艺术的国际化这一话题，对评论而言颇具挑战性。我们真的要摒弃一个文化所独具的特质，特别是我们自己的那些文化特质么？如今的艺术家面临的一大挑战应该是风格认同问题，与其说是对个人风格的认同，不如说是一个严肃艺术家在其职业生涯中对其所接纳的风格的认同。对于邓国源这位中国画家来讲，在路德维希博物馆举办的展览所体现的文化忠诚这一主题对于西方人对于艺术家来讲，艺术国际化通常是一个令人生畏的主题。是否需要摒弃既定文化的特点，尤其是我们自己文化的特点呢？当今艺术家所面临的挑战是一个“认同”的问题。与其说这种认同是对个人风来讲稍显特别。自现代主义发端以来，西方艺术家就像是有收藏癖好一样，广为收集各种视觉冲击，尤其是来自遥远文化的视觉冲击。时至今日，他们仍在继续这样一种行为。例如，美国画家Brice Marden创作《冷山》系列时，其大部分灵感就来自于中国的书法。随着时间的推移，虽然在亚洲及西方艺术领域都出现了许多跨文化的题材，但他们都试图来模糊外国文化对其产生的影响。虽然无论从神还是形来讲，中国的水墨风景画与西方的油画都是截然不同的。但在过去一百年间，中国艺术家却在用油彩颜料来创作艺术。虽然他们的油画技术是非常出色的，但他们通常会选择较为传统的主题。

　　有趣的是，在2000年转而创作水墨画之前，邓国源是一位油画家。从某种角度讲，在中国艺术接受西方影响之初，邓国源就至少在材料的运用选择上受到了西方艺术的影响。而且他回归中国传统绘画也受到其西方艺术经历的影响，在某种程度上与其在欧洲及美国游历的有关。邓国源面对的问题是其作品是否会反映西方传统艺术的风格，这同样也是当今许多从事水墨创作的艺术家所面对的问题。正如我们所看到的，在没有屈从于西方艺术影响的情况下，邓国源巧妙地暗示了这种影响。他游走于抽象与写实之间，使其不再拘泥于文化忠诚。其结果就是，这证实了我们不能通过外部的视觉冲击来评判他，而是应当将问题的重点放在融合，即艺术家在纸本的构图中究竟运用了多少文化的融合。如果我们说邓国源的成就是创造了两个完全不同文化和谐共存的世界，那我们就应接受这样一种观点，即一个图案可自由选自于杂志、电视和Internet的文化世界不应拒绝其他文化的影响。

　　然而，这种艺术影响通常会被误读，他们要么会被完全摈弃，要么会被全盘接受。一位真正优秀的艺术家通常会内化这种影响，使之与构图融合为一体。一位艺术家越缺乏艺术经验，这种影响就表现的越明显。然而，邓国源在处理与中国历史和西方传统相关的构图时，巧妙地运用了中国的笔法风格来体现美感。他的花园意象在某种层面上类似于Monet。然而，我们必须小心地使用传统结合这种说法，部分原因在于各传统之间有着明显的差异，另外我们还不完全了解这是否正是邓国源所创作的。偶得的优秀作品本质上都是一样的，只有在减弱影响的情况下，才能对其做出变革。邓国源的水墨画很好地反映了他对中国和其他地方的当代和早期艺术历史的理解。即便如此，邓国源却使他们看上去来源于一个传统。这只能通过一种方式来完成，即艺术家在主动运用其他文化来展现视觉效果时需要保持均衡独立的意象。尽管其构图反映了他多年研究不同艺术门类所积累的高度悟性，邓国源仍然是一位中国艺术家。

