2026-03-03 13:54
Seeking the Attitude of Ink Painting: Discerning Contemporary Perspectives and Material Expressions Through Wu Yiming's Art
By Li Xiaofeng
(I)
That afternoon, around 3 PM, Wu Yiming and I savored the elegant ambiance and specially brewed fragrant tea at Shanghai Hongqiao's renowned gathering place, Dingyi Club. Our conversation naturally turned to the popular topic of tea appreciation. We discussed tea drinking, tea tasting, teacups, tea bowls, tea sets, tea artistry—from tea liquor and tea buds to matcha and tea paste. This led us to discuss how Japan's fine teas are generally inferior, much like their stone appreciation. It seems they pay no heed to a stone's visual beauty or ugliness, nor to its texture or material. There's none of China's “Crazy Stones” (a metaphor borrowed from the film Crazy Stone a few years ago). Chinese stone appreciation borders on the obsessive—much like many things in China that reach a fever pitch, causing one to wince. The conversation naturally turned to the “ink painting craze.” How should we evaluate the growing popularity of Chinese ink painting over the past two years? Wu Yiming emphasized that when examining contemporary ink painting, we must pay particular attention to the intellectual consciousness within it—the independent rationality and self-aware individuality of the intellectuals. Otherwise, after a period of fervor, it risks becoming a laughingstock.
(II)
Wu Yiming expressed a significant perplexity: since the dawn of traditional Chinese painting—especially literati painting—where brushwork and ink aesthetics have reigned supreme, with landscape painting achieving the highest acclaim, what kind of art has this tradition ultimately produced? “Expressing emotions through landscapes” sounds poetic, but it essentially represents escapism. Daily court life involved kneeling before the emperor, diminishing one's personal dignity. Expressing emotions through landscapes served as psychological compensation, offering solace. The comfort derived from this practice was rooted in the feudal bureaucratic tradition. Hence, the criteria for evaluating paintings—spontaneity, spirit, subtlety, and skill—excluded the mundane. Why did only high-ranking monks attain esteemed status? Because monks transcended worldly constraints. Zen paintings became the epitome of “leisurely,” precisely because their realm of free independence earned them the admiration of literati officials. Ni Yunlin's esteemed status bordered on exaggeration and eccentricity. In this era of scientific democracy, such escapism demands particular scrutiny and critique. Wu Yiming finds Yu Ying-shih's perspective particularly insightful: how can modern Chinese identity and position be established within the Confucian tradition of “cultivating oneself, harmonizing the family, governing the state, and bringing peace to the world”? Yu proposes that the aspects of Confucian culture worth preserving are “cultivating oneself” and “harmonizing the family.” where Confucian culture ascended to the highest echelons of society, becoming a “public instrument” whose social influence grew excessive. Now, it must return to the “private sphere,” exerting its influence within the bounds of “cultivating oneself and managing one's household.” From this perspective, contemporary Chinese artists can clearly discern what they must confront: no longer perpetuating Confucianism as a “public instrument,” nor seeking refuge in secluded landscapes as a form of indirect salvation, nor contenting themselves with symbolism, allegory, or figurative language. Instead, they must confront reality, confront society, and confront their authentic selves.
(III)
Wu Yiming's paintings begin by purging traditional symbols, emblematic themes, brushwork aesthetics, and meaningful compositions—repurposing ink culture through radical cleansing. He first demystifies aesthetic appeal, dismantling conventional beauty to the point of abandoning “interest” altogether. Ink painting must now connect with contemporary reality. Candlesticks and fireworks that belong nowhere in ink wash, plant leaves devoid of any brushwork charm, nameless flowers and grasses that scarcely qualify as roots... all render the image meaningless, even appearing uncultured. This daring move aims precisely to clear away any obstacles to ink wash's contemporary renewal: the obstacles of taste, technique, aesthetics, and culture. The urban landscapes that once appeared in Wu Yiming's paintings—vague, shadowy cities—were never superficial representations of urban life, shallow urban consciousness, or kitschy urban trends. The cars or human figures within them embody a questioning and subversion of ink painting's cultural traditions—an inquiry into and experimentation with contemporary ink painting's path. Wu Yiming's ink paintings appear ordinary yet are not vulgar; they seem tedious yet lack self-mockery. There is almost no overt attitude in his work, which is actually a quiet, unassuming clarity. He rejects hasty, frivolous revolutionary sentiment and does not chase after cynicism, irony, pop culture, or kitsch. The “lotus ponds” and “lotus flowers” that appear in his paintings, entirely distinct from tradition and disconnected from conventional ink techniques, bear some resemblance to Western landscapes. Yet Wu Yiming dilutes these Western pictorial references through his unique ink medium, creating works that neither fully embrace the West nor return to China. Wu Yiming's breakthrough from conservative, rigid typologies differs from the rebellious spirit of the 1980s. Compared to the “85 New Wave,” Wu seems free of repression. He is not aggressive, yet remains uncompromised by external pressures or temptations. His stance is coolly objective, genuinely authentic, and independently self-generated. Since his earliest solo exhibition at ShanghART Gallery in 1997, Wu Yiming has pursued his contemporary ink journey with singular individuality, advancing almost as if seeking defeat alone. Renowned media figure Jia Bu describes him as “a figure beyond the role of an artist” (see Jia Bu's interview with Wu Yiming, “The Pursuit of Mediocrity is the Right Path”).
