2026-03-03 11:46
Wu Yiming is an ink artist, though not in the traditional sense people usually associate with ink painting. Simply because of his academic training, “ink” is merely a medium and tool he knows by heart. Traveling back and forth to his studio each day, he has grown accustomed to such a slow rhythm in his creative practice—decades passing like a single day, taking things slowly. As an artist, his work has been recognized by some, yet he has not achieved great fame or success. Thus, free from the sway of fame and profit, he believes that his current state is his best. From 1996 to 2010, Wu Yiming began with figure painting, moving from painting to sculpture, continually responding through practice to contemporary understandings of art at the time, and gradually shifting from depicting others to attending to his own inner world. After 2010, Wu Yiming chose still life as his primary subject. He says that the greatest reflection contemporaneity has brought him is on democracy and freedom. Although he has never been entirely certain what he ultimately wishes to present, he is very clear about what he does not want. As a result, his still-life paintings reveal a distinctly personal contemporary stance. After his 2015 solo exhibition in Beijing, Wu Yiming entered a new phase of reflection. He told me that when you want to do something, you must do it boldly, because only by reaching that point will you discover crossroads; only then can you make further choices. If you do not act, crossroads will never appear.
T = TRUEART
W = Wu Yiming
T: Your new body of work presents a different style from before. Why such a major change?
W: This batch of works completely stems from my “personalized” perspective. The flowers and plants I used to paint were related to my life; now I paint places I have been. This series is somewhat like a personal diary, placing greater emphasis on what I personally see and experience.
Because I find it interesting—something within it touches me, whether in its form or arrangement. This method also allows me to shed the label of figure painter or still-life painter. I think such definitions are unimportant. What matters is that I want to leap beyond how people previously perceived and defined me. I want to maintain a completely unconscious, private state. As for what I will paint next, neither you nor I know.
From a commercial perspective, this idea is very unsuccessful.
T: You don’t mind?
W: I happen to oppose that very thing.
T: Was it because your Beijing solo exhibition last year was successful and things felt too smooth, so you felt it was time to break through?
W: I have always been drilling into a loophole. What loophole? Chinese culture emphasizes inheritance, iconicity, recognizability. That makes it easy to become symbolized. Recently, no one has gone against this trend—at least not in traditional media like Chinese painting or oil painting. Almost no one casually changes their style and creative model. If you follow one path to the end and persist in deeply researching a single point, then by going against it—even without going so deep—is it necessarily bad?
T: You want to break this model in a confrontational way?
W: Yes. Otherwise, you are just entertaining yourself. Of course, art can be self-entertainment, but for the larger history of art, it contributes nothing. It neither advances ideas nor formal development.
T: Is this confrontation something you truly need internally? Is your artistic practice highly integrated with your spirit and emotions?
W: Sometimes it is like this: my creative method is simple. I may not know exactly what I should do. Not everyone clearly understands their inner self, but I know what I do not want. I do not know what I want, so what am I doing? I am experimenting. I experiment step by step. If the result is interesting, I move forward; if not, I change direction. In fact, I am somewhat opportunistic. I realize that many spaces are interesting, including my personal points of interest. I judge based on those interests—if others have not done it, why shouldn’t I?
Of course, saying “I do it because others have not” is only a form. For example, I may want to paint a certain type of work. I am not entirely clear about it, only about a general direction—a strange thing very close to my inner self that I like very much. If no one is doing it, then I will.
On a flat surface, whatever you do accumulates personal experiences of success or failure. You continue in that direction because you gain something from it. Gradually you form a relatively unique artistic attitude. Because many expectations have been placed upon me, I also strive forward, constantly enriching my integrity. I especially hope to see imperfection in my paintings. If a work is completed too perfectly, I feel I am close to failure.
This experimental quality is like what I am doing now. Since I believe I am a free person, why can I not do this? I find it quite fun. Is this not the fullest realization of individual freedom? And I use this to confront so-called habitual labels. I think that is what makes an interesting artist.