　　对于希望理解邓国源的艺术的观众来讲，部分问题在于批评家自身。他们有时会很肤浅地去思考他们所熟识领域之外的艺术。一些艺术评论家对于类似于西方抽象艺术的亚洲艺术总会发表一些浅薄的评论。这些批评家在纽约生活和工作，在这个地方，抽象的表达方式是难以摈除的。结果就存在一种倾向，即批评家会以诸如Jackson Pollock之类艺术家的成就作为对比来理解亚洲的抽象艺术。从某种角度来讲，这种理解是正确的。但是以亚洲艺术家希望像Jackson Pollock一样去创作艺术作为理解其艺术的前提假设，表明这些批评家在文化上存在一定的优越感。除了需要了解邓国源思想的开放与成熟之外，从中国水墨的传统来理解他的艺术对于那些西方观众来讲是很重要的。邓国源最近所创作的《在花园》这一系列杰作显示了其高度抽象的思想，就如同Pollock在画布上所挥洒的作品一样。但是他的艺术所表现的深度并不与二战后纽约画家所创作的艺术完全一致。邓国源高度现实的艺术意象来源于其自身文化所蕴含的力量。

　　明白这一点不仅对于理解诸如邓国源之类的艺术家创作的当代艺术是很重要的，对于未来的艺术批评也颇有益处。如果我们不能从邓国源艺术本源的角度来理解他们，我们就可能会以我们的方式来理解他的语言，这种理解方式会同时破坏了两种文化。艺术影响可以使艺术家挖掘新的方法，并且我们也生活在一个高度文化交流的时代。然而，邓国源艺术的独特风格发源于他自身的环境，而不是西方的文化。因为他用黑色、灰色和白色所创作的绘画表现的抽象从形式上来看根源于自然。因此，用以描述Pollock艺术的“纯粹抽象”这种词汇不能套用在邓国源的艺术上。邓国源从来没有完全脱离现实生活，他的艺术在形式上是细腻的。这与许多抽象表现主义艺术奔放而又模糊的特点截然相反。的确，传统中国艺术的形式抽象效果来源于对自然形象的处理，而不是以抽象为目的去制造抽象效果。邓国源艺术所表现的现实来源于他对自然巧妙的重新构造，与其说是纯粹的形式抽象，倒不如说是自然之状的另一种版本。

　　在此，必须强调邓国源的艺术与中国传统艺术的联系。如果不能认识到他的艺术的真正来源，就会把他的艺术与他创作艺术所依赖的传统相割裂。当今的艺术家在多种文化传统中寻求发展是正确的。许多艺术家也能够游刃有余地在画布上去描绘一种跨越多种文化的社会。但这样做会将艺术家置之于一个危险的境地，正如批评家所评价的那样。但是浅薄的血统观念使得人们不能够平等地看待《在花园》所体现出来的感情与壮丽。艺术之所以能感动观众，是因为在艺术与观众之间存在一个共同的价值体系。中国绘画传统很好地得到了传承，观众在欣赏邓国源的艺术时就会了解他是将中国古代绘画的意象和风格当代化了。邓国源巧妙地运用了前人的技巧，但是他并没有拘泥于这些所钟爱的技巧。浓厚不等的意象以一种含蓄的方式表现了植物、花、树和叶子。这些也可以用印象派的方式来表现，如Monet和Van Gogh作品中所体现的那样。然而，由白色到灰色再到黑色的色调范围以及稳重的造型语言体现出艺术家已经在中国绘画语言中找到了自己的道路。我们需要通过特定环境来理解邓国源的艺术成就，这些特定环境来自于他以非常奔放的方式阐释了他自身的经历。这种奔放是他创造力的源泉。

　　过去特有的经历使得邓国源可以去冒险创作，而这种创作上的冒险通常只存在于当代艺术。邓国源仿佛已经触摸到了过去的脉搏，这不仅给予了他力量也赋予了其自由。这与西方当代绘画截然相反的。在西方当代绘画中，超前的观念削弱了画家对历史的把握。不同于纤细的线条以及浓重的斑点，邓国源继承了中国古代艺术家的艺术风格。从这个角度来看，他也在不知不觉间向古代的艺术家表达了敬意。除了用以阐释其视觉的自由之外，邓国源保留了他所根植的传统。这对于理解他的作品是非常重要的。西方的艺术家通常会以对传统的反叛作为其艺术的开始。在西方艺术世界，新的事物通常会受到很高的评价，这就像当今许多中国艺术家所做的一样。但他们通常只能以观念艺术家，行为艺术家或装置艺术家的身份而存在，而不可能是水墨艺术家。

