Zhang Yu is a leading artist of Chinese experimental ink painting since the early 1990s. He is also an active curator who has organized a number of art exhibitions and symposia. Zhijian Qian is an art historian, art critic and curator. He currently teaches at Parsons the New School for Design in New York City. In his writings of the mid-1990s, he was very critical of modern Chinese ink painting.

　　The theory that “the future of modern Chinese ink painting is a doomed one” was first brought up by Zhijian Qian in his paper “The Hypothetical Possibilities” that he presented at the symposium “Towards the 21st Century: A Symposium on Contemporary Chinese Ink Painting”, which was organized by Zhang Yu and held at the South China Normal University in Guangzhou on June 5, 1996. Starting from the mid-1980’s, Zhang has devoted himself to various movements of ink painting. He has led the editing and publishing of such books as The World of Traditional Chinese Painting—Experimenting with Chinese Painting (series), Chinese Modern Ink and Wash Painting, Trends of Modern Chinese Ink and Wash at the End of the 20th Century (series), The History of Black and White (series), Chinese Open and Experimental Ink and Wash,, and Chinese Experimental Ink and Wash, 1993-2003. In 1992, he organized an artist group to experiment with ink painting. In 1999, Zhang Yu called for a “Getting Out of Ink and Wash and Entering the Contemporary Era”, which was followed by his further effort toward the “termination of ink painting issues” in 2006, and his judgment that “ink is not ink painting” in 2008. Most recently, in June 2009, he expressed his idea of “exterminating ink painting”, which was demonstrated in the exhibition “Back to Basics: Traditional Inkwash as a Contemporary Vision” that was organized by Zhang himself. In January 1999, on his visit to New York, Zhang Yu discussed with Zhijian Qian the current trends of Chinese ink painting and some related issues. Unfortunately, their conversation was not recorded or published. Interestingly, after ten years, again on his visit to New York, Zhang Yu and Zhijian Qian continued their conversation on Chinese ink painting, which is fortunately recorded and transcribed.

　　This conversation took place on December 15, 2009 at Zhijian Qian’s House in Kew Gardens of Queens, New York City. It was recorded and transcribed by by Da Xiang Art Space

　　Zhang Yu: Before I made this trip to the United States, I was thinking that we might have the chance to catch up with each other for some kind of conversation. I flew to New York from Miami, where I attended an art fair. I remember that we first met each other at the ink painting symposium in June 1996. The following year, you came to New York to start your doctorate studies. Then in 1999, I stayed with you on my visit to New York. We had a good time talking about ink painting. Amazingly, we are here again today, at your home, to discuss some related issues. How interesting! I have never imagined that our discussion on this subject would span over ten years. I guess we might have some kind of predestination.

　　Zhijian Qian: Yes, indeed. Yesterday, after our brief phone conversation, I asked myself, “What will we be talking about tomorrow? Is ink painting still relevant?” I then went online and did some research on your recent work. In general, I felt you have transcended from “ink” to “not ink,” from “painting” to “not painting.” (You mentioned that Lu Hong once curated a show using “Ink and Not Ink” as the title. What a coincidence!) From ink painting to not ink painting, your trajectory represents something very similar to my proposition of “the dooming future of ink painting”. Back then I was responding to a particular group of artists who overemphasized the art of ink painting for the sake of ink painting itself. They focused too much on sustaining ink painting as the fundamental and elitist genre of Chinese art. In my opinion, the so-called “abstract ink painting” by many of those artists was but a derivative from the Western abstract art.

　　Zhang: Right. We all had thought about this. Speaking of Lu Hong, in 1998, I conceived an exhibition with the tentative title In the Name of Ink Painting—An Exhibition of Contemporary Art. I meant to explore from a wider angle ink painting in the interrelationship of culture and medium. In 1999, I ran into Lu in Shenzhen in an event I was invited to, so I passed the proposal to him and asked him to carry out the exhibition. Later on, he added “Shuffling the Game” to the original title “In the Name of Ink Painting,” and collaborated with Sun Zhenhua in 2001 to realize the show. In the 1980’s, Li Xiaoshan claimed that “Chinese painting is at a dead end.” In 1996, you brought up the idea that “ink painting is dooming.” Then in 1999, I suggested to “Getting Out of Ink and Wash end Entering the Contemporary Era”, and in 2006 called for an end to the issues of ink painting. And, subsequently I curated in 2008 the show Ink is Not Equal to Ink Painting and in 2009 Back to Basics: Traditional Inkwash as a Contemporary Vision. It seems that there is some sort of connection between these events and concepts while each of them provides a different understanding and depth. I believe the depth of understanding is very important.

　　Qian: Li Xiaoshan’s claim was certainly powerful and resonant at the time, except that it was a little abstract and he wasn’t able to provide concrete arguments. Art never meets a dead end. As a matter of fact, it always finds a way out. What I meant to say by “dooming” was that preserving and sustaining the genre of ink painting as national and elitist treasure is pointless. I wasn’t trying to say that people should stop making ink paintings. Instead, what I intended to say was that the forms and styles modern ink painters highly valued were no longer prominent forms and styles in art history. This was the point I tried to stress back then.

　　Zhang: Each person has his or her angle of thinking. Li’s understanding of the status quo of ink painting in the 1980’s tended to be more or less general. He simply could not stand the staleness in the camp of ink painting and provided a catalyst to stimulate thoughts about innovation and the destiny of Chinese painting—continuing on the same old road has lost the meaning. Your concept of ink painting on its “doomsday” is different from Li’s. My understanding is that today’s ink painting should not fall into the format of yesterday’s. Further exploring ink painting as a traditional genre of art is no longer meaningful. As an artist, I insist on practice as the starting point of everything. Our understanding of certain things needs to be constantly and deeply explored. My exploration has gone from traditional painting to modern ink painting, to experimental ink painting; and from painting to performance, and finally to mixed media. My vision has evolved from innovating ink painting to “getting out of ink and wash,” to “terminating the issue of ink painting,” to “ink is not equal to ink painting,” and, eventually, to “terminating ink painting!” For me, the ultimate goal is to create a contemporary art that is my own.

