Yang Jiechang (YJC): Last year, when I met you in Münster, I was very moved and intrigued by the existence of your Republic. I always wanted to meet you and do something together with you. The idea of your individual Republic is really opposite to the environment I grow up: I come from a socialist education and a country with a strong group consciousness. The combination of both experiences – twenty years of life in Europe, and the education I received in China, group consciousness and mass movements – made me a kind of hybrid. Therefore I am very interested in the concept and origin of your Republic. I am currently working on a book for my solo show at the Duolun Museum in Shanghai in September 2008. I would like to use this occasion to know more about your concept and use our conversation in my publication. Let's see where to start from. 
　　Fritz Hansel (FH): Can you tell me more about your time in China?
　　YJC: I was born in Foshan, Guangdong Province in 1956. My father was a revolutionary cadre, which means that he had a privileged position and recognition, but he nevertheless received no privileged treatment, he neither a bigger salary, nor any other advantage. His three children, my mother, our grandfather and other members of the family, we all had to live from his small income. Food was purchased with supply tickets. It was all a very utopian socialist situation. My first memories are already about planning. Everything had to be planned, every single purchase; for the beginning of the year, for the end of the year, how to use the monthly income had to be calculated carefully, every day. To buy my breakfast, I had two Cents RMB; with this one only could buy either a bowl of rice soup or one piece of steamed bread. The steamed bread was two Cents, the soup one Cent. If I did only eat a bowl of rice soup one day, I could have a bowl of soup and one piece of steamed bread the next day. Like this I learned very early how to plan and organize. I remember my father earned about fifty-six or fifty-eight RMB. As there were many people, or if something exceptional happened, my grandfather occasionally added something to our expenses. He lived on a little allowance given to him by my uncle. Thus I understood very early how people worked together and helped each other, how they were connected. My mother had to take part in a help fund for neighbours. Everyone of the neighbourhood would put a small amount that could be used by someone in need. This was the situation in the late 50s early 60s during the time of the Big Leap Forward. Everybody trusted in a kind of common strength and endeavour, trusted in his neighbour. At the time of the Big Leap Forward everything was in short supply, even if you had money you could not buy anything, so you had to trade things. My grandfather for example, would grow sweat potatoes in pots along the road. If he recolted too many he would give some to the neighbours and they in their turn would give some other supply to us. I guess, as I was very small at that time I did not feel how hard this life actually was, I only remember the atmosphere.
　　FH: But what has all this to do with my Republic?
　　YJC: I think whatever one lacks the most, is the thing he is most interested in. I lack a strong individual consciousness. Throughout my time here in Europe I have had the impression that I lack this kind of autonomous individual consciousness typical of European culture. When I saw “Republic of Fritz Hansel” I was intrigued: a single person, one individual, can be a Republic. In my wildest dreams I would never have thought that this is possible. What kind of ideas made you think about creating your Republic?
　　FH: This is a very big question. Actually this idea is very close to holistic philosophy. I believe that an individual can engender a whole universe. No matter if you create an outer world, like for example a Republic, or an inner world, what is important is the autonomy of the space you create. My Republic is an autonomous realm to which I can invite people, and in which I dwell freely.
　　YJC: What is the main idea of this kind of holistic philosophy?
　　FH: Holistic philosophy has been important throughout history, in different periods it had different interpretations. But to start with a difference, the difference to this kind of sense of community and mass movements you experienced in socialist China as a child and youth, is that even though the whole is made up from individual parts, the whole is understood as more than the sum of its parts. Every part has individual qualities and has causality, can cause results and effects. In the society you just described to me, the individual has no autonomous independent causality; it can only cause a result as part of the whole, the mass.
