算是一件裝置的錢，提的是六千美金，就是合理的一件裝置藝術的材料費，給Wexner Center提方案的時候，我也是這個數。 對Wexner Center也是提把錢放到銀行做的方案，《Missing Bamboo》是第二個替代方案，但Wexner Center覺得，哇，這個人是不是窮瘋掉了，他們沒有考慮到這也是個安靜的方式，所以呢，我做了一個《Missing Bamboo》。 就是說，從完全的脫離責任到變成個體的一個，玩具的進口商和推銷商和零售員。我從中國進口，然後我要去跟美術館談，然後我自己做買賣。

八十年代: 舟山和浙江: 我考七次美院

李雨潔: 你中學畢業沒有上美院，好像去做發電學徒？

吳山專: 77年的時候，第一次沒有考進美院，肯定要一個社會性的工作嘛。去做這個工作的時候呢，仍然可以考試。77年的時候情況不一樣，當時可以考好幾次。我不知道現在可不可以，說起來我考了七次美院。

李雨潔: 你跟王廣義的經歷有點像。

吳山專: 他要智慧得多了，我考七次。而且廣義的出身很好啊，廣義是油畫系的。我是中國美院（浙美）師範系，師範系是個什麼情況呢，當時浙江省的教育部決定要召一批師資。浙江師範學院沒有那個師資，浙美就代辦，他們有師資，所以臨時組織一個浙江省教育部委託的，人數多，所以我變成了其中一個，我這屬於擴大招生的，這麼說。

李雨潔: 你那時候跟王廣義跟張培力已經在一起玩了嗎？

吳山專: 沒有。廣義他應該是我們同校，應該是有兩年還是一年吧。我1983年進，他1984年畢業的。其實不熟，這個還有一個學院的等級制度的嘛。

李雨潔: 因為他們是油畫系的？

吳山專: 欸，美校跟軍校是有點像的。

開始觀念的作品，關於世界三及現成品

李雨潔: 你1985，1986年就有一些文章討論類似觀念藝術的東西，開始得就比較早。但是你那時是有意識地想要放棄繪畫嗎？有這個想法嗎？

吳山專: 不，這個時候我們這一代的藝術家，其實每一個人都得自己做那個理論工作，要創作，也要自己去推銷，很累的，但是很有樂趣。所以說，你才看到85，86的這代人看上去比較全，他們可以做很多。首先我們描述一個東西，然後我們再描述說我為什麼描述，然後還要去做出來，推銷，賣，這個時候是必須的。廣義，培力，宋永紅，黃永砯，大家都做同樣的工作。

李雨潔: 你在文章裡形容的東西已經不是繪畫了。譬如說當時有很多關於現代繪畫或者當代中國畫的討論，可是你已經是在討論「東西」了。

吳山專: 可能我比較早了解到東西是不以人的意旨為轉的。我比較早認知到東西的力量。

李雨潔: 那時候有接觸到杜象還有波依斯嗎？

吳山專: 1986年應該說已經有了，但不是很明確。波依斯可能比較明確，因為做對社會的一些行動，我們還是比較有經驗的嘛，對杜象的話已經有認識。至於一件東西的強大，可能跟卡爾波普的《開放的社會及其敵人》有關，我偶然得到這本小冊，或者是有關它的引用，我們當時常常接觸到不完整的文本，或者被人引用的一小段。我記得他有一本書叫做《開放的社會及其敵人》。並且我在後來的一些文字工作當中，或者是在一些物證的工作當中，經常出現他的那個語勢的闡述模式。

李雨潔: 你分類三種東西，好像跟你說的世界一世界二世界三，有一種類似的架構。

吳山專: 對，我隱約地記得卡爾波普說，人跟自然結合所導致的物證，統稱為世界三。他最偉大的一點是指出，世界三的本質性就是世界一，這個讓我很震驚。從此就有了我的那篇短文章，叫做《世界三的理論—對繪畫》。

李雨潔: 你有一篇《拷貝就是力量》，然後裡面有講到世界三。是這篇嗎？

吳山專: 對，大概差不多，是1983年，很早很早的。1983年還是1986年，反正在這段時間。因為這篇應該是我在學校裡面寫的。

李雨潔: 後來才又整理？

吳山專: 對，所以你才看到裡面談到繪畫。《世界三理論對繪畫領域的開拓》大概是一個小的標題。至於《拷貝就是力量》可能是在90年代的時候我在做索引的時候，或者是文章列表的時候，可能偶然地用它當了標題。

李雨潔: 你的這三個東西，或者是說這個世界三的概念，好像也可以類比成是某一種現成品的詮釋方式？

吳山專: 對，完全一樣。

人人都有權利拒絕成為藝術家

李雨潔: 你1987年寫了《關於文革中的藝術》，我覺得非常有趣。你探討了文革中產生的藝術語言最後可能會有自己的個性，也許跟文革無關。你寫這個文章的時候，已經做完一連串的文字的實驗: 拿了這個文字的形式，但是內容是空的。王廣義有類似的方法，不過他的材料是圖像。