(IV)
Wu Yiming's paintings radiate an aura of “breaking through”—a force that emerges during periods of upheaval and new beginnings. After all, as a Chinese artist, he bears an immense cultural burden—or at least confronts numerous cultural constraints. The resulting backlash forms the foundation of Wu Yiming's aesthetic. His works evoke associations with bad or poor paintings, appearing traditional yet brimming with subversion. His anti-painting, anti-artistic demands make the paintings resemble trash—a collection of rebellious “rubbish.” Wu Yiming's works often subvert tradition by filling the empty spaces of ink wash painting with black pigment. He replaces refined floral motifs—such as the traditional “plum, orchid, bamboo, chrysanthemum” or “pine, bamboo, plum”—with nameless weeds, humble wildflowers, or neglected potted plants tucked away in corners. For Wu Yiming, stripping away meaning means removing deeply ingrained traditional significance. In ink wash painting, this means first discarding symbolism, allegory, and the literati painting aesthetic of “attribution, comparison, and evocation,” allowing those often-ignored, insignificant patches of greenery to speak for themselves. It cannot be said that Wu Yiming's works lack all meaning or metaphor. The use of black backgrounds is not only a rebellion against tradition but also a direct confrontation with personal pain, wounds, helplessness, and despair. By stripping away embellishment and aestheticism, he abandons hypocrisy and subtlety to confront real social and cultural issues head-on. For instance, when painting “roads,” he chooses mountain paths, diverging from traditional representations; when depicting flames or fireworks, he attempts to break through the taboos of conventional pictorial symbols. These are artistic metaphors consistent with the history of visual language—symbolic representations that resist the instrumentalization of visual culture. To this end, Wu Yiming experiments with semi-abstract, symbolic works like his “Playing Cards” series, striving to steer pictorial metaphor toward modern society's humanistic consciousness and embody the independent stance of contemporary intellectuals. Wu Yiming's current rejection of falseness, affectation, and ornamentation is fundamentally an opposition to grand narratives—a quest to rediscover the authenticity of the present moment and of the self. He disdains hollow pretensions of grandeur, viewing them as forced and contrived. He particularly opposes the rigid transplantation of artistic language, especially ink wash techniques. Art cannot be an imported language, and ink wash painting must not violate the nature of rice paper. In other words, the fundamental principle of ink wash painting is to remain true to the inherent qualities of rice paper—otherwise, why use it at all? He strongly opposes excessive layering on Xuan paper. The paper's purity, softness, sensitivity, fragility, and unpredictable spontaneous growth—much like the kiln-fired transformations of Chinese porcelain—differ from the passionate expression of oil painting on canvas. Precisely because of this, it becomes more inwardly focused. A single sheet of pure paper, a soft brush, and plain ink contain infinite inner worlds. Subtle and profound, it is the gateway to all wonders.