　　YJC: Yes, I understand. As you know, I livein Paris and in Heidelberg in Germany. I can perceive this kind of philosophy in the daily life there; even in the political structure of Germany – it is a Federal Republic. Every region has its own characteristics, is autonomous. And it has nothing to do with patriotism when the individual regions promote their regional characteristics and consider themselves a whole. Today one of my concerns is how to merge these different parts of my life, my past experiences in China and the reality of my life today. Many of my works start from this point, like for example: Eurasia; The Most beautiful Country of China; We are good at everything, except for speaking Mandarin - PRD; Venice Biennial - Tibetan Pavilion, or my last work, where I borrowed the name of your Republic, Republic of Fritz Hansel. When I showed Republic of Fritz Hansel in the Guangdong Museum of Art, I added a statement about my impression of the exhibition, which was unfortunately rather negative. My version of the Republic of Fritz Hansel affected the entire exhibition. But this is just what I wanted: a kind of discrepancy and disagreement. I did not search harmony. I united incongruent different parts to obtain a whole. Chinese culture believes too much in correct thought, a correct model, and extends a big path before you that you have to follow. In Europe, no one shows you a path to follow; everybody is responsible for his acts and has to solve problems on his own. I received a strong moral support, for instance from my parents in law, but in detail I had to cope myself. Different from Chinese grandparents, they did not take in charge the education of my children.German people are rather cool but this attitude strengthens your ego. When my wife and I wanted to go out in the evening, they answered, if you have no time you should not raise children; when I asked them what was necessary to raise my child well, they answered, you only need two things: love and time. They gave me a concept, but in detail, we had to do everything ourselves.
　　FH: I think the positive thing about this kind of attitude is, that you are free to decide yourself, all is up to you; it is up to you to make it good or bad, none can assume your responsibility. In China, I guess, this is different: nobody dares to assume his responsibility.
　　YJC: The question of responsibility interests me very much. During the Cultural Revolution, everybody was deeply involved: my parents, and my brothers, even me. Still today, I admit that this was a very important period for me. Yet, what I do not understand is, that today, generally nobody admits that he participated. Generally nobody assumes his responsibility for what happened during the Cultural Revolution. The question of responsibility is delegated to the Gang of Four. Actually these four people were not very important at the time, but now they have to assume the responsibility for a whole decade and the entire Chinese people. I feel this is a bit too much for four people. The same is true for Tian'Anmen. I grew up with the concept of planning from very early childhood, which actually goes even as far as my conception: Should I be born or not. At my period there was a baby boom. Mao encouraged the families to have many children. He needed soldiers to be ready for a potential World War III. It was indeed like the preparation of an army of clones. According to the One-child-policy of the 1980s and of today, as I am the third son, I would not have been born. Later, my studies have been planned by my father, too. He decided that I should study art. Even what kind of art, was his decision. After I had graduated from the art academy others again planned where I should work. My apartment as a teacher at the academy, everything had been planned by others. Everything had been planned according to standards, you had to fit such and such standard to obtain such and such living condition. The show at the Guangdong Museum of Art I took part in recently still uses this kind of model: everything has been planned; everybody has six metres of wall space. One major reason why I left China is that I was scared of this kind of planning. I understood that I could see foretell my future, as it anyway had already been planned by others: my position in the academy, my future apartment, my whole life. I could even see my life a hundred years in advance. I was scared to death. Fritz, I think, now you understand, why I was so surprised to see your individual Republic. Your Republic is a system that has not been planned by others and where no planning by others can exist.
　　FH: Now we are back to the question of responsibility. Of course, no one assumes the responsibility of planning in my Republic but me. Nevertheless, what you just told me about your life in China makes me wonder. Most people would be very happy to have their lives planned, and your life apparently was not too bad. So why would you leave, while you had a bright future before you?
　　YJC: Well, certainly, like this no headache, no difficulties to overcome, different from your Republic; but no pleasure either – no concern and no pleasure. I like reading, I read a lot from small on, and luckily, as a Red Guard, my task was to sort the books of my comrades for bad ones and good ones. Therefore I had to read them. Thus I read the books that were considered beautiful flowers, but also those considered weeds. Later, a student at the art academy, I continued reading. But there was not such a big choice of books in China at the time: some classics, like Dream of Red Mansions, some books on Buddhism, and, luckily I was able to borrow some books that could not be published in China from the Hong Kong students at the art academy. I read everything, even in classical Chinese. And my reading had immediate consequences: When I discovered Suzuki, I went to the Buddhist Guangxiao Temple in Guangzhou; because of reading about the Daoist Ge Hong I went to the Chongxu Temple at Mount Luofu; because of Mishima, I understood that I had to change life and end this happy time without concern. I did this all rather naturally; it was a change provoked by my unconscious. In what concerns my work as a teacher at the academy, everything was planned, too: the contents of the lessons, the ideological consciousness that I had to transmit, and the teaching methods. Every detail was planned, there was no flexibility. As a teacher and as an artist I could not accept this. I was reduced to the function of a mere medium. The only thing to show my know-how as such a medium was to develop a kind of personal charm. Nevertheless, I had been impregnated by the atmosphere of the art academy, and as you can imagine this atmosphere was more liberal than elsewhere. Many of the students could not accept a life planned in advance and in every detail. In the late 70s for example, there was a controversy about drawing with life models. While the staff still was discussing if it should be admitted again or not, the students of the sculpture department had already begun to draw each other in their spare time. As a teacher I was told to watch that the students did not have love affairs, but of course, some students already were making love in the class room behind a curtain. How could I serve as such a medium and tool to oppress my students? At the beginning I tried hard, tried to understand the education programme of the ministry of education, and tried to listen to the leaders of the academy and the Party that the students should strive for the better and so on. But slowly I began to question my role, my responsibility and my possibilities. As a medium I knew whom and what to listen to, but I did not know who I am. Society already had erased my consciousness as an autonomous individual. Yet, on the other hand, this experience taught me how to control who I want to be, my relation to society, how to connect the high and the low, the transcendent and the worldly, actually like a medium. Once I had left this kind of environment I could assume my role as a medium differently, now as an artist and autonomous individual I understand myself as a whole production system, not only as a peg in the socialist machinery. Such is my understanding of art – I see it as a holistic system. The aspect of participation in my works is related to this, too.
