To explain the work of the fictional artist at the Shanghai Biennale, the real artist, Natascha Sadr Haghighian, printed a newspaper, which includes a fake press release and interview. The texts make clear that the invented Robbie Williams — “the artist, not the singer,” Haghighian likes to quip — outsources his generic contemporary art from a Berlin art production company. The stacked television screens, horse jumping sound installation, and readymade hurdle sculptures are all on display in Shanghai.
Before the opening, however, Haghighian, who was born in Iran and lives in Berlin, discovered a problem. The English to Chinese translation in the newspapers was gibberish, garbled by a graphic designer in Beijing. On the cover, “solo show” was mysteriously translated into “the beginning of a new world.” Haghighian discarded the 6,000 misprints and whipped up 100 corrected papers for the opening night.
Hosting the 10th Shanghai Biennale, the Power Station of Art is the only state-run museum for contemporary art in in China. As with Haghighian’s newspaper, elements of artistic expression at the Biennale were altered in translation to the government-sanctioned show.
Chief curator Anselm Franke said the 2,000-year history of Chinese bureaucracy, in fact, inspired the concepts behind the Biennale’s theme, “Social Factory.” While curating the Taipei Biennale in 2012, he visited the extensive archives of the imperial dynasties at the Palace Museum, where he was captivated by the nation’s long history of social fabrication.
But as an organizer of this 70-artist show, Franke attempted to evade Chinese codes. “Being an outsider, you can sometimes disregard the rules and hierarchies out of your own ignorance,” said Franke, who is the head of visual art and film at the Haus der Kulturen der Welt in Berlin.
Some protocols, however, were inescapable.
As of the Biennale’s opening day, November 23, works from Taiwan were delayed at customs, as any cultural product originating in Taiwan or Hong Kong is automatically sent to Beijing to be inspected by the Ministry of Culture. And though there is no longer a committee presenting curators with government-approved artists, the Ministry lightly edited this year’s selection of artists and wall texts. Early on, Hong Kong-based artist Pak Sheung Chuen and Guangzhou-based artist Song Ta were blacklisted. There were no formal reasons given for their exclusion.
“The relationship between the government and us [the Power Station of Art] shouldn’t concern average people,” said a high-positioned administrator at the Power Station, who asked not to be named. “Art should be checked in every country,” he added.
The Ministry’s sensitivity may have been heightened because of the recent pro-democracy demonstrations in Hong Kong. Singaporean artist Ho Tzu Nyen was originally going to show his film “The Nameless,” which features found footage of Tony Leung Chiu-Wai, a famous Hong Kong actor who voiced his support for the non-violent protests in October. Ho was uncertain if the film would survive the Ministry’s scrutiny — along with Leung’s appearances, the work, inspired by real events, centers around the Secretary General of the Malayan Communist Party, a triple agent responsible for the fall of the Left in Malaya. Regardless, the artist and curator submitted the work, not wanting to police themselves.
“Maybe Anselm [Franke] and I are both just really optimistic people,” Ho said. When the Ministry banned the film from the exhibition, Ho was undaunted. “I think it is important we speak the facts, just as I think it is important we don’t make a big fuss over it, since we all accepted the rules of the game.”
Mainland artists themselves have become protean navigators of their political milieu. Zhao Liang, for instance, is best known for his bold documentary “Petition” (2009), which follows migrants for 12 years as they attempt to appeal to a dismissive Communist Party in Beijing. The film was banned in China and the government harassed the artist. And yet, two years later, Zhao collaborated with the Ministry of Health on projects about HIV and AIDS. Today, Zhao is showing the film “Black Face, White Face” (2014) at the Biennale, which presents an intimate look into the worn faces of a coal miner and a limestone factory worker.
Before the Biennale opening, the Ministry requested that another Chinese artist, Liu Ding, unplug a telephone line in his installation “1999.” The government officials believed that the story recorded on the phone line about the Chinese art world cast the Biennale in a negative light.
“I did not have any anticipation or assumption before hand, but when things like this happen, I am prepared to face it and deal with it,” Liu said. Since the censorship, Liu has been working with the Power Station to correct the Ministry’s misunderstanding — the speaker is talking about biennials in the 1990s, not the current Biennale at the Power Station.
Zhao Tao’s painting depicting cannibalism was also removed the day before the opening; presumably, the censors found it macabre.
The purging, however, did not rattle the Biennale’s pragmatic curatorial team. “Censorship is part of the established system here,” said Hong Kong-based co-curator Cosmin Costinas. “That doesn’t necessarily make it acceptable, but it is very difficult to be self-righteous about it.”
Overall, the works chosen by the international curators for the Biennale are tactical. In the late 1980s through the 2000s, underground, overtly provocative art ran rampant in China. After that, the expanding market became the dominant force, and a distrustful attitude towards art developed among those watching the soaring prices. Franke expressed fear that such cynicism would be tapped to help support neo-traditional, right-leaning politics in the future.
“At the moment, I don’t think that cynicism is very productive,” Franke said. “I try to upset mechanisms that produce false alternatives, such as the false alternative between traditional social order and libertarian chaos. But, of course, we can only do minor things in framing discourses.”
In recent months, the Communist Party has been tightening its arts policies. In October, Xinhua news reported that China’s president, Xi Jinping, told a group of performers and writers: “Fine art works should be like sunshine from blue sky and breeze in spring that will inspire minds, warm hearts, cultivate taste, and clean up undesirable work styles.” This week, the Party announced that it will instate a program sending artists to the countryside to develop a “correct view on art,” a chilling throwback to the Cultural Revolution.
As for Haghighian’s fictional artist Robbie Williams, his hilariously vanilla art did not attract the Ministry’s attention.
At the VIP dinner, a fellow artist expressed his regrets to Haghighian that Robbie Williams himself couldn’t make it to the opening ceremonies. On stage, a few Biennale officials gave opening speeches. The victorious NBA theme song, “Roundball Rock” by John Tesh, boomed during the interludes. Waiters placed the soup course on the rows of white-clothed tables, served in two-tiered bowls with tea candles lighting the lower level. The Power Station committee stood to be applauded, and an ecstatic lightshow erupted across the dim, blue-lit room.
“He would have loved this,” Haghighian replied.
The Shanghai Biennale runs through March 31, 2015.
