“With Flowers”, 2013-5, digital print on wallpaper, bicycle and plastic, Ai Weiwei
On face value, you might assume that artists Ai Weiwei and Andy Warhol have very little in common, save for their initials and occupations. The former has defied Chinese censors for decades as a vocal advocate for democracy and
National Gallery of Victoria Exterior
freedom of speech. The latter moved in high-flung artistic circles, casting a sharp eye on the nature of celebrity and artistic authenticity. The decision by the National Museum of Victoria/NGV in Australia to merge their portfolios in the exhibition “Andy Warhol — Ai Weiwei” (December 11, 2015–April 24, 2016) is an interesting choice.
Image of Ai Weiwei and cat from exhibition
While Warhol’s name may be the more famous in Western circles, centre stage is here reserved for Weiwei and his unique catalogue of ‘protest art’. In the foyer, we are treated to the fragile industrial magnificence of “Forever Bicycles”, a vast network of interconnected bike frames arching high within the gallery’s airy interior. This is a taster of Ai Weiwei’s masterful grasp of space and performance.
Weiwei’s installations, some of them created especially for the exhibition, drive the narrative through this exhibition. “Andy Warhol — Ai Weiwei” balances Weiwei’s forceful moral fortitude ahead of what is tipped to be the Chinese 21st Century, against the cynicism of Warhol’s dissection of the American 20th Century. With the artists exhibited in direct comparison throughout, together they provide pertinent and complementary statements on the world’s transformation – on scales large and small.
When surveying their contribution to society and political discourse, to call these men ‘artists’ seems too meagre a description. At times, ‘documentarian’ is more accurate for Warhol, while Weiwei’s actions are often closer to ‘activism’ than to art. But this is a large part of their success, and one of the most engaging aspects of this exhibition. Their art is defined by its ability to push boundaries, introducing new media and new conversations to the gallery space.
Ai Weiwei clearly owes a debt to his forebear. Marcel Duchamp’s legacy of the ‘readymade’, in which ideas are championed over craftsmanship, is inescapable in the installation-
heavy gallery space. Also, Warhol paved the path towards modern ‘protest art’ through iconographic prints such as the “Electric Chair” series and “Vote McGovern”, which simultaneously
Coloured Vases, Ai Weiwei, ceramic and paint
captured and critiqued a period of commercial temptation and unchecked celebrity cultivation. Still today, easy parallels can be drawn from Warhol’s lurid prints and portraits to hot-topic issues of personality politics, gun violence and capital punishment debates. However, while Warhol’s work can convey a level of indifference toward his subjects
Ai Weiwei’s “Bird Balloon and Caonima Balloon”, 2015, metalised polyester film, helium, in response to Andy Warhol’s “Cow Wallpaper and Silver Clouds”
(“You’d be surprised how many people want to hang an electric chair on their living-room wall. Specially if the background color matches the drapes”), Weiwei distinguishes himself in this exhibition as a man more conscious of his motives and his humanitarian goals.
In a time when obfuscation from the political elite hinders progress on major issues, these clear statements of intent – to inspire change from the individual up, rather than the state down – can be everything from refreshing to demoralising.
The refreshing aspects manifest in the form of the well-publicised “Letgo Room”, a new walk-
in exhibit furnished in Lego-
like bricks depicting quotes from various Australian activists. It is an intimate and bright showcase of the best parts of democratic process, and upon entry it transfers the viewer to a state of cautious optimism. On the other hand, the exhibit also carries the weight of Lego’s original refusal to be implicated with the “Letgo Room” on political grounds. This policy has now been reversed by Lego after significant pressure, but Weiwei’s point on institutional censorship has already been proven. There is still much work to be done.
Weiwei’s confronting childhood has provided a steely, direct edge to his exploits, and one quote featured in the “Letgo Room” from Tim Soutphommasane, Australia’s Race Discrimination
“Letgo Room”, 2015, Ai Weiwei
Commissioner, rings particularly loud in the context of Weiwei’s struggle with the Chinese state: “To love your country means being prepared to criticise it.”
From a young age, Weiwei looked on as his father, famous poet Ai Qing, was sentenced to 19 years of ‘re-education’ through labour, as punishment for speaking out in support of communism during China’s Cultural Revolution. Weiwei emerged from this oppressive environment to become involved with pro-democracy groups, and you can see how the work of Warhol would have appealed – if not for its message, then for its uncompromising and challenging approaches to addressing social faults.
This is most evident in the striking “With Flowers”, which references his famous 600-day protest carried out through 2013 and 2014 outside his Caochangdi studio. The exhibit consists of a bicycle adorned with a bouquet of flowers, backgrounded by photos of alterative arrangements. These he changed every day in protest against the Chinese government’s confiscation of his passport up until it was returned on September 27, 2014. The effect is simple but empowering.
What Warhol and Weiwei have done, and which this exhibition explores exhaustively, is to redefine what art can be and is capable of. Spanning painting, film, photography and the readymade, their briefly overlapping portfolios represent a changing of the guard in modern art. Now, we look on with interest to see what becomes of Weiwei’s battle against those who would silence him. Angus Tonkin, MDT Correspondent, Melbourne
“The Animal that Looks like a Llama but is Really an Alpaca”, 2015, digital print on wallpaper, Ai Weiwei
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