　　Qian: Li’s statement was reasonably made in the context of his time. It stirred up a pressing sense of crisis and urgency in many traditional painters, and activated the desire for creating new Chinese art. However, at the time when I brought up the concept of “ink painting in its doomsday,” that kind of sense of crisis and urgency seemed to have disappeared. Instead, many artists seemed to be extremely pleased with what they had achieved as so-called “innovations.” I only wanted to remind ourselves that those “innovations” were by no means anything new in art history.

　　Zhang: Li was not an art theorist, but an artist of ink painting. I admired him quite a bit for his courage and poignancy in his critique of ink painting. He turned himself from a painter into an art critic under very harsh critiques of himself. As an art historian, you know very well how sharp an art critic’s points could be. They are never tired of finding problems and possibilities in artists and their work. But sometimes they simply toss out some issues without further exploring them. Art criticism may fit in the logic of theory but not necessarily in the logic of artistic creation. One simple comment by an art critic may scare a group of artists to death while it may also stimulate the thinking of some others. This is pretty difficult for an artist, especially those who work with ink. To be innovative is potentially an offensive conduct that will cause harsh critique and even curse from art critics as well as from artists.

　　Qian: I believe that a responsible art critic should make objective commentaries based on the status quo of the art world. If an art critic has the ability to inspire some artists with his or her critique, then he or she truly makes his or her job valuable. If he or she unfortunately “scares some artists to death”, it only means that his or her critique has touched on some critical points. I think my criticism from those days and your art practice in the recent few years have been inspirational to each other. Your art practice and thoughts in the past years seem to fit quite well with the process of development I described earlier, that is, “from ink to non-ink; and from painting to non-painting.” Your recent practice and statements, in my understanding, are announcements of the very death of traditional ink painting! In that sense, we share a tacit consensus.

　　Zhang: My goal was not to announce its death, but to make the point clear that ink painting has taken a dead end in its development. What I proposed was a new angle of looking at ink painting. We were simple-minded in our old ways of looking at ink painting. What people have been arguing about is simply ink as a painting genre, not ink as medium without really exploring the concept of ink. In fact, ink and ink painting is not the same thing. Ink represents a culture, and is a medium, while ink painting is but an art genre. There are fundamental differences between the two. For so long a time our critics have been confused over the concepts of ink and ink painting. This is why for all these years younger generations of art critics are afraid of touching this topic. If we do not know how to differentiate the two, there will be no way for us to talk about the possibilities of ink as medium in the contemporary era. Thus any talk about contemporary ink art on the international art stage or the construction of any related theories will be nothing but sheer nonsense.

　　Qian: In my essay “Hypothetical Possibilities,” I tried to emphasize that ink is simply a material substance, a medium. As a medium, ink will not die. The common confusion over ink as medium and ink painting as an art genre is probably an unfortunate result of our poor art education. This is very much like the fact that many people tend to equate traditional Chinese painting with ink painting.

　　Zhang: That is why there have been those entire constant arguing over the course of exploration and innovation. The more they argue, the more confused they become because they miss the true issue. As I just said, ink represents a culture, but it is a medium as well.

　　Qian: I remember back then when I talked with my colleague art critics Lu Hong and Gu Chengfeng over such issues, they seemed to be not very clear about some of the issues and quite uncertain about their own perspectives. Only Wang Nanming seemed to share with me some interesting points.

　　Zhang: I have also talked with Wang about this phenomenon.

　　Qian: I am very pleased to see what you have achieved over the past decade. In the beginning, you, Liu Zijian and several other artists belonged to a group that focused on abstract ink painting. You were a leading figure of the group who advocated for experimental ink painting. Did you later on realize that what you advocated for was not actually what you truly wanted? Did you discover something new?

　　Zhang: I am a confident person, an idealist. I am clear about my direction, but I also constantly ask myself what the concrete outcome will be. Unlike theorists, art practitioners do not find and identify certain issues from the work of numerous artists and then incorporate them into their own theory. This is not what we do. We must base ourselves on our own practice, and move forward until we concretely come up with an art of our own.

　　Qian: Let’s go back to my assumption over ten years ago that “ink painting is in a hypothetical status”, using you as a case study. By “hypothetical status”, I meant to say that such a status didn’t actually exist. The so-called booming scenario of ink painting is not real, it is but a Utopian scene fabricated by the idealists. What the modern ink painting artists pursued was only an ideal and an imaginary success, whether it meant abstract or modern. At that time, I was opposed to both, the reason being that the work by artists like you, Liu Zijian, and Fang Tu were all too elitist-oriented. I said modern ink painting was dooming, and was opposed to its invented existence exactly because of this problem, and precisely because you and other artists had the intention to see modern ink painting as the new and modern Chinese elitist art. Your ideals overtook reality. Your methods and modes were Western, which have long existed in the West. Whether your method is abstraction or mixed with new mediums, they have all been utilized and played by Western artists since the 1960s and 70s. I opposed to the tendency to do not embrace abstract ink painting or abstract art as the future of traditional Chinese art. A future of such is but repetition of someone else’s past.

