艾 姝 采訪整理 岳中生 譯

“藝術是踐行自由的場所”
——汪建偉訪談

艾 姝 采訪整理 岳中生 譯

編者按：作為藝術家，汪建偉名聲在外。但當完成這次采訪，我們更愿意用“活躍的思考者”來描述他。他以個人的自由意志，重構著我們“習以為?！钡氖澜?，并一次次地挑戰(zhàn)自我。這篇訪談或許可以展現(xiàn)他思想世界的一角。

Editor’s Note: As an artist, Wang Jianwei is widely acclaimed. However, we would prefer to describe him as an“agile thinker” after our interview with him. With an individual free will, he has repeatedly challenged himself and sought to reconstruct the world which we “have been accustomed to.” This interview may throw some light on his rich, spiritual world.

2016年5月13日，汪建偉老師在工作室里接受了采訪。采訪前，他并沒有要求先看采訪提綱。采訪時，他根據(jù)我的提問作思考和應答。他對我的提問本身具有審慎的態(tài)度，往往會指出問題本身的漏洞，然后以自己的知識體系和話語來重整問題，進行回答，思維敏捷，思想深邃。這些超出采訪提問預設的回答，或可為我們提供與以往不同的觀察角度。更重要的是，盡管被稱為藝術家，汪建偉看向的不只是藝術，而是更具普遍性的世界。

On May 13, 2016, Mr. Wang Jianwei received our interview in his studio. Before that, he had not asked to take a look at our outline for questions. He was such a discreet thinker that he would even point out vulnerabilities in my questions, and then reorganize them within his own knowledge system and discourse before answering them. His quickwitted and thoughtful answers went beyond what we had expected, which may offer us a fresh angle of observation. More importantly, Wang, though known as an artist, concerns himself not only with art, but also with a far more universal world.

艾姝（以下簡稱“艾”）：您最近去卡塔爾參加展覽，展出的作品和之前有什么大的變化嗎？

Ai Shu (hereinafter referred to as “Ai”): Recently, you joined a Qatar art exhibition. Any major change in your works as compared with before?

汪建偉（以下簡稱“汪”）：其實你這個問題，讓我想到，有的時候一個問題的背后還涵蓋了什么樣的問題。就是說，藝術家的工作要變化，但變化成為心理需求的話，它會演變成為對景觀的要求，而不能反映藝術家的態(tài)度。所以，我認為，“變化”實際上是對藝術家已有創(chuàng)造的不斷懷疑，從而產(chǎn)生對眼前事物的不信任，這比不停地追求作品外觀的景觀性的變化，更有意義。這就涉及到藝術家的工作方式。舉個例子，我做《時間寺》系列作品，持續(xù)了長達一年，在古根海姆博物館展出，然后在長征空間做了個展“臟物”，后來做卡塔爾的展覽，其實我在工作室的工作沒有變化。怎么理解呢？我最近幾年一直在思考，藝術家的工作到底是一種什么樣的工作，我在嘗試一種不是為展覽而工作的方式，展覽的時間、空間又如何正好與我在工作室的工作產(chǎn)生某種關系。我說的這三個展覽是有延續(xù)性的。也就是說，我不會為某個項目或計劃而確定我的工作，用這些來改變我的工作態(tài)度和方法。一個藝術家追問的基本問題是什么，更為重要。簡單來說，未知就是你的起點，而不是去做你已經(jīng)知道的事情。未知是什么呢？它包含懷疑，以及對你弄不清楚的東西的一種工作。這種發(fā)問是持續(xù)性的，而且它無論在工作方式還是產(chǎn)生的形式的層面，你都不可能事先有所把握，那么你怎么決定呈現(xiàn)作品的時間可以如此準確？這個世界中，確定性占統(tǒng)治性地位太久了。如果有個展覽，有個標題，有個觀念，然后我就出藍圖，開始制作——我要這樣嗎？我在嘗試一個不是這樣的生產(chǎn)方式。我沒有藍圖，我不知道這個東西多久能做完，甚至我不知道這個工作做完后是否可以被稱作“藝術”。在這種條件下，就沒有預設，沒有目的地。所以，這之前的幾個展覽是以這樣的工作方式產(chǎn)生、呈現(xiàn)。而且，我想切斷流行的社會學、政治思潮、仿佛不言自明的關系與藝術家工作的直接關聯(lián)。比如說，我們總拿當下時尚的東西來與藝術家的工作產(chǎn)生一種直接關聯(lián)，表面看起來有效，但我認為這種有效極大地傷害了作為藝術本身的那個東西。所以說，話說到這里，就可以回答剛才你的那個問題，我的工作的變化一定不是景觀意義上的變化，這是第一。

第二，藝術家可以不進步。藝術家不是為了進步而存在的，藝術家的工作是對未來、對現(xiàn)在的不信任。我所說的“進步”是在某種資本主義邏輯下的那種進步，就是你掙了一塊錢就必須要掙兩塊。那么這種線性邏輯上的進步，首先很殘酷，而且是一種對于藝術作品的荒謬判斷，它不是鑒定藝術作品和藝術家工作的唯一方式。也許，持續(xù)十年、二十年，這種進步不在景觀和可視性上，但藝術家一直在工作，那這部分工作怎么呈現(xiàn)出來呢？所以，我覺得，如果總在要求一個人在外觀上展示自己是否進步的話，這個指標是值得懷疑的。那么用什么指標來確定這個人確實進步了呢？一旦這個東西明確了，那我覺得就更可怕了。

Wang Jianwei (hereinafter referred to as “Wang”): Actually, your question reminds me whether one question sometimes involves another one behind it. I mean an artist’s work needs change. However, if that change turns into a psychological need, it will evolve into a requirement for landscape, which cannot refect his attitude. So, I believe that “change”means, in fact, repeated suspicion of the artist’s previous creation. So, he will distrust things before his eyes, which is more significant than unceasingly pursuing superficial landscape change in works. This involves how the artist works. For example, I spent as long as one year preparing for “Time Temple” series, which turned out to be on exhibition at the Guggenheim Museum. Later, my solo exhibition “Dirty Substance” opened in Long March Space. Recently, I went for the Qatar exhibition. However, to tell you the truth, my work in the studio didn’t change. How do you understand this? In recent years I’ve been thinking: what’s an artist’s work on earth? How can I try a way of working not for exhibition, and exhibition time and space are related to my studio work at the same time? The three exhibitions I just mentioned share certain continuity. In other words, I will NOT schedule my work for a given project. Nor will I change my work attitude and method for the same reason. So, what fundamental questions an artist continually asks is more important. To put it simply, the unknown should be your starting point, and don’t do what you’ve already known. Then, what is the unknown? That involves distrust or anything you can’t figure out. And such questioning is continual, and you can’t control in advance how it works or what forms it takes. Then, how can you decide upon the time when your works are ready for display so exactly? In this world, certainty has occupied a dominant place for too long! If any exhibition notice pops out with a topic or a concept, then I work out a blueprint, and my preparation begins….shall I follow this way? No. What I’ve been trying is not this. I have no blueprint. Nor do I know when my creation will be done, or whether the final outcome can be called “art”! Under such conditions, no presupposition, no intentionality. This is exactly how I worked and presented my works for recent exhibitions. And I wanted to cut off the direct relationship between pop sociology, political thoughts, or anything seemingly self-evident and the artist’s work. For example, we’re inclined to resort to something fashionable to relate to the artist's work directly. Superficially, this looks effective, but I argue that this is an immense harm to art itself. Well now, let me come back to your question. The change in my work will NEVER be that in a sense of landscape. This is my frst point.