吳山專: 我跟廣義在我們這一代人的當中有一個超越，我們認知到文字和圖像的內容是空的。

李雨潔: 1985這一代藝術家常常談到抽空這件事情，我其實很好奇你對這件事的看法，你覺得這個是不是一個特殊的中國現象？ 文革後的現象？

吳山專: 這好像是一個浙美現象。可能我的身上比較多，因為我是從赤字開始。 為了使他有更大的容納性，我們對於容器要做的第一步顯然是抽空，就把原有的先抽走，這個時候我們還可以來測量它。我們也認知到一種強勢，你從世界三來看，一張畢加索亞維農少女，本質意義就是一個蘋果。這就給我們一個很大的震撼！那麼意義是什麼呢？填入。

李雨潔: 填入什麼呢？

吳山專: 隨便什麼。藝術就是這樣的，藝術的意義是一個given。就是你要給他一個召喚，那麼你用一個given，那麼顯然有接收者的問題存在，誰來接收？沒有人，這是一個悲劇。

李雨潔: 很多藝術家在藝術史上被認為是預言者。也就是說，你在你的作品裡面放了一個訊息，但是在當下大家都不會收到，或者是你剛剛講的，沒有接收者，但是也許一百年，或者兩百年之後，有人接收了。

吳山專: 所以說我們要製造另外一個神話機制。你必須要建立一個機制，因為否則沒有意義的。

李雨潔: 你的作品是那個訊息而非物本身？

吳山專: 需要很多物證嘛。我跟Inga (Svala Thorsdottir) 常常討論為什麼我們會需要這些物證？思想難道可以通過任何物體表達？ 但後來我們把物體放到了物證這樣一個層次，這個也讓我們比較方便地了解杜象。物證的作用是什麼呢？這個物證告訴我們，所有跟它一樣的物體都不是此事件的物證，他是特別的。譬如說今天我拿這個杯子，證明我們今天交談，所有跟它一樣的杯子都不是這個事件的物證，只有這個是，它的唯一性是這樣被呈現的。

李雨潔: 你是用這種方式來理解杜象的？

吳山專: 呃不是說來理解，可能是說我們可以給杜象更多層的意義。

李雨潔: 這個是你的現成品嗎？

吳山專: 是的。那麼這只能證明杜象的高明。因為有無限層的意義。我們作為藝術家的話，可能大家應該都記住杜象，因為我們總是可以給他鋪陳的。

李雨潔: 你的觀念並不是像波依斯說的，「人人都是藝術家」？

吳山專: 我會這樣說：人人都有權利，拒絕成為藝術家的。

李雨潔: 拒絕成為藝術家？

吳山專: 對波依斯來說它是一個策略，這個策略是一種欺騙。我會用另一種方式來表述，就是說人人都有權利拒絕成為藝術家，這句話是我93年還是94年的時候說的。用被動的方式來表達這個權利是很重要的，我們這種用被動方式來給人民權利是同時讓你有權利拒絕。我們說這樣吧，法庭上有無罪推論和有罪推論，我們採取的是無罪推論。那麼，波依斯的「人人都是藝術家」其實是一個有罪推論。

勞申柏以及早期裝置行為作品

李雨潔: 你85年的時候去看過北京中國美術館的勞申柏展覽，對不對？

吳山專: 對，大家都去看了。

李雨潔: 有的人會有點抵制去談論這件事情。

吳山專: 這個展覽太棒了，其實勞申柏對中國的影響是不得了的。 他也給所有的藝術家一個比較大的想像空間——你可以做到那裡。就是在社會層面上，是有巨大的影響。

李雨潔: 但你有跟他本人交流嗎？

吳山專: 沒有，我們去的時候他人早就不在了。

李雨潔: 在那之前，你跟一群朋友在舟山已經做了一些像是裝置的東西。你們為什麼會跑到舟山去租了一個廟？

吳山專: 這個廟當時作為舟山文物館使用，當時沒有宗教自由，所以說這個空間其實是個社會空間。我們也不是租來的，有朋友是老師，他在那裡上班，他說欸！我們那裡空的，你們在這裡做吧。所以說其實是空間上的一個方便，沒有任何含義的。

李雨潔: 你們做這些文字作品是小組一起討論出來的，對不對？因為你之前講到你們一群人覺得應該做一些事情。

吳山專: 對，要做一點事情，勞申柏也是很重要的。

李雨潔: 可是你們是勞申柏來之前就開始了，他是十一月。

吳山專: 為什麼他是很重要的呢，就是說，他給你一個對照，就是說可以這樣做的。你也看到那些材料的挪用，那是很了不起的。

李雨潔: 你們當時知道其他在用文字作藝術的，像Joseph Kosuth，還有河原溫 (On Kawara)？

吳山專: 對觀念藝術知道的就比較少了。當你不太了解的時候也是一種優勢: 其實在視覺意義上，我們從印刷品上了解的西方作品要比較多，但是文字的作品介紹的還是很少。所以說，我們呢還以為這個是我們的發明。如果當時我們都已經有足夠的知識，我們就沒有這個勇氣去做，選擇用文字是討論了很久選擇的策略。