　　Zhang: Having ideals is a process very important for the artists. Whether it is Elitism or Utopianism, it is a necessary step for artists to get closer to the essence of things. This is the distinction between an artist and a theorist. Even though I agree with you on these observations, I disagree with you in your way of viewing all our works as belonging to abstract ink painting, and as following Western methods. In fact, “abstract” and “ink painting” do not go together. Abstraction is a style, while ink is a medium. I have always hoped that art critics can work on some case studies of ink painting instead of simply judging them from the surface. I find through my own research that there is great difference between each artwork. Such difference is essential. For instance, Liu Zijian employs collage technique from the Western world in his work—a form adopted from Abstract Expressionism. In 2005, I organized in France the show Upcoming Ink Painting: Modern Ink Painting Exhibition. During the exhibition, a French theorist asked Liu, “Why do you create something that we have already done in the 1960’s?” My work Divine Light is a series of paintings that are non-figurative and have some abstraction. But having abstraction doesn’t mean it is abstract. Also，Wang Chuan’s work is done in ink as the medium that combines the language of Chinese bird-and-flower painting and the style of abstract expressionism. I hope that art critics could sit down and focus on each case, which is necessary for building a contemporary Chinese art theory. It has been thirteen years since we first met each other at the Guagnzhou conference. All these years, we have gone from experimenting with ink painting to “terminating ink painting.” We have come to a sudden realization that painting with ink and painting traditional ink painting are not one same idea. Ink is not equal to ink painting.

　　Qian: My thoughts are formed through my close observation and understanding of actual artworks. When I spoke of my ideas, I was mainly pointing to the overall tendency in the world of ink painting. But I was also aware of the fact that artists are different from each other in many aspects, you said your Divine Light series is non-figurative pictorial creation that has some abstraction, yet it is not abstract art. But this is very vague both in terms of your verbal statement and your work itself. If your work is not related in any way to Western art, then what are its pictorial origins? I am very willing to take you as the subject of a case study, in which I would examine the trajectory of your artistic evolution in the past years in relation to the development of contemporary art in China. To go back to our topic of ink painting, we seem to start from discussing ink painting, whether today or a decade ago, but it looks like we end with something that is not completely directly irrelevant.

　　Zhang: I think an artist and a critic differ in our understanding of artistic expression. For instance, is the sign of circle a Western or Eastern form? I think we are adjusting our ways of looking at issues by directly questioning the concept itself. But art critics have been avoiding deeper exploration of ink-related concepts, and some of them continued to confuse ink with ink painting. Artists seem to have all of a sudden realized that we should learn how to neglect superficial correlations and look into the very nature of art itself, or something more essential. We might differ in the process, perception and understanding, but there is always a trace of connection. This trace leads to something closer to the core. By contemplating the language of art in general, we have gained better understanding of ink and related issues that are more essential for expressing in ink.

　　Qian: What I meant by “irrelevant” is that our discussion tends to be unrelated to ink painting as a nationalist and elitist art genre. My understanding is that ink is no longer the ink we started with and that painting is no longer the painting we referred to. Those of you who truly want to achieve some accomplishments in art have already gone beyond the confines of an art genre.

　　Zhang: That’s right. We should discontinue focusing on ink as the main issue. We should begin with other more relevant issues. Ink is but one means of expressing ourselves.

　　Qian: And that is precisely why I was very pleased to see your most recent works. I especially like the way you use your fingers to press water into rice paper. You have totally transcended the constraints of any art genres, and particularly shattered the shackle of ink painting as an elitist Chinese art genre, and you have left behind many of the nationalistic complexes unconsciously held by many artists. There was a strong sense of nationalism in the earlier promotion of ink painting, whether under the name of abstract ink painting or modern ink painting. Although most people were not aware of the impact of nationalism, and few critics were ever critiquing its effects, nationalism was a significant factor in art of the time. I have the feeling that you seem to be quite untroubled and lighthearted about nationalist perspective. You have included your own body in your artwork, and value much more material and medium. All these indicate that you now accentuate the importance of artist as an individual, rather than as a part of a larger nationalistic body. Rice paper is an inseparable part of Chinese cultural tradition, yet today it could be utilized by Chinese as well as by non-Chinese. Like oil painting, which was originally an art genre from the West, is now well mastered by Chinese artists. Therefore what I try to emphasize is the fact that, in this era of globalization, many things have crossed the boundaries of culture, ethnicity, and ism. Over the past decade, one of the great things about Chinese artists is that they have learned how to quickly embrace this age of multi-culturalism. I am always amazed by the rapidness of this change. It is very unfortunate that, comparatively speaking, art criticism in China is still lingering behind, although it has been struggling to catch up with the artists in their quick responses to the time.

　　Zhang: I can’t agree with you more. This is also what I always like to say. But some art critics in China are often terribly offended by that.

　　Qian: One of the weak points of many art critics in China, which is often a fatal one, is that in their discussion of art they do not dare to directly face and deeply delve into specific artworks. In their writings, they often talk around the works, or at most broadly brush through the surface of artworks under discussion. This, again, has to do with art education in China. Rarely have them received systematical training in artistic analysis, especially formal and stylistic analysis. This is not to say that Chinese art critics are incapable of practicing art criticism. They are not stupid. They are smart and hardworking as well. However, due to very limited art education and training many art critics are unable to read into the artwork itself, which is evident in their writing. Not only that they do not make basic observation and description, nor do they provide necessary analysis and judgment. It might be just my personal interest, but I have always valued exchange of ideas with artists. I especially like to visit artists at their studios and always enjoy observing their process of art making. This is very helpful for my understanding, comprehension, and analysis of their artworks. The education I have received in America further demands me to face each single detail of an artwork.