Second, the artist may choose not to progress. He does not exist for the sake of progress. His job is to distrust the future and the present alike. I say “progress” based on kind of capitalist logic that you have one dollar with you, and you force yourself to own two. This lineally logic progress, frst of all, is very cruel! It, too, is an absurd judgment of artwork, which shouldn’t be the only way to criticize an artist or his works. It is possible that we cannot discover progress in an artist from landscape and visibility within one or two decades, but he keeps growing professionally through those years. Then, how can this growth show itself? So, I believe if we always urge someone to reveal his progress in an apparent manner, then this index is quite doubtful. Well, is there any desirable index? Anyway, once such a thing is made clear, it would be even more terrible!

汪建偉 表面的肖像No. 1 布面油畫 200×300 cm（中）162×112 cm（左+右） 2011年Wang Jianwei, The Portrait on the Surface No. 1, oil on canvas, 200×300 cm (middle), 162×112 cm (left+right), 2011

艾：我被您的回答拍暈了。

Ai: I’m just baffed by your answer!

汪：怎么會？不過，你不給我采訪提綱是好的。

Wang: Really? However, it is better that you didn’t give me an outline.

艾：通常采訪會從一個最近事件開始切入，所以我會問這個問題。每個藝術家的思路不太一樣，有的藝術家會直接告訴我近況，但您進入到另一個層面去思考這個問題了。

Ai: Usually, an interview will start from a recent event. That’s why I asked that question. Every artist has his or her own way of thinking. Some may tell me directly about their current situation. But you entered into a different level for that.

汪：我沒有“最近”。就像你問“生命”，對于我來說，它就是一個主語，就和“你活得怎么樣”差不多的意思。但我沒有活在“最近”，而有些工作是持續(xù)性的。

艾：我看您的展覽履歷，您參加了很多的群展。在群展中，您和別的藝術家會有怎樣的溝通或相互影響？您看到了別人或作品中什么有趣的點，別人可能又看到你的什么有意思的點？作為藝術史，這種相互影響很有趣。

汪：首先，我可以坦率地告訴你，有趣的不光是藝術家。從九十年代開始，我理解當代藝術正好就是因為我背叛當代藝術。因為我覺得，它只是人類知識的一部分。我恰恰是從人類其他的知識里看到了比藝術還要藝術的一些東西，想象力、懷疑態(tài)度、工作方式和看問題的方式，比如說物理學?？茖W帶給我的是全方位的、對某一個固定不變認識的顛覆。所以，我從來沒有認為，一個學科、一種方式認識世界是最有趣的。否則，就變得很無趣了。第二個錯誤在于，我們覺得這個世界進步了。大家不是喜歡科學和哲學嗎？那好，藝術、哲學、科學，三個加起來一定是一個更有意思的東西嗎？恰恰錯了。它們之間唯一產(chǎn)生關聯(lián)的，不是聯(lián)合，而是拆臺。任何一個知識在今天，我的理解是，知識綜合最關鍵的一點，不是聯(lián)合起來變成無懈可擊的銅墻鐵壁的知識，反而是相互拆臺。說得理論一點，就是相互質(zhì)疑。只有這樣，你才能保持所有知識，不能在任何地方形成一種獨裁。否則，你學歷史就告訴別人歷史是唯一能夠認識世界的鑰匙，學哲學的說是哲學。那我們是否只要擁有了這樣一種知識，就可以把它變成一種獨裁？而這種東西最后會導致你的世界觀、你要求別人的世界觀，都一樣。我恰恰在今天的很多知識分子身上就看到了這種獨裁，一種說教式的、唯一的、認為知識的積累是屬于偉大的——這是非常大的問題。所以，任何一個地方，你都會看到“有趣”，不光是藝術。

第二，我常常獲得“有趣”的地方是我不熟悉的領域。比如我的驚喜，我的知識上的驚喜、工作上的驚喜或者其他，都產(chǎn)生于對“已知”的抑制。

Wang: For me there’s no “recently”. Just like you ask me about“l(fā)ife.” Personally, it’s a mere subject, like “How are things with you?”But I didn’t live in “recent”, and some of my work remains ongoing.

Ai: I saw your exhibition experience. You attended many group exhibitions. How did you communicate or interact with other artists then? Did you fnd any fun in other artists or their works? Or did they fnd any fun in you? As in art history, such interaction is so interesting.

Wang: First, to be frank, not only artists are fun. Since the 1990s, I can understand contemporary art just because I’m its traitor. In my eyes it is only part of human knowledge, and I’ve discovered what’s more like art in other parts! Say, imagination, skeptical attitude, how one works, and how one look at things…yeah, physics is an example. Science brings me an all-round subversion, which smashes to anything changeless. So, I never believe any discipline or any way of knowing about the world is the most fun. Otherwise it’ll be terribly dull. The second mistake is we have a feeling that the world has progressed. Don’t you like science and philosophy? All right. Art, philosophy, science. If the three add up, must the result be more fun? No. We’re wrong, absolutely. The only thing that connects them is not uniting, but fghting against each other. Today, I believe it is crucial that know-hows shall not be so united to form something hard to break up. On the contrary, they should be able to cut each other’s throats! In theoretical words, they should question each other. Only by so doing can you keep know-hows from creating a monopoly in any feld. Otherwise, if you’re a history learner, you may tell others that history is the only key to knowing about the world. If you’re a philosophy learner, your answer will be philosophy. Then, are we right when we make a know-how a monopoly? That, eventually, may lead to the fact you may ask others to develop a world view exactly the same as yours! I’ve discovered such a monopoly in many intellectuals, who assume that know-how accumulation is great. Very teachy, very bossy. This is a BIG problem. So, you’ll fnd “fun” anywhere, not only in art.

Second, I often find “fun” in a field which I’m not familiar with. For example, my pleasant surprise, either from learning or from work or somewhere else, all comes from my restraint of “what I’ve already known.”