李雨潔: 這個具體的是什麼材料呢？

吳山專: 工業油漆加合成板。

李雨潔: 是現成的詞彙？

吳山專: 這個就是對新聞的描述。

李雨潔: 「最後的晚餐」？

吳山專: 聖經的一個語言。

李雨潔: 「垃圾涅槃」 也出現在你的小說《今天下午停水》裡面⋯

吳山專: 對，這是我的詩歌。所以這個時候是自己拍照片，自己寫作，自己寫詩歌。

李雨潔: 這個是很詩的，它不像其他的現成的詞，然後它又很有趣，它是垃圾跟涅槃，完全搭不上的兩個東西。

吳山專: 我家鄉是普陀山的，垃圾跟涅槃其實在經書中就是一體的。涅槃和垃圾，看上去是好像是相悖的，其實就是一個通道的兩個出口。這不是混搭的，是計劃的

李雨潔: 那時候在讀佛學或者是道家的書嗎？

吳山專: 會有一點，就中國思想史啊，也是二手三手引用過的資訊。像馮友蘭這一類的大的作家。

李雨潔: 1985，1986年好多人做了一些裝置的或者是畫。他們喜歡把這個太極圖放在裡面，你們也放了。

吳山專: 有點難為情。不過在這個背景下，做一次是沒關係的。

李雨潔: 只是很隨意的，並不是說認真的？

吳山專: 並不很難為情，我覺得。

李雨潔: 有些人喜歡從這裡面找出很多意義。期待你們可以說出一些跟道家有關的東西來。

吳山專: 這時候有些作品可能是在某些意義上的混搭，包容和妥協，為什麼呢？可能別的成員問，我們要有一個太極。那他有時候是一個妥協，因為他是一個集體創作。

李雨潔: 你是這群人的領袖嗎？

吳山專: 絕對是的。

大字報

李雨潔: 《紅色幽默》這個作品，你本人也提到過，有的時候作品名稱叫《大字報》， 有的時候叫《今天下午停水了》，有的時候叫《紅色幽默》⋯

吳山專: 這個作品標題有好多個：包括《今天下午停水了第二自然段第三小節》⋯為什麼會有這樣的一個描述呢？當時可能跟音樂上的四重奏也是有關係的。 這個題目是印在湖南的《美術思潮》。《大字報》是他的最正式的標題。《今天下午停水》呢⋯⋯也被用過。就是說，大家說是今天下午停水的大字報。是這樣的，它也是《紅色幽默》的系列，但這個不是作品標題，這個只是我在這個時間段裡面做的那些事的一個總稱。

李雨潔: 有的時候，這個作品的年代被標作是1986，有的時候是1985，它是不是在你快要離開學校的時候開始做的？

吳山專: 應該是在86，為什麼呢，因為1985我們做的是黑體，所以這個是在我畢業以後做的，應該是1986。

李雨潔: 是你已經回到舟山島了？

吳山專: 對，準確的時間是1986。

李雨潔: 這些照片是不是你作品做到一半的時候？

吳山專: 這是在我工作室的擺拍，費大為當時在法國呢，他要收集資料，這組照片是為他拍的。

李雨潔: 都是不同時段拍的，對不對？因為每次部分字體的排列不一樣？

吳山專: 有點像劇場。這些都是朋友做的，這些不是我做的。

李雨潔: 他們是自發的，還是你一開始就計劃好要收集他們寫的字？

吳山專: 他們每個人必須寫，所以我都給他們安排好的。所以大家就進來跑跑寫一寫走掉了。我會做一點塗料的，紅色的塗料塗一塗，字他們寫的。有些本身就是藝術家，就是一些學生啊，或者是一些朋友啊，所以就基本上你給大家一個平台，就是他們來寫自己的想寫的。

李雨潔: 不管寫什麼都可以嗎？

吳山專: 對。

李雨潔: 有一些詞看起來像是路上的廣告。

吳山專: 廣告啊⋯有些是我自己拍的，因為我也有一疊照片，我就指定，啊，你寫這個！ 臨摹這個啊！

李雨潔: 所以你規定了文本的。

吳山專: 那麼他們會說嘛，那我寫什麼啊？否則很累的嘛。所以你就可以說，啊你就弄這個好了。但整個是在一種朋友的友好的這樣的一種氣氛中完成的。

李雨潔: 這個大字報跟你在文革的經驗有關嗎？

吳山專: 其實當時是在想還有哪些東西是沒有被借過的？就是，把文革拿來作為一個形式，所以說才有87年的《關於文革的藝術》。還有一個土壤與蘋果樹的比喻，就是說，土壤就是社會環境， 蘋果作為藝術品。看起來大家覺得，喔！必須是這個土壤才有這個蘋果樹才有這個蘋果，居然是有一個邏輯。但我們不能因為這個邏輯就推導出，就說土壤的性質，就是我們蘋果的性質，這是錯的。