　　随着时间的推移，越来越难以将当代艺术家与其文化根源联系起来。文艺批评已注意到这一情况并通过特殊的方式来评价这种新的艺术作品。因此发现艺术家与其传统根源之间难以察觉的联系就显得很有必要。同时，艺术家也应当明确其意旨。国际化的新艺术的内涵通常是模糊的，通常很难发现一个视角来解读其内涵，尤其是当作品内涵的来源复杂而又难以辨识。有趣的是，中国先锋艺术中的所谓的受西方影响的艺术，如观念艺术、行为艺术和政治艺术，都明显受到四十多年前纽约艺术技巧的影响。然而，除了这些被中国艺术家所运用的西方技法之外，艺术的内容仍然是中国式的。确实，很多艺术反映了当代中国的社会问题。即便如邓国源这样纯粹的艺术家最近也创作了一些装置雕塑，以表现对前卫观念的认同。这些作品，包括含有植物的玻璃雕塑，反映了他对花园的兴趣。对于我来讲，即便邓国源将他对于其他作品的理解运用到装置艺术之中，他仍然是一位中国艺术家。

　　总之，与较早的由意象混合而创作的艺术作品相比较，通过不同文化风格和价值的融合去创作作品更为复杂，也更为艰难。审美完整性被狭义界定的时代已经一去不复返了。新的环境下，我们需要一种更为开放的态度，这种态度需要艺术家将意象融合变为其技巧的一部分。然而造型的组合并不意味着艺术家需要拘泥于不同文化融合这一条道路。邓国源的艺术让我们意识到艺术家也可以在坚持中国传统艺术的同时巧妙地驾驭不同的意象。确实，邓国源能在特定范围内观察我们所称之的全局。中国水墨传统如此的强大，使得他在继承水墨的同时可以适时地去拓展它。正如美国诗人Ezra Pound所说，每一个艺术家都需要创造。邓国源正是这样做的，在拓展中国水墨画风格的同时，他保留了水墨画的美感，甚至是美德。虽然美德是艺术之基石这种观点已稍显过时和陈旧，但较早期的诗人和艺术家却认同这一观点。邓国源的成就使得我们同样可以思考他们的美德。这在当代艺术中是难能可贵的。
 

　　The progress of art’s internationalization often proves a daunting topic for the writer to consider. Will we really throw away the particulars of any given culture, most especially those of our own? The challenge facing artists today can be seen as a problem of identity, not in the terms of personal characteristics so much as in the kinds of affiliation a serious painter makes during the course of his career. The question regarding the Chinese painter Deng Guo Yuan, the subject of the Ludwig Museum exhibition, revolves around the notion of a cultural loyalty that may seem a bit idiosyncratic to a Westerner. Ever since the start of modernism, Western artists have been magpies, accumulating for themselves a broad range of visual stimuli that may come from cultures far away; and they continue to do so--think, for example, of the American painter Brice Marden, whose “Cold Mountain” series owes a considerable debt to Chinese calligraphy. As time has gone on, there has been a flood of cross-cultural materials in the art world of both Asia and the West; they have tended to blunt the impact of foreign influence. The Chinese, whose ink-and-brush landscape paintings couldn’t be further in spirit and form from the Western oil tradition, have in the last one hundred years been actively painting with oils; their technical prowess in this medium is remarkable, but their choice of subject matter seems old-fashioned at times.