最后，在整個工作過程中，我和藝術家是沒有來往的，只有在展覽上有來往。這種偶然性沒有必要變成一個故事。有時候，可能會碰見一個藝術家或策展人，會有聊天，但這個與日常生活里你跟其他人，其他行業(yè)的、不同年齡的、不認識的人的交流，是同樣處于能獲取驚喜的途徑。所以，在獲取驚喜的路上，任何對象是平等的。比如，今天我接受你的采訪，我不期望有什么驚喜，但是說不定就會有。但你是不是藝術家，是不是我期待的某個職業(yè)的某種人，這些都不重要。我想再舉個例子，在一個朋友的聚會上，有一個醫(yī)生說道，他的病人得了癌癥，就把家產(chǎn)都變賣了，準備去當和尚，想著死掉算了。這個病人找到他看病，他就跟病人說了真實想法。他說，你知道癌癥是什么嗎？癌癥是寄居在活著的正常人的機體里的細胞，它也不希望你死，癌癥希望你活著。病人聽了以后，覺得這個邏輯好像是對的啊。我聽到以后就想，這是辯證法嗎？這種辯證地看世界的方式，你不覺得在任何一個地方，你都可能聽見嗎？它不見得非得在藝術界。所以，我覺得，藝術只有喪失了它的特殊性，才會回到一個普遍價值的意義上。那么，有趣會發(fā)生在任何一個場所、任何一個時間、任何一種知識、任何一個人。

Finally, I have no contacts with other artists throughout the process, except during exhibitions. But that sort of accidental meeting doesn’t have to become another story. Sometimes, you come across an artist or a curator, and you have a chat together. But in your daily life, you get same surprise from people from other walks, of different ages, familiar or unfamiliar. So, no difference. For example, you see, now I’m receiving your interview, and I don’t expect any surprise, but maybe it will occur. Anyhow it doesn’t matter whether you’re an artist or someone from some profession I’m looking forward to. Another example. It was a story told by a doctor at a friend’s party. He said one of his patients got a cancer, and sold all his properties, almost planning to be a monk in a monastery and end up there. When he came to him for treatment, the doctor told him his true ideas. He said, “Do you know what a cancer is? It’s a lot of cells living on a normal human body. Even they themselves don’t want you to die; they want you to survive!” The patient listened, and thought the logic was quite right. Later, I began to think: “Is this dialectic? Don’t you think you can come across this way of dialectically watching the world anywhere, not necessarily in art circles? So, I think, only when art loses its particularity will it return to a universal sense. That’s why fun may occur anywhere, anytime, in any feld of knowledge, and to any person.

艾：我覺得您很有趣，因為對于我的問題，您總能回到自己的知識框架里，用自己的話語來指出我提問本身可能存在的問題。

Ai: I find you very interesting. You always return to your own knowledge framework to answer my questions, and point out with your own discourse possible mistakes I’ve made in my questions.

汪：你不覺得這就是碰撞嗎？但我不是用藝術的東西跟你碰撞，我舉這個例子就是，我的有趣來自于一個醫(yī)學博士。我把這個有趣傳達給你，你可能也會覺得有趣。

艾：日常生活中，除了工作，您還做什么有趣的事情？

汪：我覺得我做的事都挺有趣的。不過，要知道什么有趣，首先得知道什么是沒趣。有的人說，你做這件事情有趣，那間接地批判了你做這件事以外的其他事情都是無趣的。但是我恰恰相反。有趣不可以從你的日常生活中滴漏出來，它不能被作為一類被單獨提出來。我經(jīng)常會聽到別人說，開心一點吧。聽起來沒錯。但這句話的另一個邏輯是，這個人一點不開心。還有人說，做開心的事。那我馬上就想，開心的事兒，是什么事兒？是不是人只做這個事就開心，但這只是一種動作。如果這個人一輩子都做這個動作，只做開心的動作，這個人會開心嗎？一輩子只做、只想開心的事兒，這是很乏味的事情，因為就那么一點兒。所以我認為，說開心的事的時候，你能不能知道什么是開心，什么是不開心。不能簡單地把你的世界和生活理解為開心或不開心，這樣的話，你就真的很“開心”。

艾：實際上，我想問，您感興趣的事情對您的創(chuàng)作有怎樣的影響？但您不愿意把自己的工作限制在藝術的范疇里。那么，我應該以如何的話語來向您提出問題，這本身成為了一個問題。

汪：我可以換一個方式來回答你這個問題。首先，我可以講，我怎么理解藝術，和我是怎么用我理解的方法來學會了我所理解的藝術。其實當時我正在插隊，我的朋友說，你學畫畫吧。在今天我們認為那個叫藝術，今天我們說這兩個字的時候已經(jīng)注入很多很崇高的東西了，但當時就叫“學畫畫”，是學一門技術，與世界觀沒有關系。實際上，一開始，技術就介入了藝術。但我們現(xiàn)在一直不認為這個人學了畫畫，學了藝術，是學了一個技術。“技術”就失去了主導地位。所以我要重現(xiàn)“技術”的重要性，里面有時間性、實踐和所有和身體有關的東西。到了后邊，如果這種東西還在或者不在，這直接涉及到一個藝術家的工作和你的身體、實踐、時間到底有多大關系。

那么，第二個層面，為什么要學習這門技術？為什么沒有學習釣魚，學習其他東西？我用“匱乏”來描述?！皡T乏”不是很多人理解的“缺少”，實際上是我經(jīng)常說的“已知的匱乏”。多少年前，我自己并不知道，多年來我不斷對這個行為進行理解，包括我對現(xiàn)在工作的理解，我認為每一次都是從這里開始的，就是“已知的匱乏”。今天不是缺少產(chǎn)生需求，是我們能不能在我們的豐富里看到“缺少”。我認為，已知就是最大的敵人，生活在已知里是最大的缺憾，最大的匱乏。要從已知的匱乏里不斷地突圍。這就回到我最初說過的，我總是從未知開始，而且是持續(xù)性的。很多人說，汪老師你八十年代畫畫得了獎，然后你放棄了，做了多媒體。很多藝術家也放棄了，但我的問題是說，放棄一次只是一個放棄，但有區(qū)別，放棄、對未知的懷疑、對確定性的不信任的態(tài)度應該是終身的。所以我在杭州，鄭勝天老師的討論會（注：2016年舉辦的“世紀：SHENG PROJECT”第二次策展工作坊）上，我說了兩點：第一，“無主之地”是什么概念？從一個領域逃到另一個，不是一次就夠了，然后就享受逃離的成果。第二，“背叛”對于藝術家來講是終身的，就是背叛已知。繪畫的藝術家做了視頻，就成了影像藝術家了，但我的問題是，你能背叛影像藝術嗎？你還可以背叛，因為我不相信，持續(xù)二十年的這件事你還有興趣。而且你們不是常常說畫畫二十年不敢背叛的人沒有創(chuàng)新嗎？結果，你們做錄像也做了二十年，這不是一樣的道理嗎？我覺得，一次性背叛，你可以享受它的成果，但不斷地背叛，你的成果是零。所以，對已知的背叛來自于你認識到對已知的匱乏。比如波粒二象性互補、測不準原理、量子理論的既相互制約又相互依存，這些東西你在藝術史里看得到嗎？但這個世界存在于這些看不到的部分。這種看世界的方式不是虛構的，不是“神”。

Wang: Don’t you take this as an interaction? But I do not interact with you artistically. The story I just told is an example—fun from a doctor of medicine, and I transferred this fun to you. And you may feel the same.

Ai: In daily life, apart from work, what other fun do you have?

Wang: I think everything I do is fun. To know what’s fun, we frst have to know what’s not fun. If some say what you’re doing is fun, that is an indirect denying that anything else you do is fun. But I’m just on the opposite. Fun doesn’t seep from daily life, and it can’t be singled out. I often hear “Be cheerful!” That sounds fne. But the other logic behind this is that this person addressed to is uncheerful. Others may say: “Do happy things.” Then that reminds me immediately: what’s a happy thing? Does it mean that person will be happy as long as he does it? However, it’s a mere act. If he only does that all his life, will he be happy? No! Instead it would be unbearably boring. So, when it comes to a happy thing, can you tell me what it is and what it isn’t? Never simply mark your world or life: happy or unhappy. If you follow my advice, you’ll be surely “happy.”