與Inga Svala Thorsdottir合作: 《小肥姘》

李雨潔: 你跟Inga Svala Thorsdottir合作之後還有做過你個人的作品嗎？

吳山專: 當然也有。不過和Inga一起工作是基於分享的概念，這個概念在我們的作品中很重要。像最後的《小肥姘》，那個《小肥姘》就比較重視圖示，其實就是一個分享的可能性。你分享多少，你就可以擴張多少。

李雨潔: 《小肥姘》是不是可以不斷地被擴大延伸？

吳山專: 對，像拼圖一樣，它可能是在工程學上是一個比較成功的一個案例。就是他的穩固性吧，或者他的一個容納性，

李雨潔: 你這個括號是很早就出現了，在1991年的一行筆記裡面就出現了。

吳山專: 其實這個小肥姘就是兩個括號來的，從自然來的，它也是基督教裡面的魚的象徵，耶穌啊，所以才會有無限的複製，所以我跟Inga有三個階段: 想法，訊息，然後實現。

李雨潔: 這個東西可以讓人輕易複製的嗎？它是一個代表世界的符號？

吳山專: 也可以說是代表世界觀的圖示。

李雨潔: 是跟宗教很像的一種東西嗎？

吳山專: 或許在別人的手裡有這種可能。

李雨潔: 有原始的性涵義在裡面的嗎？

吳山專: 性質是你給他的一個圖層，還有一個很麻煩的是，任何填入都跟性是有關係的。但某種意義上，這些圖示因為有性的圖層，所以令人著迷。

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After executing a series of performance pieces engaging institutional critique, including several installation works done in collaboration with a small group of fellow experimental artists, Wu moved to Reykjavík and Hamburg in 1991, where he continued his text-based and ephemeral work, and became one of China’s many prominent “artists in exile.” Over the years, he has participated in international exhibitions and represented “China” overseas, including at the Venice Biennale in 1993. Today Wu lives and works in Shanghai, Hamburg, and Reykjavík, and his trajectory since the 1990s parallels that of many Chinese experimental artists of the post–Cultural Revolution generation.

This interview was conducted by Yu-Chieh Li, Andrew W. Mellon C-MAP Fellow, and took place on June 30, 2014, in Shanghai.

Exhibitions Overseas in 1993— Putting the Cost of Art Materials in a Bank

Li: You exhibited works in Hamburg as early as 1988. How did that come about?

Wu: I graduated from Zhejiang Academy of Fine Arts in 1986, and afterward I returned to my hometown in the Putuo District of the Zhoushan Islands. In 1984 my alma mater started a foreign exchange program, mainly with Minnesota, and occasionally with certain institutions in Europe. In 1987 K. P. Brehmer, a capitalist realist artist from Germany, was invited to our school to give a lecture on the history of Western art. Professor Fan Xiaomei called me in Zhoushan and said, “We’ve got someone from the Hamburg University of Fine Arts who’s interested in your work.” So I packed up some slides and traveled from Zhoushan to Hangzhou, where I met Brehmer. He said he could include my work in an exhibition, and he actually did.

Li: So you didn’t personally oversee the installation?

Wu: No. It was a three-person show at the Galerie Vorsetzen in the red-light district of Hamburg. Brehmer was one of the partners in the gallery, which is why he had so much say in introducing Chinese art. At the time there was already constant communication between China and Germany, not only in the political sphere but also among galleries holding exhibitions of Chinese art. That is how I became one of the artists in Brehmer’s show Gao Zicheng–Wu Shanzhuan–Schröder: 3 x China.

Li: What works did you display?

Wu: I don’t know how they were presented, but Brehmer selected five or six slides and took them back to Germany. I suppose that my works were presented in printed form.

Li: You took part in many exhibitions in 1993, including major group shows like China’s New Art, Post-1989 in Hong Kong, China Avant-Garde in Berlin, and Fragmented Memory: The Chinese Avant-Garde in Exile at the Wexner Center for the Arts at Ohio State University.

Wu: Yes, contemporary Chinese art was really popular at the time. It seemed as if every European country was doing something with it—Denmark, the U.K., Germany—as well as the Wexner Center in the U.S. But none of these venues was a mainstream museum, which I find interesting.

Li: You took part in so many exhibitions in one year, all of them in different places. In a way you were a representative of contemporary Chinese art. Did you find that each institution presented its story differently?

