Through the Cracks of the Chinese Firewall

By: Shaked Atia

April 13, 2016

During my semester I’ve been interning in what has become my favorite neighborhood, the 798 Art Zone in Beijing (or Dashanzi 大山子). Even though my work at the Chamber of Commerce has virtually nothing to do with the hundreds of galleries that surround my office, I got to know the area pretty well and was exposed to the work of some of China’s most thought-provoking artists. To provide a bit of a background, back in the 1950s the area used to be a gray-looking factory of a Chinese corporation. Its low rent and relative isolation allowed artists to open small galleries and studios in the abandoned factory, and it quickly became the first creative cluster in Beijing. However, the city grew, and the 798 pioneers deal with tightened supervision, making it rare to find bold artwork or openly critical artists there nowadays.

While it’s a great place to spend a lazy afternoon, it had become commercialized. I, on the other hand, became increasingly curious to see what the politically active and bolder artists’ scene looks like. Luckily, this past weekend one of my professors managed to arrange my class a visit to the Songzhuang 宋庄艺术 artist village, located in the east suburbs of Beijing. After the destruction of the Old Summer Palace in 1995, many artists were relocated from the city center to make room for new development projects. Many chose to move to the rural village in search of a quieter, off the radar, and undisturbed area outside the city. With nearly 2,000 contemporary artists living there, it became extremely well-known, but is still not frequently visited.

After a long drive past factories and vacant neighborhoods, the epitome of China’s recent slowdown, we arrived in the village. Amid the farmers and the fields, dirt and bricks, there were numerous studios and paint shops, but not much more than that. We arrived in a ghost town—or so it seemed—until a huge metal garage door slowly opened, and a short, stubby guy ran up to us and invited us to come in. The only way to experience this place, said my professor, was to befriend someone in the village. And that is exactly what we did. Later that afternoon, many younger artists opened their homes to us, providing a glimpse to the undercurrents of Chinese society and the voices that have been censored.

These artists told us they were practically starving before 2000, but with the walls China has put between the Chinese and the rest of the world, people began to wonder what life here truly looks like and found answers in this village. It was fascinating to see how these painters and sculptors manage to walk the fine line between art and clear political criticism. “As an artist, I have to be true to my art first. Later, I will find someone that would be willing to listen,” said one of them. His work showcases issues such as freedom of religion (or lack thereof), bloated bureaucracy, corruption, the one child policy, and gender inequality. He is not allowed to exhibit his work in China, so he relies on its sales in Europe. One of my favorite exhibits of his is a wall covered with over 600 traditional Chinese ceramic plates, each carrying the name of an office in the ridiculously complex system of Chinese bureaucracy. Everyone is well aware of this problem—“the mountains are high and the emperor is far away,” a well-known Chinese phrase states—but seeing this huge exhibit is still overwhelming. It is a powerful display of the inefficiency and intense corruption that prevents this country from moving forward. In the corner of the studio I spotted another exhibit I thought was interesting: a metal sculpture of the Bird’s Nest and the Pearl Tower in Shanghai built on foundations made of unstable, rusty looking metal wires. When I asked about it, the sculptor said that many Chinese believe the rapid construction of ostentatious buildings masks a rotten base and is hardly stable.

Unfortunately, many artists who live in Songzhuang fear that a process of commercialization will take place here too, since the government plans to invest in the rural suburbs of Beijing and expand the city center. Some will enjoy this boost in tourism as new roads are built, while others will not be able to keep their land and migrate farther in hope to once again find a place far from the city spotlight.

The past few weeks were filled with a different kind of adventures in Beijing, and as this semester is nearing an end, I realize that no amount of time here could be enough. Meeting with these artists reminded me that, like everything that really matters in China, the truth hides in the subtext rather than the surface. It is up to us to seek it rather than be satisfied with the image portrayed by others. With this in mind, I am planning my last three weeks here and hoping to make the most out of them, but I also know my journey here is not nearly over and I will be back soon.

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