　　Zhang: The reason why I am opposed to categorizing our work as abstract ink painting is because many of the critics who do so have received an education in Western art history. They directly apply things they have learned about Western art to our work and thus are often unable to concretely study our work in depth. This is really scary. Art by different artists cannot be generalized into one category. Detailed examination must be made with a consideration of each artist’s art method. Not all non-objective art is abstract art. Abstraction has its own rules and logics. Good artists in China who make art of abstract quality do not all create abstract art, because they know who they are.

　　Qian: Are you referring to your ink paintings from the past or your more recent works with finger prints? If some critics view your recent works as of abstract painting, it is because they might have some misunderstanding about abstract art. But different understandings and interpretations from different critics are not necessarily a bad thing. It is not entirely unreasonably for some critics to associate your work with Western art. I don’t think this is quite some kind of fundamental issue.

　　Zhang: It is not just about what they said about my work. The key is how they handle the issue. I have repeatedly pointed out that our works are not any kind of abstract art, nor are they of modern ink paintings What we do is an experimental ink art. It does not make any sense to impose the concept of abstraction art on our work. This is because, on the one hand, our art method is not Western. On the other hand, different artists have different ways of working with ink, and they have different directions. Each artist has distinctive spiritual pursuits of his or her own. Wassily Kandinsky brought abstract art into art history; Piet Mondrian pushed geometric abstract painting to its pinnacle; and Jackson Pollock wrote through his action a chapter of abstract expressionism in art history.

　　Qian: One of the points you just made sounds really interesting to me. That is, the concept of abstract art cannot be used to include all artwork that has an abstract quality. Some art critics use a method derived from stylistic analysis in their discussion of contemporary art, which is why they tend to categorize any and all non-figurative art as abstract art. If we make no definition or clarification of abstract ink, there can easily be discrepancy in our understanding of the concept. “Abstract” is a term often used in stylistic analysis, which could not be simply applied to the use of ink since ink is but a medium. Semantically speaking, there is no such a thing as “abstract ink” because the substance of ink as medium is not abstract or figurative. The problem of misunderstanding will occur when the method of stylistic analysis is forcefully used in the discussion of art mediums. However, it is also a misunderstanding that any use of the term “abstract” should be immediately associated with something from the West. As a matter of fact, the concept of “abstract” generally exists in the art of many different cultures. Of course, “experimental ink” is not necessarily the most appropriate term either, as the term is still reminiscent of the elitism that ink art stands for. I think your work should be viewed in the context of contemporary art, instead of that of ink painting, particularly your most recent conceptual works. The critical constituent of a contemporary artwork is not its style, nor medium, or language, but the very concept that it expresses.

　　Zhang: This is one approach. That I try to “terminate ink painting” is precisely because I intend to contemplate issues of contemporary art from a conceptual level.

　　Qian: Let me clarify a little more. For instance, when you walk through New York galleries, you might find nothing really appealing or interesting if you approach and judge the works by how they appear or by the techniques and materials used and involved. But you got to know the artists’ concepts and ideas before you understand their points. I feel that some art critics and curators in China are probably not very aware of this because they often pay more attention to style and medium than to ideas and themes. For example, I often come across exhibitions or articles that use “abstract art” or “ink art” as part or entirety of their titles. They obviously take style and medium more seriously. This practice is very much incoherent with the status of Chinese contemporary art and is very different from that of international art critics and curatorial professionals.

　　Zhang: I like to cut straight into issues. For instance, why do I prefer “experimental ink” to “abstract ink”? This is because, for me, emphasizing “experimental” is to highlight an attitude and a position.

　　Qian: The word “experimental” itself implies temporality and a sense of transition. When the concept was first introduced in China, it was not clearly defined or explained, was also the reason for all the arguments on its meaning over the past many years. But this term came originally from the West, where it is sometimes interchangeable with the word “avant-garde,” or refers to experiments with materials, techniques, or concepts. Most often, the term is used in a positive way, but sometimes it also has negative meaning.

　　Zhang: For us, “experimental” does not mean any laboratory experimentation. It is more of a spiritual pursuit. To be experimental is not the ultimate value we pursue. In my opinion, what is more important is to find the right way for expressing ourselves. The major reason for what we have achieved today is the open-mindedness that we all had during the earlier time period. That I try to “terminate ink painting” is not my ultimate goal, but a way to express my attitude and ideas.

　　Qian: I agree with you for this attitude. To be experimental is but a process, a means, not the ultimate goal. What amazed me tremendously is the change the groups of artists of which you are representative have gone through from the 1990s to today. At the very beginning, you were an advocate, and even a leading figure, of the “experimental ink.” When did you stop focusing on ink painting?

　　Zhang: Well, I never stop thinking about ink, but I tend to think from different angles and on multiple levels. And I like to compare. As early as in 1991 I started experimenting with and thinking about the possibility of working with finger prints. I made only a few pieces of this kind, which I tucked away when I found that the general reaction to these pieces was that they are abstract art. Some of those works were later bought by a British gallery.

　　Qian: So you started working with finger prints as early as 1991, but then you decided to give it up?

　　Zhang: I didn’t give up. Only that I realized I had been a little too provocative, a little too risky in the environment of the time. It didn’t fit in the art atmosphere. So I had to adopt different strategies.

　　Qian: Do you still have some of your Fingerprints works from 1991?

　　Zhang: Yes, I do. My problem at the time was that I did not have a clear idea about how I should highlight the significance of action in my art-making. For example, the dots in those paintings that appear to be formed in clusters or randomly dispersed give the impression that they were done in an arranged composition. This would lead the viewer to take them as abstract painting rather than works that involve action. If you wish to present a theme, you need to take the context into account. So I started to work on Divine Light by taking a dot from my finger-print work and enlarging it. Thus I was continuing to explore from the perspective of ink and brushwork.