(V)
In truth, Wu Yiming cherishes tradition deeply. Yet his steadfast commitment to preserving its purity stems from his core values. Wu asserts that pure Chinese ink painting possesses a universal dimension. He cites examples of Western individuals—cultured, civilized, and well-mannered—who instinctively resonate with Chinese ink art. China values the humble gentleman, and Wu Yiming unapologetically asserts that the personified qualities embodied in Xuan paper and ink demand reverence. Yet he remains clear-eyed, pointing out that this essence must be restored to the cultivation of the individual—not abstract moral preaching or ethical advocacy by a national government, and certainly not grand-narrative institutional regulations. Wu Yiming believes that within the behavior, thought, and psychology of the Chinese people, the blood of cultural tradition still flows innately, preserving the genes of historical culture. Even as independent individuals, they cannot deny the innate connection to their blood and familiar mother tongue, nor the self-consistency with historical tradition. Thus, Wu Yiming focuses on the tradition that hides the mystery, delving deeply into the mysteries of history. He begins with the most insignificant details—earthenware pots, ancient inkstones, Han dynasty bricks, roof tiles, fragments of porcelain vases—infusing them with meticulously applied ink and brushwork, though he incorporates them into his paintings with extreme restraint and care. His gaze evokes the dusty archives of the Republic of China era! Yet Wu Yiming strictly adheres to his personal, independent artistic boundaries, allowing these historical fragments to revive through his alterations, replacements, dissolutions, and deciphering. His approach to ink color further reveals Wu Yiming's departure from tradition. He aims to show foreigners and Westerners, unfamiliar with ink painting contexts, the true hues of ink—not as a curiosity viewed through a haze of confusion. Transforming how ink painting is perceived matters not only to foreigners but equally to Chinese audiences. This distinction separates contemporary ink painting from its traditional counterpart. It places the act of viewing one's own tradition alongside viewing the West and the contemporary on a single plane—a parallel gaze. This requires emptying oneself, shedding the burden of deliberate inheritance or artificial continuity. Wu Yiming's “bad paintings” are about letting traditions that should decay rot away completely within his ink pursuits; his “ruined paintings” are about letting cultures that should be discarded be utterly discarded in his artistic explorations. “When you reach the end of the stream, sit and watch the clouds rise.” Clearing away the superfluous may involve navigating a phase of “messiness and imperfection.” Yet these seemingly flawed, crude, or dirty surfaces represent an alternative form of linguistic purity—one that paradoxically sustains art's independent voice. Thus, preserving linguistic purity isn't about clinging to inertia; it begins by shattering rigid language to reveal its vitality and return to its authentic value. Wu Yiming has consistently guarded against not only the traditional shackles of artistic language but also the vulgarity of commercialized language, the hollowness of political slogans and rigid ideologies, as well as the exaggerations of advertising and the bubbles of the market. The seemingly crude language of Wu Yiming's art is resilient and unyielding. and his apparent deviation from the mainstream is actually a form of evasion—escaping the violence of dominant language and the harm caused by the erosion of functionalized language. Simultaneously, it is a rebellion against the mainstream, a steadfast commitment to the independence and purity of artistic language. Even when confined to a cramped and stifling space, it maintains its independent growth, “mutually supporting and sustaining each other.” There exists an attitude called low-key, yet it is entirely distinct from affectation—it is not about desperately erecting facades, putting on airs, or chasing pretentiousness.
