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| “Does China Have Art Critics?” |
| By Stacey Duff |
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  s the Chinese contemporary art market booms, new questions are being raised about the quality of art criticism in China. Do are art critics have access to a domestic media platform that encourages them to be objective? Are they independent? Do Chinese art critics have any real power, either at home or abroad? Do they have a native – rather than an imported -- critical vocabulary with which to assess work? For that matter, can art critics in China even make a living?
At his office in Universal Studios-Beijing, Pi Li – the curator, gallerist, critic and educator – flips through another nondescript art magazine. He takes a casual glance at the cover and frowns. “I think the main problem facing Chinese contemporary art right now is its media. We don’t have so many professional art magazines – real art magazines, comparable to say Art Forum or Flash Art,” he says.
In spite of a marked increase in domestic art magazines over the last two years, many observers like Pi Li feel that Chinese art criticism is in a downward spiral. “Since the market boom here, I found that criticism of the work comes much later than the art. Also, if there is some work that a critic thinks is not good, the work can still sell quite high on the market. It’s clear that critics today cannot prove their power, cannot prove their possibility.”
 Critic Huang Zhuan says the urgency of the market has overshadowed a critical integrity that was more prevalent in the 1980s. “In the ’80s, [major critics like] Li Xianting and Gao Minglu were not so much using power as they were using a kind of spirit. You can’t say they were using power because in those days no one had power – everything was underground.”
Huang says the market has altered the relationship between critics and artists. He also notes that some magazines today have a peculiar relationship with their writers. “Some contemporary Chinese magazines even charge fees for you to publish your articles – that’s the power of the economy.”
Art Basel Asia Advisor, Philip Tinari, is also skeptical. “I do think that what you’re seeing is symptomatic of the broader media landscape in China. Things can look formally very much like their counterparts in the West. But unless you know what’s going on behind the scenes, it’s hard to discern whether they are what they seem.”
In the last five years, a more educated, moneyed Chinese readership has fueled changes in the nation’s media. Major newspapers and magazines – including the state-owned Xinhua News Agency, as well as Caijing (Finance and Economy), and Sanlian Zhoukan Shenghuo (Life Weekly) are publishing in-depth articles on a host of social ills – from bridges collapsing in Sichuan Province to China’s largely unregulated health products manufacturing industry. Hard-hitting exposes of political corruption and malfeasance are sparse in China by comparison to the West – but in theory, any issue that is not political should be open game for critics and journalists.
Except, perhaps, for Chinese contemporary art. Art publications in China have not developed as a gadfly of the system but rather serve as an innocuous buzz surrounding a very powerful money cow. “The bigger picture is that the market is completely out of control,” says Tinari. “If there weren’t critical articles, I don’t think that would necessarily influence these prices. Sure, you can find some realist painting going for $500,000 at a local auction and there’s a great article that goes with it. But the criticism becomes a necessary piece of the machine as opposed to driving it.”
Independence Daze
What constitutes critical independence in the Chinese art world is still ambiguous. One thing is certain, though: art criticism in China is worth its weight in gold. “Galleries here have the money,” says Pi Li. “They invite critics to write an article, say 2,000 words for a $1,000 fee for the catalog, and then the gallery will pay for some pages in a magazine and sometimes the same article that appears in the catalog will appear as a magazine piece.”
Mr. Tinari says critics are looking to get paid for their words. “There’s so much bad art in China, and so many bad artists who know the names of a couple of critics and then those people [i.e. critics] can demand these very high prices for putting a stamp of critical approval on the article and they charge by character – at the very least it’s like a dollar US per word.’
A dollar per word? That’s doesn’t sound exorbitant, in comparison to prices demanded by Western journalists. Of course, the issue of quality art criticism is not exclusively Chinese. “The question is being affronted very seriously in the West now too,” Tinari says. “When I was in New York last December, I happened to stumble on a discussion at PS 1 one day which was like six art critics talking about the state of art criticism now and it’s like the overwhelming concern.”
“When Art Forum was founded in 1967,” Tinari adds, “it was actually a place where artists submitted new work for review by a committee of peers and you had factions of critics battling back and forth for discursive power and really concretely calling each other out on points that they were making. They had this very healthy graduate-style seminar discourse going on.”
 Nearly all the critics we spoke to noted a similar style of discourse – impassioned if at times idealistic – was altering the Chinese contemporary landscape in the 1980s andinto the 1990s. Movements barked on the heels of movements.
But whatever the current state of art criticism in China, critics here are still clear on what it takes to be independent and have status. “For a critic to have status,” says art critic and journalist, Fang Zhenning, “he at least needs the fundamentals – he needs a knowledge of art history and to have a developed esthetic sense. He needs to have enthusiasm – some people just aren’t excited about anything they see. Then, you have to talk about it. Some people know it’s a work of art when they see it, but they don’t talk about it. You can’t be a critic like that. Critics have to talk about it, even if talking about it can be dangerous.”
“When I say independence,” says Huang Zhuan, “I’m not saying that you have to criticize the government, or do your own thing. But you have to keep art criticism as your highest priority. Critics still have to live, of course, but making a living and other interests shouldn’t be mixed up.”
But independence and status is mixed up with ‘other interests’ in China. “You either make money or you earn your respect. But in China if you don’t earn money, nobody respects you,” says Pi Li. “I think the situation is similar on an international level.”
 Tinari agrees, “Are you going to have authority here and live in a rented apartment? And everyone’s going to be inviting you to eat out all the time? Like, you have to have money and that money’s not going to come anywhere else but from being directly involved.”
