Shao Yi Interview
Li: When did you start making art?
Shao: It was a long time ago, the late 1980’s. I wasn’t an official student at the China Academy of Art. At the time there was a new media department and I had already met Zhang Peili in the eighties. When the department first opened, they weren’t admitting undergraduate students yet; instead, they had a senior training class, which I attended with Zhang Ding. Out of everyone in that class, we are the only two people still making art. Zhang Liaoyuan was a first year graduate student, and we were there together as newly admitted students. The graduate students’ degree lasted three years, whereas I was only there for one. This is how I crossed paths with the academy.
Li: What is your understanding of new media art?
Shao: It’s not exactly clear-cut, because ‘new media’ itself didn’t exist until later. We had no name for what we now refer to as ‘contemporary art’ back in the eighties and nineties. It was very muddled and we had no idea. We were only concerned with one problem, the fact that we were no longer satisfied with old, traditional artistic mediums such as woodcutting and painting. The China Academy of Art’s woodcut department was sanctioned by the state, therefore very professional. Back then I was not satisfied by these things; I wanted to try something else, something new.
Li: How has new media art been impacted by the proliferation of the internet?
Shao: I think new media art has always been changing. We used to discuss the concept of new media; it was more sensitive back then, and we would reflect on these questions. Even up to the emergence of new media art, my understanding was that ‘new media’ did not refer to new technology or new products; you could use old televisions to realize new ideas. This is new media. The key is the renewal of ideology. The medium can be new or old.
Li: In my understanding, new media might be about using new mediums, such as the internet or high-tech products.
Shao: There is definitely a conversation to be had about this, because when new things surface, they always prompt people to contemplate and reflect. Whenever there is collision, a new thing is born. It’s insufficient to just have one medium emerge; new ideas must come from collision.
Li: China is developing rapidly, and its society is becoming more fickle, extreme, twisted, and self-contradicting. Does this bring you more inspiration?
Shao: I am constantly reflecting on this question. Personally, I do not enjoy this fickle environment. We’re coming back to the problem of age, because if I were in my twenties or thirties, I could still act recklessly, seeing as the future may still hold different possibilities. But I’m already fifty. Even though I was rash in my youth, the road ahead is more like a marathon, not a quick boxing match. This is the road that will bring you further, and it’s also an adjustment I’ve made in recent years. A few years ago, some of my work and ideas were still quite ‘forceful’, but as my ideas matured, they have also become calmer. Now I exert my energy steadily; I’m not throwing heavy punches anymore.
Li: Does this forcefulness stem from your work or real life?
Shao: The two are actually related, because your lifestyle determines the ideas you produce. For example, if you’re a radical person, then it could be both. It’s interesting how we reflect on different questions depending on the environment we live in, and these questions will elicit newer questions, but none of them will escape this environment. Upon further contemplation, you’ll understand how you noticed this problem in the first place, what you want your path to be, and what approach suits you the most. The things we create are multifaceted, not planned. Sometimes, something original will cross paths with you, thus drawing out even more new things. There is time invested in this—after looking back for a decade or two on everything you’ve done, you’ll be able to trace the beginning and the end, which are related to your earlier interests and understandings. Personally speaking, my path has become clearer as I continue my journey.
Li: Can you list an example? Is there a work that you’re torn about?
Shao: I am always torn. I can’t recall any particular piece that’s left a deep impression on me. In my early years I might have liked some works, but ten years later they just seem dumb. Yet in the past few years, such as when I had my solo exhibition last year, my artworks have become more mature and complete. I’m more inclined to talk about unfinished works—whether they still count as an artwork if they do not reach the intended degree of completion. One time I made five to six versions of the same piece, but still wasn’t satisfied on the opening day of the exhibition. When I assembled the works, however, they became an entirely different piece. This is why it’s titled Still Doesn’t Work. Right now our media publicity is still insufficient, and this question isn’t emphasized. This type of question, for me, is quite interesting and different from the status quo. It’s not about visual completeness, but mental completeness.
Li: As you gain more experience, how have your sources of inspiration changed?
Shao: It’s difficult to say—it can range from the everyday to the social and the religious. Earlier, there were some issues with forcible demolition and the high-pressure environment of the G20 conference in Hangzhou. Even household arguments can illuminate certain problems and bring about contemplation. Ideological matters affect me the most.
Li: Are you content with your life right now?
Shao: Yes, I should be. I am currently based in Hangzhou, a very special place, not as busy as Beijing or Shanghai. Hangzhou is a little stifling; people tend to slack off here. But not me, since I’m a local. I’ve been to Shanghai for work, but I returned to Hangzhou because it didn’t suit me. Hangzhou is more compatible with how I work, and there aren’t any idlers in my social circle.
Li: With regard to this group exhibition at The Bunker, were you assigned a topic for your piece?
Shao: No, but I had to consider how it would integrate with the space of The Bunker. Zhang Peili was looking for something new which related to the space itself, and we complete the task to the best of our abilities under the circumstances we were given. Since I agreed to participate in this exhibition, I had to assume responsibility for it as well as for my piece. As a result, there was some pressure during my creative process. Whenever I have an idea, I find that there are many ways to realize it. The artwork might not be the most complete on the day of the exhibition, yet you might not have the passion to finalize it until the exhibition is over. But it can be interesting if you actualize all of those concepts. This would be another type of exhibition, but in this instance I had time constraints and prerequisites.