Wu: Their main goal was to create a package. The artists involved were well aware that each of us was only one piece of the whole package, that we made up a collection. All the shows told me the same story [about Chinese artists]. As to why the number of participating artists differed in each case—there might have been shortfalls in funding or it might have been hard for the artists to obtain visas.

Li: Which of the shows did you attend?

Wu: I went to Venice, Denmark, the Netherlands, and the United States.

Li: This was your first time at the Venice Biennale. What was it like?

Wu: I felt less like a piece in a puzzle [than he had in the other shows mentioned above]. I was part of the Aperto. At the 1993 Venice Biennale, works by Chinese artists were included in two sections: Passage to the Orient, organized by Achille Bonito Oliva [in association with Francesca Dal Lago], and the Aperto [reserved for younger and lesser-known artists]. Kong Chang’an¹ was one of about ten curators appointed to choose works for the Aperto, and Bonito Oliva selected artists with them. Kong Chang’an recommended three artists, then Bonito Oliva made his calls. Among the Chinese artists, they chose Wang Youshen, me, and Lee Ming-Sheng, from Taiwan.

Li: So Kong Chang’an brought in the three of you?

Wu: Yes, that’s why I said it was a completely different project from Passage to the Orient. Bonito Oliva had the attitude of someone working for an NGO; his open-mindedness was admirable. My Putting the Cost of Art Materials in a Bank was chosen for the Aperto. The courier who came to pick up the piece from me said, “We’re here in Hamburg to pick up an artwork titled Putting the Cost of Art Materials in a Bank.” He thought it was a concrete piece of art when, in fact, I had just deposited the funds given to me by the Biennale into the bank.

Li: And they really came to pick it up?

Wu: Well, the transport company had nothing to do with the Biennale committee. The art transporters were simply notified that they were to collect a piece in Hamburg titled Putting the Cost of Art Materials in a Bank. In fact, it was just an artwork trying to illustrate the relationship between artists and society. That is, here I am, accepting an invitation to present an artwork, and I receive the money to cover the work’s material costs, but instead I decide to put the money in the bank and rip up the deposit slip. In 1993 it was quite a successful piece: as the artist behind it, I was under no obligation [to produce a concrete object], and yet the execution of the piece as a performance was thorough. It’s kind of like Duchamp, who also rid himself of obligations [to produce art in the traditional sense]. A while later I heard that someone else had done an identical piece at Documenta 12, another Putting the Cost of Art Materials in a Bank. Several people told me about it. The work I did for Venice was the second in a series of three works I executed that year. The first entailed renting out the exhibition venue where I was scheduled to have a show; the second was to deposit the funds for art materials in a bank; and the third was to work for money on site at the exhibition. You can see from these three pieces how financial survival is an important issue for artists, and how this financial challenge is so strong that it can become the subject of an artwork. When I look back today, I’m still glad that I executed these three pieces in 1993.

Li: How did you present them?

Wu: Well, Putting the Cost of Art Materials in a Bank was an object at large, that is, we don’t really know where the money is. The other was to rent out the exhibition venue, which meant the artist behind the work was no longer responsible for the space, a situation illustrating artists’ survival issues. This piece was planned for the Venice Biennale but wasn’t realized there. I finally did the piece later that year in Rotterdam.

Li: So in Venice you only carried out the one about the bank?

Wu: Yes. That bank piece only cost the Venice Biennale $100. When budgets were being discussed for Venice, I considered how much would be appropriate for an installation, and $6,000 was the amount I proposed as a fair price for materials [nevertheless, Wu only received $100]. Later, when I proposed a piece for the Wexner Center, I again suggested $6,000. I actually proposed the idea of putting the money in the bank to the Wexner, too, but they seemed to think, “Wow, poverty is driving this man insane.” They didn’t think of it as a quiet, passive presentation of an artwork, which is why I ended up doing Missing Bamboo.² That is, I went from freeing myself of all the responsibilities that go into making an installation to becoming a one-man team: an importer, salesman, and retailer of toys. I imported goods from China, communicated with museums, and made the sales myself.

The 1980s: Zhoushan and Zhejiang: I Tried to Get into Art School Seven Times

Li: After graduating from middle school, you didn’t go straight to art school. Instead, you worked as an electrician’s apprentice.

Wu: Well, in 1977 I failed for the first time to get into art school, and so naturally I needed some kind of work. This job allowed me to have another shot at preparing for the entrance exams. Things were a little different then, because you could take the test several times. I’m not sure if they still allow that, but in my case, I had to take the test seven times before I got in.

Li: It seems that you share certain experiences with Wang Guangyi.