　　FH: Your position is actually not very far from my concept. I understand my Republic as an autonomous interactive space that I carry around with me wherever I go. In this respect I become a medium transmitting the concepts and values cherished in my Republic. Nevertheless, looking at the titles of the artworks you just mentioned, I wonder how you understand the notion of autonomy. Is it political autonomy, individual or cultural autonomy you are talking about?
　　YJC: One issue I often think about is, was the Chinese tradition, were the traditional literati nothing but a tool in the machinery of the state? I think concerning this there are some misunderstandings, in particular since the May Fourth Movement. There has always been a prejudice concerning Chinese tradition. Nevertheless my education has been rather traditional, in the sense of the Chinese literati. My grandfather brought me up. Next to school education I followed his education, and for my artistic education my father invited some private teachers. No matter if my grandfather, my calligraphy, painting, art history teacher or Taoist master, all seemed to be very autonomous instances, like you and your Republic, Fritz. Their appearance, language, and methods all were very characteristic and I could not describe them with one concept. I understand their particularity like this: it has nothing to do with the culture they have been educated in; they rather would have been able to create their own culture. They reminded me actually on these mystic sages in Chinese history, like Li'er, or the Seven Intellectuals of the Bamboo Groove. Can you imagine: Li'er had been asked by the king to serve as a minister at the court, but he understood this question as an insult. Yet another sage named Cao Fu even could not bear it when someone told him this story and, when asked in his turn, he committed suicide. For both men individual ideals and values were more important than the purpose of the country. They deemed themselves more important than a whole country. I therefore believe that at a certain level the only decisive factors are the differences between individuals, and not those between different cultures, like the West and the East, or other normative systems. Of course, everybody has to find a direction and a method how to educate and cultivate himself. I tried different ways until now. The one that is still extremely important to me today is the Confucian maxim “be sincere, control your mind and cultivate your heart”. It is a method that allows you to ascend or to descend, to advance or to regress, like on a staircase. But the Confucian principles have been criticised in China throughout the 20th century until now as being representative of an oppressive feudalist system. They are generally not understood as a method to strengthen the individual. The common understanding is rather simplistic. It actually resembles a slogan in a peasant revolt. The misunderstanding of these principles brought about a lack of consciousness and understanding of the importance of autonomous individuals; actually the contemporary Chinese intellectual resembles more a slavish tool of the state than at the time the Confucian literati. Because of the lack of autonomous and responsible individuals, individuals that understand themselves bigger as a whole country, many of the aspirations of the people, of the goals of Chinese society and of the movements within the last hundred years have turned into their opposite. The result of the land reform for example was that in the end the people had no own land; the Big Leap Forward turned into a big regression, millions of people starved to death, the result of the Cultural Revolution was the destruction of culture, the wave of “the golden economical development is the strong principle” might lead to a result where gold turns into rotten iron. Today's intellectuals understand this, too, but as they lack autonomy as an individual they all follow the wave and jump into the ocean, which signifies do business in Chinese. The traditional principle of withdrawal to cultivate oneself does not exist any more. Today's intellectuals can only be stopped through the threat of punishment – prison or death sentence – until they stop to participate. This is today's disaster, there is no autonomous consciousness. Therefore the only value and principle left is that the profit of the country and of the Party is bigger than everything. This is very dangerous, it leads to totalitarianism. As the reception of Chinese tradition is very superficial, the remnants of tradition in Chinese culture today degenerated to mere clichés.