Li: Did your ideas for this piece emerge before or after visiting The Bunker?
Shao: It’s an idea that I’ve tried before, but this time the material is updated. Concrete was too heavy, and it had to be delivered from Hangzhou to Beijing. It would have fitted the space well, and I really liked that plan. Issues with time and transport, however, made it impossible. So my ideas changed and I decided to create something lighter and more fun. My current methods are not the same as a few years ago, but this idea didn’t come in a flash either. Actually, it’s more like a multiple-choice question; I will contemplate a few different plans and chose the one most relevant to the space itself.
Li: It seems as if you have a lot of choices in your life. What do you think is the relationship between art and life?
Shao: I don’t think importance is relevant here, but I can’t live without art. I tried to relinquish it once and discussed this with my closest friends, yet still I couldn’t live without art. The two are entangled, and my lifestyle is always related to it. I’m more practical now, and I’ve reached a compromise with reality. But in my younger days I was completely immersed in art; a lot has changed since then.
Li: With regard to the artist’s means of support—or perhaps lack thereof—in the new age of e-commerce, are you more inclined to manage your personal brand with your own team, or hire a manager and just focus on the art?
Shao: I am most disinterested in this question, even though I don’t avoid it. This was never a problem for me. When I started out in art, I didn’t give any thought to this topic. At the time art was still an underground thing, or half-underground; there was no market. It took a lot of resolve to pursue art as a career, and I was under a lot of pressure, including from my parents. Even to this day, they still don’t quite understand what I’m doing. This was inevitable. The younger generation, however, is not like us; they don’t have this pressure, seeing as China’s contemporary art scene today is more or less fully developed. My generation had nothing but impulse and passion, which is why I never considered this question back then. A few years ago I discussed this issue with some friends, including Xu Zhen. He actually mulls over this question sometimes. I’m not business-oriented, so I don’t know how to manage myself; it’s a weakness of mine. Right now funding is a practical concern for me, because I’m making installations.
Li: Who is the biggest influence on your artistic career?
Shao: There have been many—in Hangzhou, Zhang Peili and Geng Jianyi were both some of the most influential contemporary artists in China during the 1980s. The exhibition New Space ’85stirred me the most. After seeing this exhibition, I was reassured that this was what I wanted to do. Although the path was never clear, I nonetheless overcame many obstacles and stayed the course.
Li: What are your thoughts on the popular opinion that ‘there is no aesthetics, only concept in contemporary art’?
Shao: This is a fluctuating process. I don’t think that the people who ask this question are professionals, nor have they given it serious consideration. It’s not just about visuality. I have an example: after the year 2000 and for a long time, we would tell each other privately that every work of art is complete, but what I really wanted to make was anti-artworks—pieces that did not look like artworks. Here’s an example from my creative process: I raise the question ‘is this a work of art?’ on purpose. But subsequently I’d think to myself, why avoid it on purpose? It is visual art after all, so you still have to present something visual. In my later years I might not limit it deliberately anymore.
Li: What are your thoughts on the audience’s right to interpret a work of art? If the audience’s understanding deviates from the artist’s original intent, on whom does the meaning of the work rest?
Shao: There’s no clear-cut answer like ‘audience’ or ‘the artist’. A layperson may have difficulty understanding an artwork, but the traditionalist Academy graduates will also have a different vocabulary when it comes to artistic expression. It’s not about the difference between populism or elitism. This ‘interpretation’ will always be different depending on one’s background.
Li: Out of all of your works, which one is your favorite thus far?
Shao: This also changes depending on the stage in my life, right now I don’t have a favorite. I have spoken to Zhang Liaoyuan about how I used to wonder if my exhibitions were “successful” after each one. Realistically, however, it’s impossible to create an extraordinary work every time. If you put pressure on yourself unknowingly, then the things you make would no longer be free. In retrospect, so what if a work doesn't turn out the way I want to? The failure of one piece doesn’t mean the next one won’t fail, but it doesn’t mean it can’t be a success either.
Li: Right now a lot of Chinese artists are becoming famous internationally before gaining recognition in China. What are your thoughts on this phenomenon?
Shao: This is related to the educational environment we have in China; most people do not have enough knowledge yet. Nowadays we have too many rabble-rousers and too few who really understand.
Li: Do you have any suggestions for art students?
Shao: Try lots of different things, such as collaborating with galleries. These are all are processes that will test you, but in the end, the most important thing is to find your own path.
2017年6月11日至9月10日，由著名艺术家张培力先生策划的《掩体|对白》群展在北京段祺瑞执政府旧址的“掩体空间”展出。相比参展的六位中国美术学院（前浙江美术学院）出身的艺术家，70后的邵一是最年长的一辈。
不同于其他在美院修习的艺术家，邵一非科班出身且不太善于用语言表达自己，因此，创作艺术便成为他诠释自我内心想法和态度的途径。有着丰富人生经历的他在创作的道路上也不断思考自己作品的属性与意义，人生和艺术都像是在做选择题，此次邵一的作品《◻︎◻︎◻︎》也经过了多次改动，才最终呈现在我们眼前。
邵一与我交流了他对此次展览、个人经历和对艺术的看法。