Wu: Oh, I’d say he is much brighter. After all, I had to take the test seven times. Plus, Guangyi comes from a privileged background; he majored in oil painting. I went through the normal art school system of Zhejiang. At that time, the education bureau of Zhejiang Province was recruiting students to train to become art teachers, but there were no professors at Zhejiang Normal University who were qualified to train future art teachers. At the much more selective Zhejiang Academy of Fine Arts there were, and so students who were admitted to the art-teachers’ training program at Zhejiang Normal University that year got to study at Zhejiang Academy of Fine Arts. That’s how I got into art school.

Li: Were you already hanging out with Wang Guangyi and Zhang Peili?

Wu: No. For a year or two I attended the same school as Guangyi; I entered in 1983 and he graduated in 1984. We weren’t close then; we were sort of separated by the hierarchical structure of the program.

Li: Was it because he was an oil painting major?

Wu: Well, art schools are somewhat like military schools.

Early Conceptual Works, about World 3 and Readymade Objects

Li: You wrote articles on Conceptual art back in 1985 or 1986, pretty early to be taking on those ideas. Were you consciously abandoning painting? Did that cross your mind?

Wu: No. All artists of our generation had to work on research and theory; we had to make artworks, but we also had to sell them ourselves. It was exhausting but fun. This is why the 1985–86 generation is so robust; its members can accomplish a lot. First of all we would present an idea for a piece, then we would discuss why we had conceived of it in a certain manner, and afterward we had to execute the work, market it, and sell it; all this was required at the time. Ghuangyi, Peili, Song Yonghong, Huang Yong Ping—all of us did this.

Li: Your articles from that time are no longer really about painting. For instance, there was a lot of discussion going on then about modern painting and contemporary Chinese art, but you were already talking about objects.

Wu: I guess I just realized and understood earlier than others that things do not necessarily embody the meaning humans impose upon them. I was quicker to understand the power of objects themselves.

Li: Did you come across the art of Duchamp and Beuys at this time?

Wu: I’d say that I did so in around 1986, but their work wasn’t yet clear to me. Beuys might have been clearer, because I was more experienced in performance and social actions. As for Duchamp, I had some knowledge of him, but as far as the intensity of objects go, Karl Popper’s The Open Society and Its Enemies might have influenced me more. I came across this little book, or perhaps a quote from the book—keep in mind that we rarely had access to complete, original texts [by foreign authors]. Later, Popper’s language and writing style crept into my own writing.

Li: “Wu’s Things” are divided into three categories. It seems to me that their structure is similar to Popper’s Worlds 1, 2, and 3.

Wu: Yeah, I vaguely recall Popper saying that the objects that result from the integration of man and nature can collectively be called World 3. The greatest thing he did was to point out that the essence of World 3 is actually World 1 [the world of physical objects and events]. I was astonished. That’s why I wrote the article titled “Theories of World 3—On Painting.”

Li: In your 1985 article “Copying Is Power,” you mention World 3. Is this a reference to your own text “Theories of World 3—On Painting”?

Wu: Yes. I wrote “Theories of World 3—On Painting” a long time ago, perhaps in 1983, while I was a student at the Zhejiang Academy of Fine Arts. That’s why paintings are discussed.

Li: And later on you revised it?

Wu: Yes. As for “Copying Is Power,” by mistake I probably substituted that title for “Theories of World 3—On Painting” in the nineties while compiling the index to my writings.

Li: Could readymade objects be considered part of World 3?

Wu: Sure.

Everyone Has the Right to Refuse to Be an Artist

Li: You wrote “Art during the Cultural Revolution” in 1987, and I found it fascinating. In it you say that art language stemming from the Cultural Revolution might have characteristics that don’t even pertain to the Cultural Revolution. When you wrote this article, you had already conducted a series of experiments with language: you worked with language as form, but you emptied it of content. Wang Guangyi operated in a similar way with images.

Wu: Guangyi and I had different views from other artists of our generation; we realized that language and images were meaningless.

Li: Artists of the 1985 generation seem to constantly refer to emptiness. What is your opinion of this? Do you think it’s a specifically Chinese phenomenon? A phenomenon resulting from the Cultural Revolution?

Wu: I’d say that it’s more of a phenomenon among Zhejiang artists. You might see it more in my work, since I started from nothing. To maximize the capacity of a container, we must first empty it; we remove the original contents, and then we can measure it. We also acknowledged a sense of aggression. In light of Popper’s World 3, the essence and meaning of Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon [a cultural object] is comparable to the essence and meaning of an apple [a natural object]. We were awestruck by this! And what is the meaning of it all? Filling in.

Li: What are you filling in?

Wu: Whatever it is. This is how art works; the meaning of art lies in its “giving.” That is, you summon it, and you give it something; apparently there’s also the problem of the receiver. Who is to receive it? If there is no one, then it’s a tragedy.

Li: Many artists have been considered prophets. That is to say, they embedded messages in their work that no one found, or, as you just said, for which there were no receivers, until maybe one hundred or two hundred years later.

Wu: That is why we must devise a strategy for creating mythology through art. We must establish a mechanism, otherwise it [art] will be meaningless.