　　FH: You told me and I understand now that you like history very much, that you have read the 25 Histories with passion. Obviously your ideas are shaped by traditional Chinese concepts, such as that of the Confucian literati official. Are there any classical heroes for you who could maybe join in our common approach to the notion of autonomy? Do you think one of them could have created an individual Republic? 
　　YJC: I think there might have been many of them who wanted to create an autonomous Republic, politicians, philosophers and artists, too. The poet Ji Kang of the Seven Intellectuals, for example, he did even not care when the emperor sentenced him to death. As a last wish he asked for a zither to perform and he played the famous tune of Guang ling san, Prose Poem of Vast Hills. He left to the world this piece of music that became mightier than state power and bigger than a whole country. The piece is still known today and still moves the people who listen to it. When his understanding of freedom became a threat to the emperor and the country and he then had to pay the consequences, he expressed an even more grandiose understanding of freedom and autonomy.  Ji Kang's music became an autonomous space bigger than any country could ever be.
　　Another example is the philosopher Li Dan, better known as Laozi. His concept of the individual expressed in his Taoteching understands the individual as a space bigger than the universe. After reading his thoughts one actually feels this kind of existential autonomy. And then, there is Zeng Guofan, literati, politician and general in modern Chinese history. I mention him as he not only was a general but also literati who cultivated himself in the Confucian ideals to a state of perfection. After he had won the war and had reunified China, he could easily have overthrown the Throne, but he refused to do so. He preferred to retreat and dissolve his army. Therefore, instead of becoming emperor he became a saint.
　　FH: Well, all the examples you mentioned have at least one thing in common: they all speak about literati, cultured people or artists, who mingle with politics and take an active part in society at some point. Tell me more about the aspect of participation in your work. I had a look at your website, and could discern the aspect in some of the works, especially the environments and videos, but what about your early paintings, such as Hundred Layers of Ink?
　　YJC: Well, let's start from Hundred Layers of Ink. From the surface these works seem very calm. I worked on the series for one decade, from 1989 to 1999. I created these works in a period of transition: I had left China and had just arrived in Europe. These works express a process of self reflection and self cultivation. I had chosen to acclimatise myself in the new environment. My earlier works are concerned with the question of how to deconstruct traditional Chinese painting and calligraphy by using the very means of these disciplines. Yet in Europe working on these questions that are specifically related to Chinese culture did not make any sense. I therefore chose the strategy of retreat to advance in the new environment. The precondition for Hundred Layers of Ink was the exhibition “Les Magiciens de la Terre” in the Centre Pompidou in 1989. The space the curator had chosen for my works was situated in the middle of the some very well-known artists of the period: Kiefer, Sigmar Polke, On Kawara, Kabakov, Sarkis, Nam Jun-Paik, Boetti. I thought if I went ahead with the work I did in China a dialogue with these artists would be impossible. According to my education, I understood that I should choose retreat as a strategy,  that I shouldn't expose myself to much, neither my personality, nor my art. I therefore returned to the basic elements I distilled during my process of deconstruction in China: the process of applying ink, water, ink and paper itself; thus the Hundred Layers of Ink, a monochrome black square, on which layers and layers of ink were applied, appeared. I applied the ink on the same square day by day, as if I was writing my diary. This was in April and May 1989. So many things did happen at that time: The student movement in Beijing became a focus of world interest.