　　Qian: That is to say, you chose a compromise way?

　　Zhang: You can say so. It was also my strategy.

　　Qian: And when did you return to Fingerprints work?

　　Zhang: I picked it up in 2000, and from 2003, I started focusing on it.

　　Qian: Of all your recent work I have seen so far, what I really appreciate the most is your series that you finger-pressed with water.

　　Zhang: These were made after 2006.

　　Qian: What about before then?

　　Zhang: My Fingerprints works from 1991 were done in dried ink. After the 1996 Guangzhou Symposium, experimental ink painting started to be better understood and widely accepted, and it became a popular topic in China from 1998 to 2002. Around this time, the September 11th tragedy happened, which also had a deep impact on everyone in China. That’s how I started my mixed media work, Morning Post, which lasted for three years. In 2003, aside from Morning Post, I began using red fingerprints. And starting in 2004, I stopped working on the series of Divine Light and Morning Post in order to focus on working with my Fingerprints series.

　　Qian: Specifically what kind of impact do you mean that was brought by the September 11th tragedy? How has it concretely influenced your work?

　　Zhang: I started to question the internal world of human beings, but in the meanwhile I called for peace from the bottom of my heart. For the purpose of better expression, I started appropriating newspaper images and experimenting with the possibility of using ink with mixed media, including rice paper, paint, graphite, and white powder. In a very short time, I created over twenty pieces of this kind. But after 2004, I gradually calmed down, and entered the stage of Fingerprints work, searching for something that belongs to my innermost self.

　　Qian: Why did you choose the color red? Does it have any special meaning for you?

　　Zhang: I chose red simply because of the cultural connotation and symbolism of the fact that the Chinese used to use fingerprint in red for signing their paperwork. I wanted to emphasize the expressiveness of the process of fingerprinting. Fingerprints on rice paper are light and made not according to any structural composition or anything from art history. Therefore, it is not abstract art, but rather simply traces left behind by the very action of fingerprinting. My idea is to turn the two dimensional rice paper into mixed media work that is beyond painting. My work is no longer painting.

　　Qian: That is precisely what I meant when I talked about your change from “ink to not ink,” and “painting to not painting.” The final product is a presentation of the spirit. The true meaning is embedded in the process of making. What is most interesting to me is the very contact between your fingers and the material, which is the most dynamic part of the work. Besides cultural symbolism, is it anyhow related to your personal experience? I mean the touching of the medium with your finger.

　　Zhang: There was an event that has been firmly inscribed in my memories. It happened during the Cultural Revolution. My then five-year-old brother was forced by the local officers to admit that he had connection with a reactionary slogan by absurdly leaving his fingerprints on paper. Soon after, my entire family was “transferred” to the countryside to work. This was a special experience for me, which also started me questioning the true essence of humanity. Similarly, asking from the perspective of art, is the medium of ink used only for painting? From Liu Guosong’s revolutionary reaction against the use of “center-tipped brushstrokes” in Taiwan in the 1960s , to Gu Wenda’s incorporation of Surrealism into Chinese painting in the 1980s, to the practice of artists like us in the 1990s, none of these reforming experiments has transcended the form of painting. Is painting really the only way of artistic expression?

　　Qian: This is so interesting a question!

　　Zhang: What I want to do, through the physical contact between body and rice paper during the action of finger printing, is to document the most sensitive part of this contact, which is in the traces left behind on the paper. For me, this is a new kind of aesthetic experience. For a long time, artists and critics were unable to stop debating over ink painting. But I have to take the first step to get out by using the method of fingerprinting that has been well thought through. The relation between body and rice paper is emphasized in action. However, new issues come into being. What are the possibilities of medium? In the past, we talked about the cultural aspects of ink painting, and its use of ink and brushstroke, never about the correlation between ink and paper in the process of art expression.

　　Qian: That is because in the past people only aimed towards one goal—to follow the aesthetic standards of ink painting. They have never tried to understand materials themselves. For them, rice paper and ink were seen only as tools for creating visual imagery. Even today, I believe, there are still many people who take this approach.

　　Zhang: What it results in, like you said, is the abuse of stylistic approach in art criticism, which is indeed nothing but a kind of mannerism.

　　Qian: We can take Chen Ping, Lu Shunyu, and Chang Jin as examples. They have undoubtedly achieved a great deal, but in the end they were not able to escape the doctrine. I think it is exactly because that they have an understanding of materials that is completely different from yours.

　　Zhang: Indeed. If we cannot create something new, we will not be able to continue the tradition. That is to say, the very way to continue a tradition is to create something new. Of a tradition, what part do we need to carry on? This is particularly important. Let me put it this way. Suppose there is painting by Dong Qichang that is placed right in front of you, do you feel you are close to it or far away from it? As a matter of fact, you do not live in his reality. This is what I called “the broken bridge.” When we study a tradition, we study its ambience, and its temperament. The ink effects and brush strokes do not mean much to us because they represent something of their own time, something that belongs to Dong Qichang himself.

　　Qian: This understanding of yours is very thorough, and well-articulated. In the past few years, many art critics have oversimplified the so-called tradition. They drew an equation between Chinese tradition and ink painting. But Chinese art tradition has never been equal to ink painting. The brushwork-centric theory held by Lang Shaojun and others might no longer be popular today, I hope. My understanding is that tradition itself is ever changing, it is never static. Let’s return to the definition of Chinese tradition. What exactly is it that we call Chinese tradition today? Is it the tradition of the Qing dynasty, or of the Ming, or of the Tang? The traditions of Han, Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties are all different. Instead of endlessly arguing over some generalized concept of Chinese tradition, we should return to our reality, where everything we create today will become part of the tradition of tomorrow. Why should we always go back to the tradition for any and all of our creations today? Is it meaningful? Why must we judge everything by the standards of tradition each step we take? I personally don’t see the necessity. For people today, they have too much to care about, everything that is closely related to their personal interests and life. I think art critics should abandon many of their empty and general concepts. On the one hand, no one can ever make a clear definition of tradition. On the other, it is simply pointless.