By direct involvement, Tinari means pursuing other interests to supplement an income. Many Chinese art critics frequently curate, run galleries, consult and advise. The Chinese art world is one big gray zone, even more so than streamlined Western art communities. It’s no longer a question of surviving, but of surviving beautifully. How ‘directly involved’ can these critics get without losing independence, objectivity, and ultimately critical respect. “Whether you are doing this for art or money or for a business operation, I can’t tell,” says Huang Zhuan.
It’s not a matter of deprivation but status. Material wealth is a symbol that you’ve made it – critics are subject to this unwritten law – and when you’ve made it, people will read your work. It’s not a matter of competence because much of the writing is both competent and sophisticated. But it’s simply a matter of independence. Fang Zhenning notes that after the fundamentals – a sound knowledge of art history, a honed esthetic sense, enthusiasm (or passion), and the courage to speak – what you need next is insight.
Insight – which sounds so similar to Huang Zhuan’s word spirit, which he used to describe the critical writings of the 1980s – is a sign of independence. Insight has always been a rare bird. Now it seems virtually extinct. When a critical perspective is paid for, that’s not insight of course. You’re getting paid, as the phrase goes in Chinese, ‘to stroke the horse’s ass.’
Language Games
But even insightful critics writing in Chinese still face the challenge of audience. Who are you writing for, especially when writing in English still carries more influence? What gets lost in translation?
“During the 1990s, one of the issues I addressed as a critic was how many Chinese artists had to go to Hong Kong, or Germany or New York,” says Leng Lin from Beijing Commune, the gallery he runs in Beijing’s Dashanzi Art District. “What I was talking about was the fact that so many Chinese artists were making art here but they had to go abroad. Currently, how we define a good artist depends on how deep he gets involved in the international scene. It’s the same for critics – and it’s hard for them to write in English.”
Pi Li also feels that writings in English still carry more clout, even in China. “The English-language articles are still more influential than writings which appear in Chinese. That situation has changed some. But I would say that ever since the 1980s, foreign critics – particularly those writing in English – still exert more influence.” English is still the international lingua franca of the art world, in China as in most places around the globe.
Another issue emerging is how Western modes of thinking have influenced critical writing in Chinese, but not always for the best. Some observers feel  that the lexicon of postmodern theory, for instance, doesn’t translate well into Chinese and that some intellectuals are using hastily translated concepts without any clear understanding of the concepts.
One of the topics pressing on the mind of Hallam Chow, a Hong Kong-based lawyer and philanthropist, is directly related to the critical vocabulary used by Chinese art critics. In Chow’s view, that vocabulary is wholly imported by translation from the West. “You read all these terms in critical publications and it either sounds elitist or just doesn't make sense. There needs to be a vocabulary or rather a vernacular built from the ground up.” China, Chow says, never went through the same social and cultural history as the West and therefore can't simply import a Western language when talking about art.
Not all critical writing comes off sounding theoretical or unnatural. The diversity of styles in catalogues and in the media range from the poetic and misty (where, in the classic Chinese style, ideas are suggested rather than made clear and supported); to the short, hip and punchy; to the long and discursive.
What may be lacking, though, is writing that is not centered in the wink-wink, nod-nod language of the art world – an outsider language that emphasizes intelligent presentation to a wider audience.
“Look at someone like Tom Wolfe’s writing on Pop Art – just brilliant, just absolutely brilliant. Also just biting, so incisive. He wasn’t an art critic per se, but  he’s always had such a weak spot for the art world. He’s considered a complete outsider by the so-called community of art critics. The fact that you even have someone from outside come inside, I mean, you don’t see a lot of that here in China.”
Critical funding
Independence may still need a financial booster. As least two collectors have announced scholarships to support young critics. Hallam Chow in Hong Kong and the Swiss collector of Chinese contemporary art, Uli Sigg, have each announced scholarships to support young critics.
Mr. Chow’s sponsored scholarship is called the Central Academy of Fine Art’s Young Art Critic’s Award. The award will be initiated in 2008 and includes a grand prize of 10,000 RMB to the winning entry, as well as two second place prizes of 5000 RMB and three third place prizes of 3,000 RMB.
“One of the reasons I wanted to establish an award for art criticism”, says Mr. Chow, “is that I am interested in culture, not only art. Art can't develop without art criticism. And it can't develop in a vacuum cut off from larger cultural developments. Art and culture must develop hand-in-hand." Mr. Chow also sponsors the Luo Zhongli Scholarship for Young Artists at the Sichuan Academy of Fine Arts in Chongqing.
“Currently there’s a tremendous amount of art writing,” says Uli Sigg. “Every artist does a book. Every gallery does lots of books. But it’s not fully independent art criticism.” Sigg is establishing an award for critics as part of his biennial Chinese Contemporary Art Awards, which will next be held in 2008. The critic’s award carries a cash prize of $10,000 and publication of the winning essay.
 “I felt art criticism deserves much more interest as a medium between the public and the artists,” say Sigg. “I want to shed light on this issue and to show my respect for this discipline.” Sigg adds that in recent years, “a lot has changed, but it hasn’t lead to more independence, just a different kind of dependence. I’m not blaming the art critics. They have to survive.” The CAAW Critic’s Award is open to all critics working in China, whether foreign or Chinese, Sigg says.
One or two awards may not ensure independence for China’s next generation of critics, but it should get people talking. Hallam Chow says he is also planning to organize a symposium to accompany the awards announcement at CAFA in 2008. “The exact topic of the symposium is still to be determined,” says Chow, “but it will concentrate on a topic within the field of art criticism.”
In the meantime, some educators, like Pi Li, continue to emphasize critical writing at the academies. Two nights a week at the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing, Pi Li teaches a practical course on art criticism – from correctly labeling works to artist interviews to writing a solid review. “There’s got to be some change,” he says. “I hope there is some change. Education is essential for that to happen, especially since – not only in China, but even in the global situation – the critic’s position is increasingly weak.” 
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