Ai: Actually, I wanted to ask: what infuence your interesting things have had upon your creation? However, you’re unwilling to limit your work to the sphere of art. Well—how should I put my question to you—in what discourse? This becomes a question itself.

Wang: I can answer your question in another way. First of all, I can tell you how I understand art, and how I learned the art as I understand it in my own way. That was in my youth when China was politically swept by the Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside Movement, and I was sent to live and work in a production team in a village. I followed a friend’s advice and began to learn drawing. Today we call it art, and take it as something quite noble. But at that time it was known as nothing but drawing, just a craft, having nothing to do with world view. In fact, craft intervened in art at its outset. However, today we are always reluctant to admit that drawing is a craft. So “craft” has lost its original dominance. So I attach much importance to “craft”, which involves temporality, practice and everything concerned with the human body. Later, as to whether this sort of thing still exists, that directly involves how much an artist’s work has to do with your body, practice, and time after all.

Then, at the second level, why do we learn this craft, not fishing or anything else? I’d like to use the word “deficiency” to describe. Mind you, not “shortage” as many would believe it. To tell the truth, I often call it “deficiency in the known.” I didn’t recognize that many years ago. Through all these years I’ve been seeking to understand this behavior, including my present work. I believe I restart to do so from here—“defciency in the known” every time. What matters today is not that shortage creates demand, but whether we can see “shortage” from our “abundance.” The known, I argue, is our biggest enemy; living in the known is our biggest regret, and our biggest defciency. We need to repeatedly fght our way out through the wall of the known defciency. This precisely comes back to what I said at first—I always start from the unknown, unceasingly. Many people tell me: “Mr. Wang, you won drawing prizes in the eighties, and then you gave up, and turned to multimedia!” Likewise, many other artists gave up, too. However, giving up itself is just one act. What I’m emphasizing is: our giving up, suspicion of the unknown and distrust of certainty should last lifelong! That’s why I raised two points at the seminar organized by Mr. Zheng Shengtian in Hangzhou (in the second curatorial workshop of “Century: SHENG PROJECT”, held in 2016): frst, what is “No Man’s Land’? It means retreating from one feld to another, not just completing such an act and enjoying the fruits of escape. Second, “betraying” is a lifelong matter for an artist—betraying the known. An artist may drop out of drawing and embrace videoing. But my question is: can you betray video art once again? Yes, you can! I never believe you can lock your interest to that for two decades. Moreover, remember your pet saying that an artist will come to nothing innovative if he’s kept himself to drawing for twenty years and still is afraid to betray? I bet the same will happen to you if you’re with videoing. I believe you can enjoy the fruit of one-time betrayal, but if you keep betraying, the fruit you can depend to enjoy is zero. So, the betrayal of the known comes from the fact that you have recognized your defciency in the unknown. For example, wave-particle duality complementarity principle, uncertainty principle, quantum theory, all these suppress yet depend on each other. Can you see these things in art history?! So, this world, actually, lies in those parts you cannot see. This way of looking at the world is not purely conceived in mind, not“mysterious.”

在思考的過程中，我對那些“大詞”所指向的世界，幾乎是不信任的。比如，命運、人類，這種詞沒有“物”，沒有一個指向，只有說出這個詞的時候的快感。但這種快感是對真實世界的一種傷害。所以我不使用這些詞。對“已知的匱乏”的突圍技術是什么，就是物，就是我所說的藝術。

In the process of thinking, I hardly trust the worlds those“big words” refer to, say, fate, human beings. Such words have no directionality. You just get an immediate pleasure from speaking them out. However, such a feeling is harmful to the real world. So, I never use them. And what’s the weapon you can rely on when you fght your way out through the defciency of the known? The answer is: objects and art as I understand it.

汪建偉 ……或者事件導致了每一個無效的結果 綜合媒介 尺寸可變 2013年Wang Jianwei, …Or an Accident Leads to Every Ineffective Result, mixed media, variable size, 2013

艾：您之前提到過您的作品《時間寺》與《巴別圖書館》有一定的聯(lián)系。那么，您怎么遇到了這本書？

Ai: You mentioned your workTime Templehas certain connection toThe Library of Babel. How did you encounter this book?

汪：1983年遇到的。我在相當長的一段時間的理想是當一個作家，并不是做繪畫。一個是因為，當作家技術成本很低，繪畫在當時的成本還是比較高的。第二，我從農(nóng)村直接去了部隊。部隊根本沒有條件讓你成為畫家。我跟幾十個人就睡在一個大屋子里，所以不可能允許任何脫離規(guī)定動作的動作。這個經(jīng)歷給了我一筆遺產(chǎn)，一直到現(xiàn)在，就是對集體的極其反感。我實在不能忍受一群人以一種方式說話、一種態(tài)度去思考問題，無論好壞，都有些偏執(zhí)了。還有對權力的敏感。排長可以罵班長，班長可以罵副班長，老兵罵新兵，最后變成，從話語方式、行為方式等方面都被滲透了權力。我對在知識層面、公共秩序?qū)用娴仍捳Z的權力極其敏感。

Wang: That was in 1983. In fact, for quite a long time in my life I dreamed to be a writer, not an artist. Partly because it was less costly to be a writer than to be an artist then. Partly because conditions didn’t allow me to be an artist—I left the countryside and served in the army, when scores of us shared a spacious bedroom at night. Impossible for me to do anything not permitted. This experience left me a legacy—-a strong aversion to collectivism (even today I hate collectivism). I really couldn’t stand a group of people speak and think the same way, for better or worse! Kind of paranoid. Moreover, I was easily offended by authority. I found a platoon leader could fercely rebuke a squad leader under him; a squad leader could treat a vice squad leader under him thus; and so could a veteran to a recruit. As a result authority was penetrated into discourse and behavior. I’m extremely sensitive to the power of discourse at intellectual or public order levels.

汪建偉 隔離 綜合媒介 尺寸可變 2009年Wang Jianwei, Partition, mixed media, variable size, 2009

汪建偉 黃燈 影像部分手稿之11 2011Manuscript 11, video part of Yellow Lamp, 2011

汪建偉 黃燈 影像部分手稿之12 2011Manuscript 12, video part of Yellow Lamp, 2011

So I read extensively, and kept writing as a habit in the army. In 1983, I began to read Jorge Luis Borges. At that time, Shanghai Translation Publishing House launchedA Collection of Borges’ Stories. For the frst time in my life I learned two words from him: “non-linear”and “synchronic.” When I createdTime Temple, I felt the seed of the concept of “time” had been buried in my mind thirty years before. In thefeld of humanities, the concept of “time” was offered to me through two very important people: Borges and the artist Francis Bacon. They led me to comprehension of time from two completely different directions. Of course, physics and philosophy also helped me understand time and contemporaneity. However, these two figures were the earliest to help me perceive and recognize the importance of time. Why Bacon? I fell in love with him at the very frst, which would be hard to understand if just from the perspective of art history. Many years later, when I read Gilles Deleuze’s book on Bacon, I wrote down Bacon’s words (which he told Deleuze) on the front cover: “Why can a drawing appeal to our nervous system directly? This is a most rigorous and challenging question.” Here I judge Bacon believes that a drawing can present a general time that is juxtaposed by several times—a “surface.” Finally, I learned from William Butler Yeats that the most complex is skin. In 2011, I resumed drawing. And my first piece wasThe Portrait on the Surface. Yes, that yellow strip. Without any trace of hand-drawing. Very industrialized. Suddenly immersive. And without warning! This is time. I’ve noted that a lot of people imitate this, but from a symbol view, not from time science.