　　Simultaneously, the three Chinese artists taking par in the exhibition in Paris became a focus, too. In my personal life also many things happened: I married, I received a residence permit for Germany, a visa for France, etc. Nevertheless, in my work I used a very simple approach and concept. The painting process itself became a kind of reflection on my personal life and history, as well as a part of my self-cultivation. When I installed the works in the museum after one month of painting, I felt that these were not flat two-dimensional paintings but actual three-dimensional spaces. I therefore asked to hang the paintings in a distance to the wall. I wished that the spectator and I could enter and participate into this space, which was a realm of memory and history, personal memory and history, but also of the history of my country, and who knows, of the “Magiciens de la Terre”, too. Still today, I am moved by these works, and not only I but also the public is touched by them. The paintings are extremely spiritual, a spiritual space of participation; so much about the aspect of participation in Hundred Layers of Ink.  Only such paintings could be equal to the works by the masters surrounding me in the exhibition space. Looking at these works today I understand that the period I created them, April and May 1989, was a period when huge changes in the structure of post World War II political system began. First there was the fall of the Berlin Wall in October and then there was the beginning of huge population movements, emigration movements, of which I was part, too. Someone who experienced the spiritual realm engendered by my paintings will understand that the problems and questions after the fall of the Wall are even bigger than those of the Cold War. The control of information through the media became so important from this period on. I became aware of this aspect while having entered the autonomous space of my Hundred Layers of Ink. The standardization of information shocked me: is it possible that only two or three images record the War in Afghanistan, the Golf Wars and later September 11? This is absolute control. In the following, the overall occupation and usurpation of the world, the globalization, went on with swift path. I believe that this kind of situation is also caused by the lack of strong autonomous individuals worldwide. Facing the power of unification and globalization I feel that I have to strengthen my power as an individual and that participation is a must. I have to mingle with what happens. Hundred Layers of Ink records my perception of the world around, and my introspection, too. In the late 1990s I started to change the Hundred Layers paintings. The works became somehow narrative as I included images of elements and objects of my personal life, like for example my operation in 1969, or again the shape of my fingernails and my fingerprints. I called these works abstract objects. However, I was not totally satisfied with these works. I looked for something more complex, more profound. I and wanted to go further. In traditional Chinese painting there are three major disciplines: calligraphy, ink painting and meticulous colour painting. As a student we had to practice all of them. From 2000 on I decided to use the technique of meticulous colour painting, a very traditional technique to express my worldview. These works are more direct, as they have a concrete subject matter. Yet, my experience in calligraphy and in abstract ink painting, added spiritual depth to these realistic works. The aesthetic qualities of calligraphy and ink painting applied to this kind of technique make it more refined and elegant and further eliminate its tendency towards the vulgar. Calligraphy is very direct; nothing can be changed or redone. The first brush stroke is always visible. Your whole personality and experience is revealed in this first stroke. Another aspect of calligraphy is that you need your whole life to practice to obtain a good result. Today people usually don't have this time. Calligraphy helps me to control and solve the tensions and relations between ink painting and meticulous colour painting. In calligraphy I use a very straight forward and rough language: “Do not move”, “Artists continue to try hard”, “Oh, my god” and so on. I do not write some refined poetry, but I write poetry that incites people to react and to participate. This attitude affects my meticulous colour paintings in the way that they are as direct as my calligraphy. In my ink paintings nevertheless it leads to a kind of retreat and stillness. For me all these three disciplines form a whole. One of my recent works entitled “Deep Liquid” is a self portrait that records my personal experience of drowning as a child. The technique is a lavis technique. I apply layers and layers of colour, which is technically very close to the Hundred Layers of Ink series. Further, I similarly create a spiritual space in these recent paintings. Even though I write down a personal experience, the aspect of participation is nevertheless very strong in this work. “Venice Biennial – Tibetan Pavilion”, a self portrait at 50 years, similarly creates a space. It is a painting that represents a specific space, a geographical space, a cultural space, a social space, and an individual space. My self-portrait at forty years is a kind of calligraphy representing a naked me. The drawing puts emphasis on the individual as an autonomous and singular existence. Here you can see the direct influence of calligraphy in my painting, too. I just completed “Republic of Fritz Hansel” for an exhibition at the Guangdong Museum of Art. This work is direct participation – I threw works in the show that I did consider too commercial into a garbage container that I had installed in front of my painting.
　　FH: You have been talking a lot about the existence of autonomous or spiritual space in your works. The existence of such a space means also to have the necessary distance. Don't you think so?
　　YJC: Yes, of course. I think knowledge can only be achieved with distance. My personal position, living now in Europe but coming from a Chinese environment naturally produces a distance. I use this kind of distance to look at the respective cultures I am living in. This kind of distance gives me the possibility to keep my position and follow my own way instead of pursuing the mainstream.
　　FH: What about the notion “Third Space”? Is this the distance you are talking about?