(VI)
Wu Yiming, who increasingly appreciates the profound depth of Chinese cultural traditions, never ceases to reflect from a modern perspective and remains vigilant against the emergence of antiquarianism. Recalling Yin Jinan's 2012 lecture at Shanghai University, where he discussed the tripartite division of Chinese art history—“aristocracy, literati officials, commoners”—we examine the legacy of aristocratic and subsequent literati traditions. Today's call for “emptying” tradition stems precisely from this tripartite historical framework—seeking to rediscover true nobility rather than becoming the laughingstock of nouveau riche. What constitutes such nobility? A form of affluence, composure, and confidence that commands respect by directly engaging the spiritual realm. The current self-confidence of many ink painters is often questioned, fundamentally revealing an underlying insecurity. They fixate too much on superficial trappings—influence, power rankings, high-end prestige—that bear no relation to their authentic selves. Such ink painting cannot endure. True confidence stems from understanding one's own culture: recognizing one's strengths, acknowledging one's shortcomings, and engaging with the West objectively—not through constant Westernization, but through addressing modernization. The concept of a “common people” has never truly emerged in China. Wu Yiming recalls Yu Youhan mentioning years ago that even before the Self-Strengthening Movement, prescriptions had been proposed: cultivating a common people in China would require two decades of patient education. Revolution simply couldn't wait. Revolutionary art or reformist art? From the “Westernization faction” versus “national essence faction” debates during the “85 New Wave” era, to the ongoing tug-of-war between official art and underground art, collective art and individual art—strictly speaking, in its hurried modernity, China has yet to establish a truly modern spirit. Pili, whose online moniker “A Cup of Raw Pu'er” reflects his independent critical stance and sharp tongue, has inspired a proliferation of tea-themed usernames. Countless enthusiasts exhaustively research and invent elaborate names for teas. Taste preferences constantly evolve—from oolong to longjing, pu'er to rock tea, white tea to black tea... As the old saying goes: “Simple fare and plain tea.” The Communist Party of China defeated the heavily armed, high-profile Kuomintang precisely through the values of frugality and the low-key approach of “millet and rifles.” Wu Yiming and I revisited the topic of Japanese lifestyle arts and cultural values. Japanese aesthetics deny the visual any opportunity to convey complex reasoning; when principles are expressed, they are the simplest and most unadorned. Principles exist at the most minimal level. Thus, Japanese stone appreciation focuses on the most ordinary, ubiquitous stones without any sculptural artifice. This makes China's tradition of valuing beautiful stones like jade—even the pursuit of forms like Taihu stones' “lean, porous, wrinkled, and translucent” qualities, or the concept of “a single vital energy coalescing into stone”—seem overly elaborate. Similarly, Japanese flower arrangement (ikebana) arranges silence, even deathly stillness. Much like the appreciation for the fleeting splendor of cherry blossoms, Japanese aesthetics is a quiet beauty connected to mortality. This bears some resemblance to our recent trend of “embracing life through death.” Rather than disregarding the grandeur of aesthetic subjects, it is more about rendering the subject of appreciation humble and poor. Just as Japanese politeness is often perceived as excessive modesty or even inferiority. I recall early 2014, also at the Ding Art Society, when Shanghai artists engaged in a face-to-face dialogue with Japanese critic and author of Japanese Art Has Not Yet Been Born, Narufu Chiba. What struck us deeply was the Japanese scholar's understated, low-key demeanor—a quality rooted in the Japanese people's almost religious moral conviction. Like water gathering in low places, they embrace all things, unlike our illusory “surveying all mountains from the summit.” The “dry landscape gardens” revered in Japanese temples emphasize spaces connected to spiritual practice itself. The aesthetic quality of the stones is secondary; what matters is the daily interaction with those who observe and engage with them. This represents the most minimal, simplest way to establish a relationship between subject and object with humanity. Wu Yiming even debated with me about the essence of Chinese garden philosophy. The intentional reservation of one-third space in garden design preserves room for natural growth, safeguarding nature within limited artificial boundaries. The artful “borrowing of scenery” similarly aims to introduce the natural world. Zen spirit embodies “achieving profound elegance without uttering a single word.” Wu Yiming contends that Japan's intervention in nature is overly deliberate, despite expressing extreme reverence for it.