Li: So your work is really about the message and not the object itself?

Wu: Well, you need a lot of physical evidence to get the message across. Inga [Inga Svala Thorsdottir, Wu Shanzhuan’s partner and collaborator] and I often debate why we need such physical evidence. Can thoughts really be conveyed through an object? But when we regard objects as physical evidence, it helps us understand Duchamp. What are the use and effect of physical evidence? A piece of physical evidence tells us that any identical object not present here today cannot, in fact, have witnessed this same event; this particular object is unique. Take, for instance, this cup I hold in my hand to prove that we conversed today. Now, any other cup identical to it is not physical evidence of our conversation. Only this particular one is. This is how its uniqueness is presented.

Li: Would you say that this is how you interpret Duchamp’s work?

Wu: I would say that this reading can open up Duchamp’s work to diverse interpretations.

Li: Is this idea your readymade work?

Wu: Yes. Now, this can only prove how brilliant Duchamp was. Because of those endless interpretations of meanings. As artists, we should remember Duchamp, because we can always lay out more ways to interpret his work.

Li: You differ with Beuys when he says that everyone is an artist.

Wu: I would put it this way: everyone has the right to refuse to be an artist.

Li: To refuse to be an artist?

Wu: For Beuys, it was a strategy, and this strategy is a scam. I would put it differently by saying that everyone has the right to refuse to be an artist. This is something I proposed back in 1993 or 1994. To express such a right of refusal is important; giving people such a right allows them to refuse Beuys’s dictum. Let’s put it this way: In court, there are two ways to operate—one is to presume innocence, and the other is to presume guilt. We choose the presumption of innocence. Beuys presumes guilt when he says that everyone is an artist.

Rauschenberg and Early Performance Installations

Li: You went to see Rauschenberg’s exhibition³ at Beijing’s National Gallery in 1985, is that correct?

Wu: Yes, everyone went to that show.

Li: Some people refused to talk to about it.

Wu: That exhibition was extraordinary. Rauschenberg’s influence on Chinese art is very significant. He gave Chinese artists greater scope for imagination—for how far one can reach. At the societal level, this influence was huge.

Li: Did you ever communicate with him in person?

Wu: No. By the time we saw the exhibition, he had left.

Li: But before that, you and a couple of friends⁴ worked on what seemed to be an installation piece in Zhoushan. Why did you rent a temple there?

Wu: The temple served as a museum for Zhoushan art and culture. There was no religious freedom back then, and so this space served as a community space. We didn’t actually rent it; we had a friend who worked there. He said, “Hey! We’ve got extra room. Why don’t you work here?” We used the space for reasons of convenience more than anything else.

Li: You did these text-based pieces as a result of your group discussions, is that right? Because you mentioned that this group of yours had the idea of doing something together.

Wu: Yes, but Rauschenberg was important, too.

Li: But you started working before Rauschenberg came, which was in November.

Wu: Do you know why he’s important? Because he serves as a contrast; that is, he shows you alternatives of presentation. You saw how he utilized those materials; it’s brilliant.

Li: Did you know other artists who were working with language as art, like Joseph Kosuth and On Kawara?

Wu: Well, we knew little about Conceptual art. Yet not knowing much can sometimes serve to one’s advantage. We learned more about Western art from printed reproductions than from the texts they illustrated. That is why we actually believed we were the inventors of text-based art. If we had had more knowledge back then, we might not have had the courage to pursue it. The choice of using language was the result of a long, fierce discussion.

Li: What is the medium used in the paintings The Last Supper, Garbage Nirvana, and 70% Red, 25% Black, and 5% White?

Wu: Industrial paint and synthetic board.

Li: The written phrases in these works are appropriated from found texts?

Wu: Some of the phrases are taken from news fragments.

Li: The Last Supper?

Wu: Language from the Bible.

Li: The phrase “garbage nirvana” also appeared in your novel Today No Water [2008].

Wu: Yes, the phrase is like my poetry. At that time I was taking photos, writing, and composing poetry.

Li: This is really poetic, unlike other terms you appropriated. It’s garbage and nirvana, two things that don’t mix.

Wu: I’m from Putuoshan Island, a sacred Buddhist site. In Buddhist canons, garbage and nirvana belong together. Garbage and nirvana may seem like opposites, but they’re not; they’re at either end of a single passageway. It’s not a random mixture; it’s planned and structured.

Li: Were you studying books on Buddhism or Taoism at the time?

Wu: Yeah, a little. I was reading the history of Chinese philosophy in works that quoted original texts—second- or thirdhand information. I was reading books by great writers such as Feng Youlan⁵.

Li: In 1985 and 1986, a lot of people did installation works or paintings. They liked putting symbols of Taiji in their work, and so did your group.

Wu: It’s a little embarrassing, but under the circumstances, I guess it was all right to do once.

Li: So was it spontaneous, and not serious?