　　Zhang: I think it is the way of perceiving, that we have to learn how to deal with. Art critics and artists both need to contemplate over this issue. It’s like asking yourself where you are, tradition is always more or less embodied in yourself as well as in your work.

　　Qian: Let me ask you a specific question. What kind of rice paper do you use for your Fingerprints work? Is it of the thin or thick kind?

　　Zhang: My paper is custom-made with extra thickness.

　　Qian: And how do you display those works?

　　Zhang: Basically I show them in two ways: one, to hang them flat on the wall, which is what most audience is used to. The other is to display them installation art pieces. The way of displaying is often changing, depending on the theme and space of each and every exhibition.

　　Qian: Do you need to sandwich-mount your work for display?

　　Zhang: Whatever way it is displayed, my work cannot be squished as it is done with effects of an uneven surface. When it is displayed as a two-dimensional work it can be mounted on board or framed without being pressed by frame glass. Another way for displaying my Fingerprints work is to let it “float in the air” by suspending it in the space. Apart from that, I also take into account the videos of my fingerprinting.

　　Qian: For the purpose of emphasizing the very process of pressing your fingers onto rice paper?

　　Zhang: It is to clarify the action of fingerprinting as the priority form of expression in my work. I have produced two video works. One is based on my red Fingerprints series. Superficially, it seems like a one that documents my art-making process. But as a matter of fact, I tried to present it as a performance piece, which of course is also a demonstration of the process of my leaving finger traces on a two dimensional surface. This video participated in the Yokohama Film Festival. The other video is based on my colorless Fingerprints series, in which I simply use water in fingerprinting on rice paper.

　　Qian: I think I particularly like your series of using water, which has no ink involved, but retains “the spirit of ink.” What I mean by “the spirit of ink” is what traditional Chinese literati artists called “ink of five colors.” Ink itself is a color, but also not quite one. Using water for leaving your fingerprints on paper, you have successfully created an uneven surface, which produces fascinating effects of change of light and shadow. This intoxicating image of color without color makes your endeavor even more intriguing and meaningful. In the greater context of China, rice paper is symbolic of Chinese art and culture. It is by itself a powerful signifier, whose implied meaning is visualized in your hands through your body and action, and with minimal elements. What I appreciate the most is that you use the least means and material to “dot out” the cultural significance hidden in this unique medium. This is what I find particularly interesting.

　　Zhang: My Fingerprints works follow the logic of first with red, which represent life; then with ink, which represent culture; and finally with water, a symbol of nature. But the whole framework of fingerprinting transcend medium. On a separate note, I have gained a different understanding about red in the process of fingerprinting. When I repeatedly leave my fingerprints, repeatedly add layer over layer…pressing three times and ten times create completely different outcomes. In other words, for one piece of work, I can spend my lifetime just doing finger printing. I can never finish it because it is a work of infinity.

　　Qian: My guess is that you will not spend your entire life making fingerprints. But your Fingerprints work itself explains your increasing detachment from the tradition. We can say that there exists in your early works a strong attachment to tradition. But now, especially with this series of Fingerprints pieces with water, your understanding of tradition has overtaken the old attachment you used to have. I think this represents courage, and strength. It is admirable. Tradition is still there, but you are no longer preoccupied with an intense sense of mission as in the past, although the mission is still around.

　　Zhang: My mission today is to create a new form of expression!

　　Qian: Let’s put it this way, your sense of mission is not realized through words, but through actions. Many artists today talk more than they actually achieve. They often claim that their artwork embody the sense of mission and sustains Chinese cultural tradition. But when you look at their work, it is not necessarily true.

　　Zhang: Using water to make fingerprints was a big challenge for me. It was after experimenting with gray for a while that I dared to take the risk of working from “nothing,” that is, with water because what I dealt with was nothingness. Nothingness in Chinese culture represents the highest state of being. As I said earlier, I do not know what is waiting ahead of me, but I know my direction. Art experience does not come from slogan. An artist’s approach is obtained step by step.

　　Qian: I think no one should be overly obsessed more with mediums than with ideas. Once you have a good idea, you can find proper material anyway and will be able to harness it as you want.

　　Zhang: But an idea cannot be separately tackled from the medium. An idea is to be used for expression while expression has to rely on medium. There is a necessary connection. Any idea is attached to the form of expression and proper medium, whose interrelationship has to be clearly understood. Fingerprinting is just an idea, a concept. How do I realize and visualize it is a question that pushes me forward into a step–by-step exploration. Red is a means for this kind of presentation, so is gray, and water. Now, there are rice paper, ink, water, human, body of the human. How do I better convey the idea with any one or all of these elements? For instance, water exists in between being and nothingness. The question is how do I articulate this relation in the space?

　　Qian: I think concepts are always more important than mediums. Something you just said is very interesting to me, that is, all of a sudden you realized that there is nothing in there. I feel that this is exactly what makes your work so fascinating, which is instantly reminiscent of the “state of nothingness”, articulated in the philosophy of Chinese Chan Buddhism. You have simplified and reduced everything in your work to the minimum, which makes your work a kind of “minimalist performance art” with the spirit of minimalism. But your minimalism is not the same kind of minimalism in the West that focuses more on picture surface. I call it a minimalist performance art simply because the performance or action part in your work has been reduced to a minimum. Of course, the minimalism in the West is itself closely related to Chan philosophy from the East, especially the Japanese Zen. We may say that minimalism is a kind of Chan or Zen art.