所以在部隊，我大量閱讀，自己堅持寫東西。1983年我開始閱讀博爾赫斯。當時上海譯文出版社出版了《博爾赫斯小說集》。第一次，我從他那兒學到了幾個詞：非線性、共時性。到我做《時間寺》的時候，我覺得，“時間”這個概念的種子在三十年前就種下了。在人文領域，“時間”這個概念由兩個很重要的人物帶給我，一個是博爾赫斯，一個是畫家培根。他們讓我從兩個完全不同的方向，讓我理解了時間。當然，物理學、哲學也帶給我對于時間、當代性的理解，但這兩位是很早讓我感受到、意識到時間的重要的人。為什么是培根？一開始我就很喜歡他，但如果只是說美術史層面，很難理解。但很多年之后，我看德勒茲寫培根的那本書，把培根告訴他的一句話用到封面上：“一幅畫為什么能夠直接訴諸神經(jīng)系統(tǒng)，這是一個非常嚴密、非常難的問題?！钡覐呐喔脑捓锇l(fā)覺，他認為繪畫可以表現(xiàn)一個各種時間并置在一起的一般性的那個時間，那就是“表面”。最后我從葉茲的詩才理解到，最復雜的是皮膚。2011年，我恢復繪畫的第一幅畫叫《表面的肖像》，就是這個黃條，一個沒有手繪痕跡的、非常工業(yè)化的、突然浸入的。毫無征兆地發(fā)生，這就是時間。我現(xiàn)在看來好多人模仿這個東西，但他們是從一個符號的角度，不是從時間學上過來的。

汪建偉 歡迎來到真實的沙漠 多媒體劇場 尺寸可變 2010 年Wang Jianwei, Welcome to the Desert of the Real, multimedia theater, variable size, 2010

艾：黃條的“共時性”是如何體現(xiàn)的呢？但是否用話語去解釋畫面又是無力的呢？

Ai: How is the synchronicity of the yellow strip represented? Or is it weak to interpret the drawing with discourse?

汪：對。我的黃條就是我理解的時間。這只是我的一部分，在我的影像、戲劇里，就經(jīng)常出現(xiàn)這個“黃條”。我說的“黃條”是類似的時間不同的介入。這是對當代藝術的“當代”二字的基本認識。它是從戲劇和電影帶來。

《巴比圖書館》還沒說完?！督徊嫘降幕▓@》是讓我

Wang: Yes. The yellow strip is the time as I understand it. This is only part of me, which appears often in my videos and drama. As I said the strip is a different intervention of similar times. This is a basic understanding of “contemporary,” as in contemporary art. It comes from drama and flms.

I’m not fnished withThe Library of Babel.Actually,The Garden of Forking Pathsmoved me earlier. But when I readThe Library of Babel, I began to think it’s the most delightful part in Borges works. Order, logic, chaos, time. Sometimes, he retains all nouns in a sentence, but changes their word order, which then directly leads to the collapse of time! For example, I give a normal description: today I met a girl wearing glasses, sitting on my sofa. Now, if I say: “The sofa glasses girl is looking at me.” The words are the same in the sentence, but the subject, predicate and object all have changed. So, all of sudden, the time has changed with the way you read, and your reading is directly linked最先激動的，但我讀了《巴比圖書館》以后，一直認為這是我看到的博爾赫斯作品中最喜歡的東西。秩序、邏輯、混亂、時間。而有的時候，他讓一個句子的名詞都在，但句子中詞語順序變化了，直接導致了句子產(chǎn)生的時間完全崩潰。比如，我正常的描述是，我今天見了一個戴著眼鏡的女孩，坐在我的沙發(fā)上。現(xiàn)在我這么說，沙發(fā)鏡子的女孩在看我。前后兩個詞都可能在這個句子里，但這個句子的主語、謂語、賓語全部變了，導致突然這個時間就變了，因為你的閱讀方式變了，你的閱讀直接聯(lián)系著你經(jīng)驗的時間的部分。它首先顛覆了你正常的看時間的方式。很多人只認識到，語言變成了一個你不理解的方式，但很大的程度上，實際上是顛覆的時間的方式。它非線性，所以有的人就不理解。所以時間就一點一點地滲透到為什么是這樣。那么，為什么我在若干年以后做《時間寺》？就是一個物的時間，在無限度當中，如何產(chǎn)生了它的形式，就這么簡單的一個事情。不是別人所理解的地區(qū)性、社會性。我就是想呈現(xiàn)，作為一個藝術家，我到底在想什么。我用了這么長時間，只是把自己的這樣的工作帶到了現(xiàn)場。to that part of time which you experience. It frst subverts the way you normally look at time. Many people only have realized that language has become something incomprehensible. But, in fact, to a larger extent, the way of time has been subverted: non-linear for this moment, which is hard to understand for some people. So time has thus been penetrated little by little and become what it is now. Then, why did I createTime Templea number of years later? Just for the sake of object’s time; how its form is created in infnite. That’s all. Not something regional or social as some may understand it. For my part, I just wanted to reveal what was in my mind as an artist in the end. And I spent such a long time just to take my work to the scene.

艾：那么，是否有一個時間的參照在那里，才會導致詞序變化引發(fā)的時間變化呢？

Ai: Well, any time reference there, making it possible that change of word order leads to that of time?

汪：沒有。這就是問題，我們總認為世界上總存在這樣一個標準。所以，我們說的多樣性，就已經(jīng)暗含了時間這個東西。我覺得很難理解所謂的“中國的現(xiàn)代性”的說法。我們經(jīng)常批判西方邏輯下的現(xiàn)代性，但是是因為它說得不對，還是因為是它說的？就像這兩天我看到，某個人死了，大家都在問他怎么死的，然后所有人的解釋是他嫖娼，這個邏輯是怎么建立起來的，我也很納悶。我們要理解的是，他如何死的，不是說他是如何嫖娼的。這里面有兩個東西：如果前一個邏輯，嫖娼成立，我們就沒有必要這么在乎這個死。這是最邪惡的。我的展覽“臟物”這個概念，其實就是這個概念，就是要褻瀆一下現(xiàn)在這個，我們只有見到這個人才知道到底罪惡在哪里。但我們的認知本身就帶有很多罪惡的東西，我們真的可以“得罪”它一下。“臟物”就是認知層面上“臟”，就相對于我們說的“干凈”，就是你剛才說的“標準”。“臟物”就是在得罪“標準”。

我的工作在很大程度上就是在挑戰(zhàn)“不言自明”。所以你跟我的談話，或者和任何人的談話，首先出來的第一句就可能成為一個問題。因為順著這個說，實際是在重復這個問題，把這個問題變得合法。其實有時候，這第一句就是有問題的。就像你說，你是怎么為展覽做準備的，這里面有問題。一個藝術家真的是在為展覽做準備的嗎？