　　YJC: I have never thought about the notion Third Space. For me the Third space is my individual autonomous realm. I am not interested to use such trendy notions of politics, strategy, globalization and so on as a reference and base for my works. My works start from individual experience. The distance I use is rather an archaeological distance. A book I really like a lot is “Ten Thousand Things” written by the German art historian Lothar Ledderose. In his book he analyzes Chinese culture and society by showing how Chinese civilization is based on the notion of the mould, the model and of copying. His examples and arguments are all chosen from the field of archaeology. Yet they provide a deep insight into contemporary Chinese society, too. The autonomous and spiritual space created through my works and paintings, particularly in the Hundred Layers of Ink, actually allows this kind of intellectual distance. If you look at these paintings, it is difficult to say from which period they are; aesthetically they could be calligraphies or stone rubbings from Qin or Han Dynasty. The creation of the work Venice Biennial – Tibetan Pavilion is also related to such a kind of archaeological distance: I had dinner with my friend Adel in 2006, when he suddenly asked me for charcoal, he wanted to draw my portrait on the wall of my studio. He painted me with six eyes. His portrait reminded me on the wall painting in an Esoteric Buddhist temple in Batang, Tibet, that I saw on a journey in 1981. It was the painting of a Lama with six eyes. At the time I asked a Lama in the Temple, why the figure in the painting was represented with six eyes, and he answered that a Living Buddha always is represented with six eyes. My self-portrait at 50 years Venice Biennial – Tibetan Pavilion is related to this story. This was a very nice gift from Adel. The spiritual distance thus was created through travelling and memory, through several layers of connotations.
　　FH: Is there a relationship between your Taoist studies and your concept of autonomy, and then, is the notion of individuality in Taoism not rather close to that of holistic philosophy?
　　 YJC: I studied the Tao, not Taoism. But as you know, if you talk about it, the Tao disappears. Yet, you still have to talk about it. My experience with the Tao dates from the early 1980s. At the time I was rather confused. I had read so many books on Western and Eastern philosophy. Like many of my generation I starved for knowledge and ideas. I therefore felt that I had to achieve a clearer and calmer state of mind. I wanted to concentrate and learn something about religion. Maybe it was Suzuki who made me interested in religion. I therefore decided to spend some time with the monks at the Chan-Buddhist Temple Guangxiao in Guangzhou. The Guangxiao Temple is one of the most important Temples is China; it is the sacred place where the founder of Chan-Buddhism Hui Neng had lived. What I did not like there was the strong hierarchy between the monks. I therefore decided to look elsewhere and I went to the Taoist temple Chongxu Guan at Mount Luofu. Here the author of the Baopu Zi, the Taoist Ge Hong had lived. I made the acquaintance of the Taoist abbot Huangtao. From 1984 to 1986 I spent most of my time in the temple. This experience is crucial for my entire life and art. I wanted so much to learn something about the Tao, but the abbot never taught me anything. Everything, every experience, all knowledge and understanding had to be made by myself. Is there a more autonomous and individual approach? Actually the abbot was the only teacher I ever had who didn't teach me anything. But with time I understood that his teaching, his way of teaching, was the biggest lesson I have ever received in my life. This is Tao. I had found myself. Looking at abbot Huangtao's way of working and organizing, how he was rebuilding the Temple, and how he recuperated the earliest Taoist Temple from the Chinese Government to restore it, I learned the importance of participation and mingling. The understanding of the individual and of autonomy that I had received from abbot Huangtao however incited me not to mingle with group activities, such as the 85 Movement. He helped me to understand that the individual and the world, the individual and the universe are equal. They are the same.
　　FH: You just said you learnt to understand yourself as an autonomous entity through your studies with the Taoist master, you comprehended that you were even bigger as a whole country and the whole world. Well, that's also my point. Is this the idea of the universe in a nutshell, or rather a concept related to chaos theory, presuming that in a closed system every movement and may it be minimal, even indiscernible, can cause change and thus be a decisive factor. Here we are back to the Taoist concept of Non-Doing. Is there non-doing in your work, is this a way of participation? Is non-doing such an indiscernible but decisive agent to cause change, or is non-doing an attitude assuming and following the course of things. Please also explain the title of your book “No-Shadow Kick” to me.