　　Zhang: In the West, minimalism intends to present the less. But in Chinese culture, less is not necessarily the least. It might be the more, or the richer. Why do I say so? In my water Fingerprints series, you seem to see a minimalist form of expression. But it may not be necessarily so. We often talk about the spirituality of art, but few of us talk about the quality of art. What exactly is the highest form of artistic expression? This is a question I frequently asked myself when I was working on my gray Fingerprints series. I have been pursuing art quality, during which I often question about the quality of simplicity and purity for the sake of best art expression. It the end I realized that it is nothing but nature itself. How then do I present the quality of nature? My way is that I dip my finger tip in water and press it against rice paper. It’s a simple approach, but one that is rich in change.

　　Qian: I think I partially agree, and partially disagree with you. I agree that what you have just said is right, but I disagree that your work is distinguishably different from that by Western artists. On the contrary, there seems to be an increasingly close relation. This is not a bad thing. I believe that human beings have a lot of things in common. And in this era of globalization, people seem to get closer in their understanding of art. Also, minimalism in the West does not simply mean to present “the less,” but rather, it is about “less is more” and “less is good than more.” By coincidence, this matches the view of the Chinese painter Qi Baishi, who claimed that “Reducing a little is better than adding a little.”

　　Zhang: They do sound similar.

　　Qian: We cannot take minimalism simply as a painting style. It is a concept; one that derived from the fact that painting has reached a point that is so unbearable high that not much room has been left for any further exploration. So they throw a piece of white paper in front you and say that all the possibilities are right in there.

　　Zhang: I have had similar ideas with ink as a medium. Traditional ink painting has reached its end, but ink still has much room for exploration.

　　Qian: I agree with you.

　　Zhang: For my solo show at Kuandu Museum of Fine Arts in Taiwan, I draped my Fingerprints works from high up in the ceiling down onto the floor. By so doing, I hoped that I could break through the limitations of displaying ink works. During the panel discussion, someone in the audience pointed out that the way of display is the same as that of Western-style installation art. But what I meant to say by the display is that the moment when the piece flows down from the ceiling is an instant reminiscence of the scene described in Li Bai’s classic poem, “The water of the Yellow River comes down from Heaven.”

　　Qian: What surprises me is the comment that this person made about installation art. More than a decade ago when I was still in Beijing, I made it very clear that installation is not a goal in art, but a means, an approach of art making. It is not exclusively owned by Western artists. Why can we not use it simply because Western artists are using it? As we all know, cars, light bulbs, and computers were all invented by Westerners. But aren’t we using them so pleasantly? I wonder why in Taiwan today there is still a question as such. However, your response was quite interesting.

　　Zhang: I could understand his point. He wasn’t trying to be critical. It was just his angle of perceiving my work. It is like saying “this is a painting, but that is an installation.”

　　Qian: This goes back to the discourse of style-based and genre-based art criticism, which I mentioned earlier, that is still controlling the understanding and thinking of many art critics. I think some art critics are falling behind precisely because they lack knowledge of the currents of art criticism.

　　Zhang: This is true. Some curators tend to organize exhibitions by art genres and categories, where video art, performance art, installation art, and oil paintings are considered contemporary art, while works by myself and other artists are categorized as ink painting, not contemporary art. This makes working with the medium of ink a difficult things for some artists.

　　Qian: One thing that I found art education in the West has done so well is that art students are never told whether installation, painting, or sculpture is a better art form. Students learn to work with everything, and they understand that everything is a tool, and a way of art making. They have to familiarize themselves with the methods of installation, video, photography, and so on, before they are able to use them. In recent years, many students in the West are also interested in ink stuff. They find this medium very interesting, and they are free to use it in their own way.

　　Zhang: I once touched upon this topic when I was teaching a class. I told my students that as an artist, you need to first think about what you want to do, what you want to express, and then choose the medium to best and more precisely convey your ideas.

　　Qian: You can have it your way. All the materials are at your service.

　　Zhang: I remember in 1994 when I was invited to give a lecture at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts of Antwerp, Belgium, I noticed that their education is completely different from ours. Part of their class lessons focus on material in which the instructor told the students to go outside the school looking for different kinds of materials that they could use for their artwork. Then they came back with their findings, and discuss with their instructor about the potential possibilities of these materials. I thought it was quite interesting.

　　Qian: I believe that in their eyes materials have their own lives. They are able to talk to you, by their texture, substance, color, and shape.

　　Zhang: That’s right. I think rice paper itself has the capacity of expression. Like in Liu Xuguang’s Ink Drops, he left an ink drop on a piece of hard paper, the changes of which over the following three hours were caught on tape through a high quality video camera. This is an interesting example of directly using black ink as a form of expression because ink itself is expressive. This is a change from the traditional view of ink being merely a material for painting.

　　Qian: That is to say, ink is now a conceptual one.

　　Zhang: Yes, indeed. Take my Fingerprints work as an example, that I make fingerprints on rice paper is because I know that only when the prints are pressed into paper will they become unique and irreplaceable! I spent a lot of time pondering over this idea. My water Fingerprints work, which you think is interesting, took me quite some time in considering how they should be best displayed. I also took into account the potential effects of artificial lighting as compared with natural lighting. I had to make sure what would happen in a naturally-lit space, how the changing light from morning to noon and afternoon would affect the way the audience viewed my work, both from the front and from the back, and how it would look like when light penetrates through the crackles left on the paper by repeated finger pressing, and so on.

