The first time I saw Shi Guowei, he did not leave the impression of a boastful young man who just returned to his home country after studies in Germany. One could hardly detect any traces of arrogance or even flippancy in his attitude; the man was, on the contrary, friendly and humble.

His passion for art also commanded respect and admiration. He understood artistic practices as a noble profession and was always willing to devote himself wholeheartedly.

As a matter of fact, Shi favoured photography as a medium of self-expression.

Such preference retained him not only enormous enjoyment and personal satisfaction, but also utter loneliness, for in the contemporary China, photography remained, by and large, to be a non-mainstream, peripheral art form, suspicious of the public praise.

Perhaps Shi Guowei’s loneliness also lay within his ideas.

He was undoubtedly an artist who likes to think. In his understanding, “history” does not represent the “past”, whereas the “present” is no longer an anticipation of the “future”. In his understanding, “time” is too often entangled, and “old stories” and “contemporary retellings” are essentially inseparable.

Shi is interested in promoting a status of “juxtaposition”, of “me in you and you in me”[1], like his series of work on Chinese operas, where representations became dramatized, drama ritualized, and rituals rendered meaningless. It seems that Shi was making deliberate effort to emphasize “everything”, yet, it is that explicit over-deliberateness that rendered those emphases invisible.

The most recent works of Shi Guowei disclosed a unique feeling of solemnness.

“Old stories” and “contemporary retellings” were combined into a historical-epic-style, magnificent scene. This scene is somewhat familiar, reminded one of those masterpieces created by artists of the Classical era.

However, Shi utilized not only a “postmodern” technique of pastiche, putting “new wine in old bottles”. On the contrary, he constructed a new history and portrayed it according to his own way of reading.

Despite a feeling of solemnness, a number of Shi’s recent works even developed a humorous characteristic.

Song Huizong’s “Rui He Tu” was modified into a scene where a chorus of roosters fluttered above the ancient tower gate. Behind its witty sense of humour stood Shi Guowei’s cultural satire and criticism.

Printing photographs onto canvas also conveyed a unique Shi-style humour. It confused people’s senses and deceived one’s eyes. Seemingly truthful conclusions inferred puzzling realities, like those dilemmas we regularly encountered in our daily lives.

Shi’s reverence for art could also be found in his insistence and persistence for high artistic quality.

He did not argue against technical experimentation, but explicitly rejected the use of new techniques and technologies in an ostentatious way.

He insisted on a technique of artistic production that hand-painted colour onto black-and-white photographic films, which, to a certain extent, drew a linkage between his work and paintings. This differed in significant ways from photography as a form of mechanical reproduction, and retained his photographs a non-duplicable characteristic.

Shi Guowei’s unlimited demand for quality also led to his minimalistic lifestyle. He immersed himself into the artistic creations like a recluse who shuns the world.

And his studio is as solemnly silent as a meditation room, as spotless as a clean freak’s heaven.