　　YJC: I don't know anything about the notion “the universe in a nutshell”. I rather start from my personal experience. As I have already told you, what really had surprised me was that the Taoist master during the two years I stayed with him did not teach me anything. I think only few people have this kind of experience. And exactly because of this I am still intrigued by his teachings of how to become oneself. Now, after nearly thirty years, I still revisit the thoughts he instigated in my mind. He certainly never thought about how to teach me, neither about the nutshell concept. He accepted me but did not offer me more than this acceptance. I think considering the concept of non-doing, he really understood the Tao. For someone who has read and studied as much as I did, his attitude opened a large space of imagination. His teachings had no form, but exactly because of this his teachings are still relevant to me today. I believe this kind of imagination and undefined open space is crucial. Of course, all the philosophical concepts you mentioned are interesting, but I think experience here is more important. Besides I am more attracted by images. I have worked with images for a long time. The Hundred Layers of Ink can express the teachings I received from Abbot Huangtao. After my experience with him, I began to discard the books and names of philosophers and artists I had studied and admired. They have a concrete form one can investigate. For me this kind of analytical approach is smaller than the formless and shapeless Tao that I had learnt about while staying with my master. This is why I was so moved when I saw the writing saying “Republic of Fritz Hansel”. The colour of the wall, the remnants of the destroyed building on which this wall still could be perceived, the relation between writing, colour and wall, all this made my imagination work. I understand your concept visually from the image. “No-Shadow Kick” comes from a memory as a child. I studied Kongfu when I was little. In Kongfu the most important thing is not the skill of fighting you perceive, but the final aim to achieve, is the development of the invisible side of Kongfu. The force of the foot has to be strong but it has to be invisible, too. Still today I believe that great power and strength should be unperceivable and be exercised naturally. Usually I don't like to expose myself too much, or to appear in the media. I am not interested in making big catalogues. I am very much interested in things that have nothing to do with art, building, connecting, repairing houses, cooking, or growing vegetables. I feel that art is very limited and many artists think too small. If I restricted myself to the field of art I would be very unsatisfied. I like artists who go beyond the field of art. Like for example Nam Junpaik. I respect him very much. He did not only express his concepts through his art works but also through his acts as a human being, his way of participating. I like his performances, and his way to communicate with people. He somehow resembles my Taoist master.
　　FH: What about your experiences in Europe. In what way did they influence your position?
　　YJC: There are many factors. I travelled a lot during the last twenty years. Further, my home in Germany, in the Baden area in Heidelberg, is very important for me. I live there since 1988. My wife, Martina, is also closely linked to this area, where she grew up and studied. Still today she works at the Heidelberg University from time to time. Ten years ago, we bought an old mill in this area. I usually get inspired by details from everyday life. Heidelberg is the capital of German romanticism, which I thus experience in my daily life. I feel rather close to this kind of aesthetic school and thought. It provides me with the stillness and steadiness I need as a nomadic individual. It expresses its obsession with the spiritual qualities of life through the representation of death, of the incomplete, of ruins. The melancholy and beauty articulated in German romanticism is as direct and crude, and yet as complex and profound as Master Huangtao's teachings. It is like a kind of gravitational axis for me. The region of Baden, near Heidelberg deeply influences me. Louis XIV, the “roi de soleil”, sent his army to conquer the region. He burnt Heidelberg's castle and city. Then Napoleon came and did the same. The Baden people consequently decided not to restore and repair the castle. But the traces left by the destruction, left visible on purpose by the people of the region, turned castle and city into the symbol of German romanticism. If you look at the place, you feel what beauty is; a beauty that is engendered through multiple layers of history and experience. After Louis XIV and Napoleon, the Americans came. I guess General Patten decided not to bomb Heidelberg, while all of Germany was bombed to the ground, as he feared that the people of Heidelberg would leave the crater and other traces visible. Patten later died in a car accident near Heidelberg. In our old mill near Heidelberg my wife and I created “Mühlgasse 40”; we call it a base for contemporary art. I like the name “base”, as it shows that you have to build up everything yourself and have to stay open and flexible. Actually like your Republic. While repairing the old mill, I discovered its history and tried to make it visible again, even its history from Nazi times. I did not want to erase it. The base we established is a spiritual one. It forms a complex body with a great potential. 1989, after Tian'anmen, I became a homeless dog; at the time I would have loved to have such a base. Who knows what will be its use later, maybe a base for an intellectual elite if needed. I lived in the Baden area for twenty years now and I feel the future lies here. The culture of this area, the way of life of its people opened my eyes for another kind of world, for something that has nothing to do with mainstream, for another kind of power and potential. A very concrete kind of power, one can find in small, individual entities, like for example in Republic of Fritz Hansel, or in Canton Express. This kind of power already exists today, and I think it will be even more important tomorrow.