T: Even if there may be similarities in formal expression?
W: Yes. Many artists work with similar subjects; each can find theoretical support. I believe what is most precious is experimentation, which then opens up new territory. To some extent, I may only be a stepping stone. Or perhaps after seeing my exhibition, a young artist might think, this is also an idea, and be influenced by it. So I believe experimentation is the spirit of my artistic creation.
T: I divide your work into two stages, with 2010 as the boundary. Before 2010, figures dominated—from your early paintings of ladies to portraits of people around you—the relationship between art and yourself seemed increasingly close, releasing inner emotion. After 2010, still life became primary, using it to carry personal feeling?
W: I think what you said earlier is very good. I used to focus too much on the external, critical, so-called independent perspective. Later I realized I care more about my personal emotions. Contemporaneity, frankly speaking, is personal reflection on democracy. It relates more to politics, economics, culture. Then I thought: what is mine? How do I handle personal expression?
Although I did not find a clear path at that time, I liked flowers and plants, so I expressed the ones I grew daily in my own way. I remember feeling very uneasy during that exhibition, unsure whether this form would be liked. Later I simply stopped worrying about it.
T: Small flowers and bonsai can easily lead people to categorize you as an artist of limited scope. How do you use such forms to convey your spiritual reflections?
W: Traditional art is built upon an interest in life. In the East, people like to use objects to express aspirations, linking them to personality. I wanted to avoid both. I asked myself: what are the most basic elements here? So I painted monochrome, withered colors, or darker backgrounds. I wanted to depict the simplest, most essential things to distinguish from tradition. But cognition is shaped by personal experience and knowledge structure, so no matter how much I try to paint essence, it can never be like Qi Baishi.
T: In your still-life works, we often see groupings—different colored still lifes juxtaposed. Is that to express different lines of thought?
W: That is experimentation. For example, one tree—I may have two fluorescent versions, or entirely black, red, or brown ones. I might assemble three works into a group and see if it works. If not, it does not matter. Still lifes exist independently. In different pictures there are different choices; they are different plants, each able to stand alone. I actually dislike the term “series.” If one work is powerful enough, a single piece is fine.
T: So as long as it differs from the traditional mode of using objects to express aspiration, you can employ any method to realize your creation?
W: Of course. As long as I see something and feel an impulse to paint it in a certain color, that is enough. The impulse needs only ten percent; it appears randomly. The feeling that color brings to viewers may be multiple, depending on their experience, but I do not assign symbolic meaning to color in my process. That is my understanding of contemporary art.
T: So it is not a one-plus-one-equals-two relationship?
W: Exactly. Contemporary art should allow multiple interpretations and relate to society. There are different ways of engaging with society—one is to consciously distance yourself; another is to immerse deeply and intimately. For example, Beuys founded the Green Party; his concept was social sculpture. I consider myself an old angry youth. In advancing social civilization, you naturally bear responsibility. How do you engage? Must your works mirror society like a reflection? Not necessarily. To use one work or one batch to represent an entire era is unimportant. In some sense, I can complete it over my lifetime.
T: Is there a demonstrative aspect?
W: What I do is simply normal. I am increasingly clear that whether in my life trajectory, thinking, or principles, as long as I return to the most essential common sense, I will stand undefeated. I am confident. It does not matter if you do not understand me; fifty years after my death, someone will naturally say there was such a person in that era.
T: Does your new creation please yourself?
W: Yes. Like the painting I just mentioned—though painful to create and seemingly unrelated to my previous works, once completed I felt it was so interesting. This freedom, this confidence in breaking from fixed forms, satisfies me. I was able to paint such a work, and it would be hard to paint the same one again. In that sense, it surpasses myself.
T: So you cannot let your art become too comfortable; you must overcome inertia.
W: Everyone faces challenges and contradictions, yet everyone lives quite freely. Why? Because each person uses their own theory to untie their knots. I really like something Liang Wendao once said: use common sense to think about problems.
Related Artists: WU YIMING 邬一名
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