　　Deng, interestingly enough, began as an oil painter before turning to ink-on-paper works in the year 2000. So in a small way, he too has participated in the opening of Western influence in Chinese art—at least on the level of materials. His return to Chinese traditional painting has indeed been modified by his experience with Western art, partially gotten through travels in Europe and America. The question facing him—and indeed the question facing the current practice of ink painting generally—is whether his work actively participates in a style that reflects in any way the tradition of Western art. As we shall see, Deng brilliantly intimates influence without succumbing to it. He resides in the gap between abstraction and figuration—a place that carries with it no particular cultural allegiance. As a result, it proves useful not to judge him in light of any visible impact coming from somewhere else; instead, the question to emphasize becomes that of a merger—just how much of a cultural combination has the artist made in his use of compositional ideas on paper? If we say, as many would, that Deng’s accomplishment is to have created a world in which two highly differing traditions are comfortable, then we are tacitly accepting the notion that influences from other cultures cannot be denied in a world culture where images are freely gotten from magazines, television, the Internet.

　　Still, that kind of influence in art is often misjudged, either by denial or by excessive acceptance. A really strong artist will internalize influence and turn it around so that it merges with the fabric of the composition. The weaker an artist is, the more visible the influence is. In the case of Deng, however, what we see suggests that the intelligence of his esthetic has brilliantly employed the Chinese brushstroke in compositions that relate not only to Chinese art history but also to the Western tradition. His garden imagery on one level recalls Monet. Still, we should be careful in our claim of combined legacies—in part because they are so different from each other and in part because we don’t know absolutely that this is what Deng has done. The finer works of art we come across are of a piece—they cannot be changed without a lessening of impact. Deng’s ink paintings may well suggest a variety of responses to art history, both current and earlier, in Chine and elsewhere. Even so, we are impressed by his ability to render effects as if they belonged to one tradition. This can be done only in one way: by maintaining an imagistic independence that would remain so even as the artist willingly takes on the visual effects of working with other cultures. Clearly, Deng remains a Chinese artist—despite the fact that his compositions reflect a restless intelligence that has looked at many kinds of art for many years.

　　Part of the problem facing an audience eager to understand Deng’s art lies with the critics themselves. Sometimes superficial in their consideration of art outside their expertise, a number of art writers have been facile in their explanation of Asian art that looks like Western abstraction. In New York, where this writer lives and works, the legend of abstract expressionism dies hard. As a result, one finds there the tendency to read Asian abstract art in light of the achievements of someone like Jackson Pollock. The reading of course may be partly true, but the assumption that Asian artists want to paint like him is strikingly imperial in a cultural sense. It is important for Deng’s Western audience to remember that, despite his intellectual openness and sophistication, his art is best served when it is interpreted in light of the Chinese ink-painting tradition. His most recent series, a brilliant sequence of works entitled “In the Garden,” possesses a high abstract intelligence that may be seen in terms parallel with Pollock’s canvases of flung paint. But the depth in Deng’s art does not truly sustain an identification with a post-Second World War artist working in New York. Instead, the origins of Deng’s highly realized art imagery come from the strengths of his own culture.

　　The point is important not only for current readings of contemporary art such as Deng’s, it also has resonance in regard to future criticism. If we are not able to see Deng’s art on its own terms, we take on the continuing risk of transposing his language into ours in ways that do damage to both cultures. It is true that art influences enable artists to proceed in new ways, and it is also true that we live in a time of extraordinary cultural exchange. However, the exceptional quality of Deng’s art stems out of his own background, not ours. This happens because the abstraction in his black, gray, and white paintings owes its sense of form to genuine shapes found in nature. The abstraction thus isn’t pure—an adjective we might use to describe Pollock’s allover art. Because Deng never completely leaves the realm of nature, he is able to be specific in a formal sense. This is in contrast to the expansive and indistinct tendencies in much abstract-expressionist art. Indeed, I think it can be said that the abstract effects of the forms in traditional Chinese art result from the processing of shapes in nature, and not from the assumption that these effects are deliberately abstract to begin with. The truth found in Deng’s art derives from a brilliant re-creation of nature, seen more as a version of natural forms than as a purely formal abstraction.