艾：這里面可能有些預設。

汪：對，不是說這個描述錯誤。你知道為什么我會提“排演”這個詞嗎？其實就是提問。提問就不光是口頭的提問，提問要帶出行動來。我認為，以這種行動的方式提問就是排演。但排演不是方法，不是所有東西不停重來就一定會更好、更完美。排演只是讓所有的事情重啟、重啟，讓不信任的行動總是處于重啟。這是戲劇帶給我的工作，黃條也從這兒來。

通常情況下，我們會這么說，這個導演對自己的作品精益求精，不斷地排演，讓作品更完美。但我覺得這是個謊言。我從1999年，第一個劇場作品開始，完全在嘗試一種新的呈現(xiàn)方式，就是“劇場”這個概念。但這些技術對我來說，百分之百是陌生的。這里充滿了對未知的興奮，因為這里有行動，不是紙面上的東西。我不知道如何建立我的團隊，我一步一步地來。1998年，我開始籌備。你可以想象，哪個演員能夠知道當代藝術。我通過朋友打聽到，在兩個酒吧有表演，就過去看。在酒吧里發(fā)現(xiàn)了當時在中戲讀書的學生，他們在那兒做些表演。只有他們能夠理解，我要的那個東西是什么?；闹嚨氖牵麄儧]有一個是表演系的。第一次的演員全部是舞美系的。他們卻有對當代藝術的裝置和行為概念的理解。好了，音樂、影像、表演、燈光，全是這樣一個一個地在我的經(jīng)驗之外去發(fā)現(xiàn)。到2003年的時候，做《儀式》的時候，我用了《三國演義》這個文本。其中有叫禰衡的人以及“擊鼓罵曹”的典故。在中國歷史上這個典故有三個不同的文本，這三個文本（注：《后漢書》《三國演義》《狂鼓史漁陽三弄》）其實就是三個問題。最初出現(xiàn)“禰衡”是在《后漢書》，第二次出現(xiàn)是在兩百年以后。當時這個戲，有幾個提問：第一個就是，“禰衡”這個人為什么他在兩百年以后才出現(xiàn)。而且我要問，在這兩百年之間，為什么沒有一個人提起過他，而兩百年以后的人比之前的人更熟悉他。這個問題直接指向了文本。

Wang: No. This is where the problem lies. We always think that there is such a standard in the world. When we mention diversity, we’ve already implied a thing: “time.” So, I find it very difficult for me to understand the idea of so-called “Chinese modernity.” We often criticize the Western logic’s modernity, because of its wrong, or because of the fact that it raised the issue? Just like a story recently covered in China. In a news event someone’s death caused a nationwide concern. Many were eager to know how he lost his life, but got an answer from every source that he went whoring! I was wondering how this logic was established. What we’re so hungry to know is how he died, not how he visited an unlawful prostitute. You see, there are two things in the story: whoring and death. If the former is proven, it seems that there’s no need for us to care how his life was claimed. This is the wickedest logic in the world! That’s why I exhibited my work “Dirty Substance”, just to dishonor what’s going on today. Only after we see that person can we know what evil it’s about. However, our cognizance itself contains much evil. We indeed may give it a dishonor. In truth “Dirty Substance” is cognitively“dirty,” opposite to what we call “clean”, and the “standard” you implied just now. It is precisely a dishonor to “standard.”

My job, largely, is to challenge something “self-evident.” So, when you talk to me, or talk to anyone else, your frst sentence may become a problem itself. If I follow your way, actually I’m repeating that problem and “l(fā)egalizing” it. Yes, in some cases, your first sentence may be problematic. For example, if you ask me: “How did you prepare for this exhibition?” This question is self-questionable: is that true that an artist works for exhibitions?

Ai: There may be some presets inside.

Wang: Yeah. I’m not saying that your description is wrong. You know why I would mention the word “semi-staging”? In fact, it is question-asking. It is done not only orally, but also by action. I think that question-asking by action is “semi-staging”. However, “semi-staging”is not a method. Nor is it that all things must be further better and more desirable if they repeatedly come on. “Semi-staging” is but restarting, putting an untrustworthy action always in a restart model. This is what drama has taught me. And my inspiration for the yellow strip also came from this source.

Habitually, people agree that a director who keeps rehearsal of his works is a self-starter, to make his works better than ever. But, in my eyes this is untrue. Let me speak from experience. In 1999, I started to experiment with my frst “theater” artwork, a completely new presentation. Relevant techniques were one hundred percent strange to me. But I was full of excitement to the unknown because there was action, not just paper work. At that time I didn’t know how to create my team, so I had to go ahead step by step. Even as early as in 1998, my preparation had begun. You can imagine how many actors I could fnd who knew about contemporary art. With the help of a friend of mine, I learned that performances were given in two bars. There, I found a few student actors from the Central Academy of Drama. Only they could understand what I was after. The absurd thing was that none of them was from Performing Department! Some of them the first time I met were all from Stage Art Department. Anyway they understood the concepts of installation and performance in contemporary art. All right, music, video, performance, light—everything—I needed to overcome one by one, without previous experience to support. In 2003, when I was creatingCeremony,I used the text ofThe Romance of the Three Kingdoms. In it there was a historical fgure called Mi Heng, a learned celebrity with upright character. He was humiliated by the tyrant Cao Cao, and was courageous to throw out rightful curses at him as a drumming offcer in the army in a ceremony. Historically, there were three different versions of the text in China:History of Eastern Han, The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, andThe Afterlife Story of Mi Heng the Fearless Drummer.The name Mi Heng first appeared inHistory of Eastern Han. It was two hundred years later that it reappeared. Here arise my doubts: why didn’t his name turn up again until two hundred years later? Why didn’t anybody mention him for so long? Why were the later generations more familiar with this fgure than the earlier ones? All these questions directly point to the “text.”

艾：還有歷史的問題。

汪：對。我當時正著迷美國新歷史主義小組，他們受到?？掠绊懀P于“歷史的文本和文本的歷史”的概念。兩個是并置的、不可相互替代的。歷史的文本很好解釋，就是現(xiàn)在我們看到的這些東西。但是文本的歷史是什么？我的《儀式》就是在關注這個。沒有被記錄下來的歷史就不存在。也就是說這兩百年之間，沒有這個文本，所以這個歷史就不存在。也就是說“禰衡”在這兩百年是不存在的。

我在其中提出的第二個問題是，所有的文本只紀錄了一個事情，就是他老是在罵人，他最后把人罵火了，被人殺掉了。其他什么都沒有記錄。那么，為什么除了罵還是罵？他有病嗎？他是生理上的病，還是別人需要他有病就夠了，等等。

Ai: Also, historical issues are involved.

Wang: Yes. I was just crazy about the American New Historicism Group, who was influenced by Michel Foucault on the concepts of “historical text & text history.” The two were juxtaposed, not interchangeable. A historical text is easy to explain, just like what we see today. But what is a text history? This was what myCeremonyconcerned. A history that hasn’t been recorded does not exist. That is to say, through that period of two hundred years, there was no text as such. Nor did its history exist as a result. In other words Mi Heng didn’t exist through the two centuries.

Moreover, only one thing about him was recorded in all the texts—he always cursed. Eventually, someone flew into rage and killed him. No other records at all. Then my follow-up questions are: why did he do nothing but cursing? Was he sick? Was he physically sick, or someone else just needed him to be sick and that’s enough?