Wu Yiming remains particularly vigilant against the dangers of artificial interference. For instance, he views abstract art developed from painting as the detrimental outcome of absolute artificiality. While acknowledging abstract elements in his own work, he distinguishes them from pure abstraction, as his core approach is non-abstract—“merely elevating reality.” Wu Yiming rejects pure abstraction and pure rationalism, believing they inevitably lead to formalism. In his paintings, he is particularly vigilant against and eliminates formalistic elements. Formalism, he contends, drives abstraction into a pseudo-natural realm—an art that grows against nature, precisely what Wu opposes. Wu Yiming's paintings sometimes invite comparisons with Japanese art, yet this is not due to any pronounced Japanese aesthetic or traces in his work. In fact, Wu himself was unaware of Japan's “aesthetics of poverty.” This may be one of Wu Yiming's most valuable qualities—not that we should sever ties with Japan, but rather that we should guard against blind imitation, whether of Japan or the West. The Mono-ha movement stands as the sole Eastern art form in the past century capable of engaging in dialogue with Western modern art, while also embodying a return to the authentic essence of Chinese or Eastern culture. Lee Ufan, the leader of the Mono-ha movement who lived in Japan for many years, is Korean. This has sparked debates about nationality, region, ethnicity, identity, and cultural significance, yet it has also served as a wake-up call for contemporary art's cultural identity. Contemporary art may be able to transcend the limitations and narrow perceptions of national, ethnic, and regional identities. In my discussion with Wu Yiming about the relationship between bad painting, poor painting, waste painting, anti-painting, and the trend toward refinement, we agreed that excessive formalism easily leads to an obsession with detail and the refinement of classicism. The Chinese painting tradition has always maintained two paths—the meticulous and the freehand—as a safeguard against the dangers of refinement. Today, steering art toward an obsession with technique risks obscuring or at least masking the true issues of art. Wu Yiming vividly illustrates this by comparing human development from infancy—marked by defecation and urination—to an ongoing trajectory toward refinement. He specifically warns that if thought follows this path of refinement, it becomes perilous. Excessive refinement extinguishes humanity. Preserving the childlike innocence of defecation and urination is crucial, especially since the Sixth Patriarch of Chan Buddhism long ago proposed that “the Way resides in excrement.” In contemporary China, beneath the veneer of refinement lies pervasive crudeness. Thought, too, drifts with the tide toward coarseness, superficiality, fast-food mentality, and cartoonishness—challenges contemporary art must confront. When asked why he remains so immersed in calligraphy, Wu Yiming describes it as a wholly private pursuit: personal cultivation, the scent of ink, the back-and-forth of the brush. He prefers returning to calligraphy in its everyday form—not as isolated creation. Thus, he favors letters and correspondence, viewing them as the most highly valued aspects of calligraphic practice.
(VII)
The core concern driving Wu Yiming's approach to ink painting is the existence of an independent spirit. Wu Yiming contends that the ability to maintain an intensely personal, fiercely independent stance represents the most vital aspect of Chinese humanistic consciousness and intellectual engagement. This serves as a fulcrum for contemporary consciousness and spirit, forming a crucial gateway for ink painting to enter the modern era. Wu dismisses half-hearted attempts at ink painting reform, directing his criticism squarely at the stale, pedantic tastes of literati painting, which he deems utterly anachronistic narcissism and self-indulgence. In this regard, Wu Yiming pursues a thorough revolution of ink painting tradition—not through violent external disruption or ruthless abandonment, nor by draping the dying art in deceptive finery, nor by squandering its last remnants like a prodigal son. Wu Yiming cherished—even lamented—the antiquated ink tradition, midwifing its contemporary rebirth to deliver a wholly new ink life. The process may have been bloody, messy, even ugly, but birthing new life demanded such sacrifice. Now consider the “ink craze”: whether driven by market collusion or national confidence, it is always positive that ink painting—especially new ink painting—garnered attention. This not only represents a rare boon for elevating, popularizing, and producing Chinese ink art, but also holds particular significance for artists like Wu Yiming who steadfastly uphold the discourse of ink painting and their artistic paths. The impact of China's contemporary art scene—shaped since the 1990s by international integration, market intervention, and collective collusion—still demands further resolution and reflection. For instance, the peak of calligraphy in the late Qing dynasty, especially stele studies, coincided with the surge of modern archaeological discoveries. Similarly, the popularity of oil painting during the Republican era accompanied the modern cultural tide of Western learning spreading eastward. Today, we may have a unique opportunity for the development of ink art. Yet, Wu Yiming reminds us: “There is only contemporaneity, not the contemporaneity of ink.” In contemporary ink art, attitude reigns supreme—it is the very judgment of ink's value. Many contemporary ink works prioritize imagery, technique, or style above all else. While they may contain an attitude, it often appears ambiguous. The ink attitude implicit in Wu Yiming's seemingly flawed or discarded works reveals a profound contemplation of ink tradition and a cultural consciousness born of contemporary critical reflection. When establishing a contemporary ink attitude, Wu Yiming acknowledges his own contradictory state and the confusion inherent in it: ink is both a material and a mode of expression shaped by millennia of culture. The ink medium and traditional tastes are difficult to completely separate; rushing the process risks turning the solution into a delusion. Wu Yiming views this as both a destiny and a mission. He has spoken of his fondness for “common sense thinking,” stating: “The norm of reality is mediocrity, so pursuing mediocrity is the right path.” While seemingly tongue-in-cheek, Wu Yiming speaks and acts with profound seriousness.
Related Artists: WU YIMING 邬一名
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