Wu: It wasn’t that embarrassing, I think.

Li: Some people enjoy making meanings out of these things, expecting you would provide some explanation or interpretation relating to Taoism.

Wu: In a sense, the works we made during this phase were a sort of hodgepodge of ideas and a compromise among the members of the group. It might have been that one of the members suggested we put in a Taiji symbol, and so we agreed because we were working as a team.

Li: Were you the leader of the group?

Wu: Definitely.

Big-Character Posters

Li: Let’s talk about your work Red Humor. You mentioned that sometimes you call the piece Big-Character Posters, sometimes it’s Today No Water, and sometimes it’s Red Humor.

Wu: This work has had a lot of titles, including Today No Water: Second Movement Third Measure. Why? Well, it is related to quartets in music. We used this title when the piece was presented in the art journal Art Trend, published in Hunan. “Big-Character Poster” was the most official title. We’ve also used “Today No Water.” I mean, we referred to it as “the big-character poster for the work Today No Water.” Here’s the thing, it belongs to the Red Humor series, but it wasn’t the title of the work. “Red Humor” was simply a name for the collection of things I did during this period.

Li: Sometimes this work was dated 1986, and sometimes 1985. Did you actually finish it right before you left art school?

Wu: I think it was 1986, because in 1985 we worked with the Heiti fonts (East Asian Gothic typeface), and so we must have done the piece after I graduated, which was in 1986.

Li: And at that time you were back in Zhoushan?

Wu: Yeah, the correct date would be 1986.

Li: Were these photos taken when you were halfway through the work?

Wu: We set up and shot these images in my studio. Fei Dawei⁶ was in France and wanted to see the work, and so I shot this set of photos for him.

Li: And the images were shot at different times, is that correct? Because I see that in each photograph the work is shown at a different stage of development.

Wu: The installation looks like theater decor. The written words were done by my friends, not me.

Li: Did they come up with the words? Did you plan from the beginning to ask them to contribute the written texts in this piece?

Wu: Each of them had to produce something, and I orchestrated the procedure. Each person came in, wrote their words, and left. I would apply some paint; I painted the red, but they wrote the words. Some of them were artists, others were students or friends. Basically the idea was to give them a platform, and they would come over and write as they pleased.

Li: They were free to write whatever they wanted?

Wu: Yes.

Li: Some of the phrases look as if they’re from advertisements seen on the street.

Wu: Advertisements . . . hmm. I shot photos of street ads at the time and had a stack of these images. I would pick an image and say, “Hey, write this!” or “Imitate that!”

Li: So you set up a script.

Wu: Well, sometimes they would say, “What am I supposed to write?” After all it can be tiring to brainstorm. So I would say, “Why don’t you do this, or that?” The whole thing was produced this way, in a friendly atmosphere.

Li: Is the work Big-Character Posters related to your experience during the Cultural Revolution?

Wu: I was considering questions like “What concepts haven’t been borrowed and used yet?” So I thought of using the visual culture of the Cultural Revolution as a form, and wrote “Art about the Cultural Revolution” in 1987. In this article I used the analogy of soil and apple trees to talk about art, in which I posited that soil represents societal circumstances and apples represent artworks. This might suggest that a particular kind of soil is necessary to grow a certain type of apple tree and produce a certain kind of apple. Yet to say that the properties of the soil must also be the properties of the apple would be a false claim; it does not necessarily follow the logic.

Working with Inga Svala Thorsdottir: About Little Fat Flesh

Li: Have you produced any art on your own since you started working with Inga Svala Thorsdottir?

Wu: Of course. I work with Inga based on the idea of sharing; this is a very important concept in our work together. Take Little Fat Flesh as an example. That work focused more on visual presentation and explored the potentials of sharing. The more you share, the more you expand.

Li: Can the image Little Fat Flesh expand and extend indefinitely?

Wu: Yes, just like a puzzle can. It might be one of the more successful projects in mechanical engineering. I think that’s because of its stability or its capacity.

Li: The parenthetical form in Little Fat Flesh appeared quite early—as early as in a notebook from 1991.

Wu: Yes. It is derived from two sources; the form comes from nature, but it is also the symbol for fish in the Bible. You know, Jesus and all that—that’s why it’s been replicated again and again. Inga and I have three phases in our working method: brainstorming, communication, and realization.

Li: Do you think Little Fat Flesh is something that can be easily replicated? Do you believe it to be a symbol that represents the world?

Wu: I would say that it is an icon representing a world view.

Li: Does that world view in any way resemble religion?

Wu: It is possible that it might to someone else.

Li: Is there any kind of primal sexual connotation in it?

Wu: Interpretations are layers you impose. There’s something tricky here: any interpretation can reveal sexual connotations. In a way, these icons become intriguing because of the sex-related layers they carry.

Transcription and translation by Lina Dann. Read the Chinese version here.

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