排練的時候，有趣的事情出來了。我第一次用了面具。戴上面具的時候，他們在演文本，放下面具的時候，他們在討論這個文本。也就是說，演戲的人和評論者都在演戲。那么，排練的時候就出問題了，這個東西怎么排？當時我只意識到復雜，但沒有意識到什么叫“時間”，也不知道最后排演的是什么。在歐洲巡回演出，最后去了蓬皮杜藝術中心。從那次開始，我開始理解“排演”這個概念。三場以后，我們還要不要排演？四場、五場、十幾場，我就在想，為什么要排演這個東西？那么，這里的時間和時間的行動是什么意義？實際上，在排演的時候，以前做過什么，已經(jīng)不重要了，因為如果重要，你認為哪場最重要，那就沒有必要再排演了。所以在采取這個行動的時候，過去已經(jīng)不重要了。同時，你采取行動之前，未來還不存在，是不是？你必須要行動。排演就是“現(xiàn)在”，這就是我理解的排演。當時我給“新星星藝術節(jié)”寫什么叫“新”的時候，最后一句話是，新就是對過去和未來都不負責任的一次突然的行動。這實際也是我理解的“排演”。在這樣的背景下，怎么可能有一個對未來那么有預設性的東西呢？排演就是重啟，它不是方法，重啟就是一個問題。導演常常說，再來再來。我覺得，再來就是歸零。

When it was rehearsal-time, a funny thing happened. I used the masks for the frst time. While they were on the masks, they were acting out the text; while they were off the masks, they were discussing the text. You see, all the actors and the critic were acting. Then, a problem popped out: how should the rehearsing go? At that moment, I just realized it’s complex, but didn’t realize what was “time.” Nor did I know what the outcome of the rehearsal would be. Later, we gave our touring performances in Europe, and went to Le Centre Pompidou fnally. It was from then that I began to understand the concept of “semi-staging.” After three performances, I began to ask myself: “Shall we give additional performances, the fourth, the fifth, the tenth, or even more? Why the semi-staging? And what are the meanings of time and the action of time here?” In fact, while the semi-staging is going on, what has been done before no longer matters, because if the past is important and you can judge which rehearsal is the most important, additional semi-staging will be unnecessary. So, when this action is taken, the past is not important any more. At the same time, before you take action, the future does not exist, right? So you must act. Semi-staging means “the present,” as I understand it. I remember when I wrote for “New Star Art Festival,” I described “newness” in the ending sentence as a sudden action which is responsible neither for the past nor for the future. This is also how I understand “semi-staging.” Judging from such a context, how can we have a thing like a preset for the future? Semi-staging is restart, not a method; restart means a problem. A director often says: “Let’s do it again!” For me that means zeroing.

艾：觀眾是不是被排除掉了？

汪：我覺得，不需要考慮觀眾。這聽起來非常不道德，但世界上最道德的是，不考慮觀眾。因為你是用你自己去考慮觀眾的，是你想象出來的一種對你的行為事先作抵押的虛構的人群。你想象出一種為你服務的人，你把他安排在觀眾頭上，是對真實觀眾最大的褻瀆。如果你認為觀眾跟社會、現(xiàn)實關系很大，就像我們對“人民”這個詞一樣，這就是一個徹底的極權主義。觀眾是什么，從來就不存在這樣一個命名。有個我舉過一萬遍的例子：我們兩個坐在這里，你能告訴我誰是觀眾，誰不是？

艾：但這里不是劇場。

汪：如果在討論誰是觀眾的時候，還要想是否在劇場，這就更荒謬了。說回來，我們兩個是或不是觀眾，答案只有兩個。說不是，我要問為什么不是，說是，那我們就是。我覺得，我做的事情就是觀眾做的事情。我覺得這更真實。因為我也是觀眾的一部分。這是第一個解釋。第二個解釋是，你這時候想象的觀眾就是通過你的教育和知識所建立起來的、被控制的虛構。我舉過例子，窗外坐著的一個人，他就是你的觀眾，請你虛構一下他。你可以寫十頁紙或者一頁紙，關于這個人怎么看你。你給他看一看，你都不好意思。因為這個行動就不合法，你在替別人看問題；而且十頁紙或者一頁紙是一個意義，是你對他看世界的一種想象，是不是他，他同意不同意，百分之多少同意，都跟他沒關系。一個人你都搞不定，你怎么能搞定所有觀眾呢？

Ai: Is the audience excluded?

Wang: No need to care about them, I think. Sounds very immoral. But the most moral thing in the world is not to care about them. Because when you’re caring about them, you’re doing so from your own position, and the audience is a crowd that you have imagined and pledged for your future behavior. So, you have imagined such a group to serve your purpose and name them the audience. This, I believe, is the ultimate blasphemy to the real audience! Further, if you think that the audience has much to do with society and reality, as we treat the word “people,”that would be a downright totalitarianism. There has never been a name as such. Again, I’d like to cite this example as I have done so hundreds of times: you see, we two are sitting here, can you tell who’s the audience and who’s not?

Ai: But we’re not in the theater.

Wang: It would be even more absurd if you are discussing who’s the audience, and wondering whether you’re in the theater at the same time. Well, let’s come back to the previous question whom of us is the audience. We have but two choices. If the answer is “No,” I’ll ask why not. If the answer is “Yes,” then we are. I believe I’ve been doing what the audience does. I think that’s more real because I myself am also part of the audience. This is No. 1 explanation. No. 2 explanation is this: the audience you imagine at this moment is built through your education or knowledge—a controlled conception. Here’s an example. A man sitting outside the window is your audience. Please imagine him. You can write one page or ten pages of his opinions of you. Show him what you’ve written. I bet you’ll be awfully embarrassed about what you’ve done. The reason is: this action is “illegal”—you are thinking of him as if you were him. What’s more, whatever you’ve written about him—one page or ten—is just an imagination, and has nothing to do with him, no matter whether he agrees or no matter what percentage of your account he will agree to. You see, you can’t get things right with a single person, how can you get all of the audience?

觀眾就是一個“社會”。我唯一能接受觀眾這個概念的時刻是，它是充滿差異的個體所組成的。那么保存這種差異并存的事實，那不就是最真實的嗎？既然如此，我不考慮觀眾，就捍衛(wèi)了觀眾最真實的一面。我跟他不一樣，我捍衛(wèi)我跟他的不一樣，我不去用我來想象他跟我一樣。我的作品，很多人說，汪老師，我看不懂。恰恰我就是捍衛(wèi)了你和我的差異。

艾：您喜歡的作家，除了博爾赫斯，還有誰？

汪：卡夫卡。我有一個很長的清單。但這個清單有時可以具體到一本書。我淘汰了很多作家，最后留下來的就是卡夫卡的東西多一點，像《城堡》就是我特別喜歡的。還有加繆的《局外人》對我的文字書寫產(chǎn)生過很大影響，但我不提加繆其他的東西。普伊格的《蜘蛛女之吻》，印象也特別深。