　　Qian: Your approach of thinking and practicing sounds very similar to what Western artists do about material culture. I often talk about this in my teaching as well, about how ancient Chinese artists, like modern artists, utilize materials, and about the importance of materials in the process of art-making. Although on the surface your fingerprints with water may appear invisible in your works, the subtle interaction between you and the medium is ubiquitous. Anyone trained and educated in the West will spontaneously respond to them.

　　Zhang: In Japan of the 1960s, the “Mono-ha” artists brought natural objects into gallery space as their way of artistic expression. This kind of expression is based on their projection of personal concepts onto natural objects, therefore a way of personal expression. This is very much the Chan way of thinking. Inspired by this, I try to think of a way to express my understanding of nature by transforming natural water into a form of artistic expression through an organic medium, an organic form, and an organic action. I think an artist should have the ability of thinking beyond and pushing for the limit.

　　Qian: You are right. I would also like to know if you are currently working on anything else besides the Fingerprints works.

　　Zhang: Yes, but they are still fingerprint related. I am working on some three dimensional ceramic pieces, something pertaining to space. I want to use the approach of fingerprinting to explore other possibilities for expressing ideas. I used wet clay to make a lot of small clay balls, and then press them onto one another through the action of fingerprinting, which shaped them into a three dimensional structure with irregular, humpy surfaces. The structures turned out fairly interesting.

　　Qian: It sounds interesting to me, too. That you do not treat it as related to ink art indicates that you have made a great leap in your understanding of art. I think this comes from your exploration of the interaction between body and material. Like I just said, even though your work involves rice paper, it is not anyhow related to traditional Chinese ink painting. You are now thinking in the way of a contemporary artist, who seeks to explore things related to his personal experience, body, and thoughts. You have turned very microscopic, which means you think in terms of things that are directly related to your body. You can press your fingerprints on rice paper, on clay, or on whatever you feel like. And this is precisely the point. Living today in an era of ultra-rapid development and changes, people find pressures from this world ever more unbearable. As the surroundings become less and less predictable but more and more uncertain, human sensibility also becomes more vulnerable. Human beings are forced to turn inward and explore the innermost world of one’s self. Only through one’s own body and elements within can one feel his or her own existence, from which he or she can then sense the reality of the surrounding world. As human beings venture into the outer space, much exploration has also turned inward, into the depth of human mind. Therefore, what many artists try to express in their work is they very desire to reconcile with themselves through direct contact with their surroundings. The meaning thus resides in the traces left from the contact between their bodies and the various kinds of material. Such traces are themselves symbols of meanings, which document bits and pieces of thinking of the contemporary world. Perhaps, when people from one hundred years later study about how artists reflect the spirit of our time in their work, they will come across your Fingerprints and find many interesting messages in the traces left behind in the material through direct contact with your body. What you create is the connotation of a message, a trace that reflects the intellectual activities of today’s human beings. This is a quite meaningful thing. My understanding is that you have successfully crossed the boundaries of culture and nationalism. And I am really glad to see that you have further distanced yourself from cultural nationalism.

　　Zhang: I hope that an artist is an independent and unique explorer. It is the very uniqueness that makes an artist irreplaceable and meaningful. I have been constantly thinking about this one question: Our contemporary art approach is basically adopted from the West. Can we develop a method of our own and stop using that from the West?

　　Qian: You will be a great master by the time you create a method of your own that is neither Western nor Chinese.

　　Zhang: I’m not trying to compete with our Western counterparts, nor I’m saying that we should not use any Western method. I am simply thinking that, being artists who come from a vast system as Chinese culture, maybe we should at least start thinking on our own,

　　Qian: It all depends on whether you have the ability to do so.

　　Zhang: A few years ago, the artists Gao Brothers teased me and said, “Zhang Yu, you should organize an event to put your ideas out there, where you can make the announcement to terminate ink painting. You should be the ink terminator.”

　　Qian: I still remember what you said in 1999 when we talked about your editing and publishing work of the History of Black and White series. You said that you were going to quit it in two years! You said it would be time to put a period to it.

　　Zhang: Currently, I am planning to organize a show with the title ‘’Back to the Essence—from Ink Painting to Ink.’’ I am thinking of a show that could briefly outlines the history and development of ink painting, starting from the May 4th Movement, that reflects the desire to reform Chinese painting.

　　Qian: But reform was precisely part of the May 4th Movement slogan. The difference is, they didn’t want to terminate ink painting. They wanted to find a way to continue the tradition.

　　Zhang: Well, they wanted to continue through some kind of breakthrough because they were not satisfied with the past. What we have in common is our attitude in questioning traditional ink painting and putting an end to the past.

　　Qian: Who are you going to invite to participate in your show?

　　Zhang: My proposed show will have two parts. The first part will be based on historical documents, which will include Xu Beihong, Wu Guanzhong, Liu Guosong, Gu Wenda, Wang Chuan, among others. The second part will be about contemporary artists, which will have Li Huasheng, Liu Xuguang, Song Dong, Qiu Zhijie, Liang Quan, and some others. Xu Beihong was dissatisfied with the past; therefore he tried to reform Chinese painting with the Western mode of drawing. Liu Guosong was dissatisfied with the past, and he abandoned the use of brush-tip brushstroke. Gu Wenda was dissatisfied with the past, and he transformed Chinese painting by means of surrealism. We are dissatisfied with the past, because we believe that ink and ink painting are completely different concepts. Traditional ink painting has come to an end, but ink still has much room for further exploration. I want to make my point clear through this exhibition. Of course, to terminate ink painting is just my personal wish. No one will be able to terminate ink painting. But I hope everyone understands that ink is not equal to ink painting.

　　Qian: Your previous publications on the art of ink painting are important resources for future art history researches. I hope they will be catalogued sometime soon in the near future.

　　Zhang: I think they will. Thank you.