　　The connection of Deng to the Chinese tradition must be emphasized, for without the recognition of his true origins, he loses the legacy upon which he builds. It is the right of today’s artists to develop out of multiple traditions; indeed, many artists today appropriate freely in an attempt to portray the fabric of multicultural society. But doing so puts the artist—and the critic who reviews him—in the position of a dangerous facility. A superficial pedigree does not do justice to the lyric dignity and even grandeur of the paintings that comprise “In the Garden.” Art’s ability to move its viewers depends upon a common ground, one that is structured by shared values. The tradition of Chinese painting is so well established that the person who sees Deng’s art necessarily depends upon its ability to contemporize images and brushstroke styles worked out in earlier centuries. Deng brilliantly makes use of his forebears, but he is not co-opted by his love of the past. In a truly stimulating manner, the various densities of his imagery suggest plants, flowers, trees, foliage. This may be done impressionistically, as occurs in the works of Monet and even van Gogh; however, the range of tonal values—from white to gray to black—along with a sure hand in compositional term, shows us that the artist has found his own way within the terms of Chinese painting. The conditions by which we comprehend his achievement derive from Deng’s remarkable, free-spirited interpretation of his own background. This freedom becomes a guarantee of his creativity.

　　The relationship of Deng to the particulars of his past enables him to take risks that we too often see as contemporary alone. It is as if he has touched the living pulse of the past, in a way that gives him both strength and freedom. This is different from contemporary painting in the West, where conceptual advances have effectively undercut the painter’s sense of history. Deng’s brushstrokes, which vary from light lines to thick splotches, echo the art of his Chinese predecessors. In that sense, he pays homage, inevitably but not consciously, to a past that sustains him. Despite the freedom with which Deng interprets his visual legacy, he remains a painter who exists profoundly within the tradition from which he comes. This is important to understand because the artist in the West often begins by rebelling against his inherited circumstances. In the West, the new is valued in ways that many Chinese artists are now themselves finding uses for. But they exist as conceptual, performance, or installational artists—not as ink painters.

　　As time goes on, it may prove increasingly difficult to identify the contemporary artist with his culture of origin. Critical writing must take notice of that fact and find ways of particularizing their response to new works of art. So it becomes necessary to find the often hard-to- see connections that join the artist to the tradition of his origins. At the same time, it becomes incumbent upon the artist to make his intentions clear. Often the internationalism of new art is muddy in its implications; it is difficult to find a point of view, especially when the work’s implications come from many sources but cannot be identified. Interestingly, the Western-influenced art among the avant-garde in China owes its considerable strengths to New York techniques of forty years ago: conceptual approaches, performance art, political suggestiveness. Yet, despite the obvious use of Western methods by Chinese artists, the content of the art has remained Chinese. Indeed, many of the works reflect the Chinese social problems of the time. Even a seemingly pure painter like Deng has recently produced installational sculptures in a nod to conceptual advances. These works, which include glass installations in which plants are used, echo his interest in the garden. But at least for this writer, Deng remains a Chinese artist, even when he consolidates his knowledge of other kinds of work in installation.

　　To summarize, the conflation of different cultural styles and values may be considered much more complex, and difficult, than what we first experience on seeing an artwork whose imagery is mixed. The time in which esthetic integrity is based on narrowly defined terms is gone. The new conditions require a more open attitude, one in which the melding of imageries is accepted as part of the artist’s armamentarium. Yet the combination of forms does not necessarily mean that the artist is profoundly attached to an approach of many cultures. Deng’s art reminds us that it is possible for an artist to move comfortably within differing imageries but at the same time remain an adherent of one point of view: that of Chinese traditional art. It remains true that he looks at what we call the Big Picture—within the particular boundaries of his affiliation. The Chinese ink tradition is so strong that it allows him to explore and stay true to its legacy at the same moment in time. As the American poet Ezra Pound said, every artist has to “make it new.” Deng has done exactly that—expand the idiom of Chinese ink painting while staying true to its esthetic and even its virtue. The notion that virtue can support art practice may sound anachronistic and antiquated, but the poets and painters of earlier times were comfortable with this idea. Deng’s accomplishments allow us to consider their virtue as well. This doesn’t happen often in contemporary art.