艾：您提到之前想當作家，那么作家對您影響更多還是藝術家？

汪：最近十年對我影響更多的還是科學家和哲學家。這羅列出來也是一個長長的清單，還有些不太知名的，比如《種群數(shù)量的時空動態(tài)——對溫室白粉虱的系統(tǒng)探討》的作者徐汝梅?？赡軟]什么人知道他，但是我就是通過讀他的這本書產(chǎn)生了1994年一年的種植計劃。這是一個生物學家。去年卡塞爾文獻展五十周年的活動，他們要求我遞交講話提綱、工作筆記。工作筆記我就選擇了這個作品。這個生物學家思考問題的方式，給我啟發(fā)。他研究昆蟲，研究如何通過益蟲來防治害蟲。害蟲有一個自己的生態(tài)系統(tǒng)，益蟲也有一個，但它們又共享生態(tài)系統(tǒng)，那怎么能夠通過控制溫度和濕度讓益蟲生長得健壯，同時殺除害蟲。這個本來就很有意思，但更有意思的是，在實踐里，這個模型要與環(huán)境溝通，環(huán)境溝通的輸入輸出卻不可控制，結果益蟲和害蟲的兩個系統(tǒng)并置的時候，產(chǎn)生了一個多余系統(tǒng)，由益蟲和害蟲的糞便滋生了腐食性動物及其生態(tài)系統(tǒng)。你看，這就是意外。我現(xiàn)在的作品，戲劇、電影、繪畫就得益于這樣的思維方式。

而且，不是這些東西包圍我的藝術，我的藝術就是這些東西的直接表面。藝術必須無原則地創(chuàng)造出所有人能識別的那個東西，可以有連續(xù)性，拒絕任何帶有特殊性的普遍性。這是當代藝術的一個基本原則。但現(xiàn)在有多少藝術是建立在這樣一個基礎上的？我們都是靠各式各樣的特殊性來保護它。一張畫好，就已經(jīng)證明我已經(jīng)知道了這個普遍性的東西，而且它可傳遞，雖然我不認識這個藝術家。但當他的老師、熟人、批評家、策展人不停地講，這是在毀掉這個藝術。我們一直不尊重藝術本身。我們認為，只有藝術是為藝術而奮斗的，但藝術從來就沒有作為一個主體存在過，從社會這個虛構體上面削下的小渣滓就可以砸死藝術，藝術就這么脆弱?！吧鐣背３１划斪饕粋€大棒掄向藝術，我們常常會說，這個藝術沒有反映社會，你的藝術里我們看不到社會，就像說你是嫖客一樣，一種話語。

艾：您也做策展。藝術家做策展與策展人做策展會有什么不同？

汪：這個問題我沒有具體梳理過。具體到我做策展，2005年，我在上海的工地上做過一個叫“間隔”的展覽。我把建筑師和藝術家強制性地放到同樣一個空間，我接受任何一個結果。這個過程中，藝術家有的成為了彼此的朋友，有的成為了“敵人”后，又成為朋友。但對所有人來說，這種體會都是終身難忘的，因為他們以前沒有這么做過。當時，在中戲做舞美的張慧與深圳的建筑師余佳在一起工作，在一個完成了整體結構澆筑、沒有內(nèi)裝修的樓盤空間里。對于一個空間作為舞臺和將要成為展示空間的功能是什么，兩個人不停商量，最后產(chǎn)生了他們的空間形態(tài)。何岸和王暉合作。王暉把他的工作叫做“一毫米”，用一毫米的鋼絲在這個空間里，建成了一個很復雜的結構；何岸去廣西租了7億只螞蟻，他認為螞蟻就是一毫米，他把它們放在這個空間里。我只舉這兩個例子。他們都創(chuàng)造了一個他們各自的知識都沒有辦法獨立達成的效果，這就是一加一大于二。我當時策展的時候，思考的問題和我自己做作品的時候一樣，就是我認為，如果你的起點是在已知里突圍的話，那么你對已知的懷疑最終如何呈現(xiàn)？還有，行動最終是一個什么形式？

汪建偉 “時間寺”展覽現(xiàn)場 綜合媒介 尺寸可變 2014年Exhibition scene of Wang Jianwei, Time Temple, mixed media, variable size, 2004

The audience can be called a “society.” The only moment I can accept the concept of the audience is when it consists of individuals with differences. Then, if we maintain coexisting individual differences, isn’t that truest? It explains why I don’t care about the audience—I am defending what’s the truest in the group. Therefore my logic is this: I’m different from the audience, I defend my being different from it; and I don’t start from myself to imagine him to be the same as me. As for my artwork, many complain to me: “Mr. Wang, we can’t understand.” In fact that’s because I’m precisely defending the differences between you and me.

Ai: Apart from Borges, any other favorite writers you have?

Wang: Franz Kafka. I had a very long list of my favorite writers, sometimes giving their books’ names. So far many of them have been crossed out from the list. But Kafka is still more to my liking than anyone else. HisThe Castleis my best love. There is Albert Camus, whoseThe Strangerhad a great infuence on my writing, though I wouldn’t mention other things about him. Finally, Manuel Puig, whoseKiss of the Spider Womanimpressed me most.

Ai: You mentioned you dreamed to be a writer. Then who exerted more infuence upon you, writers or artists?

Wang: Scientists and philosophers, in the last decade. That would be another long list. Some of them are not so well-known, say, Mr. Xu Rumei, author ofSpatio Temporal Dynamics of Population Abundance: a Systems Approach to Greenhouse Whiteflies.Probably no one hears of him, but that book helped me work out my planting plan for 1994. He’s a biologist. Last year, to celebrate the fftieth anniversary of Kassel Documenta, they asked me to submit my speech outline and work notes. I included that book in my work notes. The way this biologist thinks is quite inspiring. He studied insects to fnd solutions against pests through beneficial insects. Pests have their own ecosystems. So do beneficial insects. However, they share an ecosystem. Then how can we keep beneficial insects growing up healthily by controlling temperature and humidity, and kill pests at the same time? Isn’t it fun! But more fun is this: in practice, this model has to communicate with the environment, whose input and output, however, are uncontrollable. In consequence, after the systems of beneficial insects and pests were juxtaposed, a redundant system emerged, an ecosystem of corrupt animals living on their droppings. You see, this is an accidental event. My present works—drama, flm, painting— beneft from this way of thinking.

Moreover, it is not that these things besiege my art, but that my art indicates a direct surface above them. Art must, regardless of principles, create something that everyone can recognize, something that can be continuous and reject any universality with particularity. This is a basic principle in contemporary art. But today, how many of artworks are built on such a basis? We all tend to rely on a variety of particularities to protect them. If I fnd a piece of drawing very fne, that proves that I’ve already understood something universal in it, which is transferrable, though I don’t know the artist (its author) himself. However, when the artist’s teachers, acquaintances, critics, curators all join the discussion of it, they are ruining the artwork. We’ve never paid due respect to art itself. We believe that nothing but art itself strives for a better future for art. However, art has never existed as a subject. To tell the truth, it is so vulnerable that any tiny dregs cut off from “society”—this made-up object— can smash art to death. “Society” is often taken as a ruthless stick to attack art. When we say: “This art doesn’t refect society,” or “We see no society in your art,” it’s simply like saying: “You’re a whorehouse visitor.” The same discourse.

Ai: You’re a curator, too. Any difference when you organize an exhibition as an artist?

Wang: Never gave it a careful thought. But I’ll tell you my experience as a curator. In 2005, I launched an exhibition “Partition”on a Shanghai construction. I “forced” architects and artists to share a space, and was ready to accept any outcome of their work. In the process, some artists made friends with each other; others became “enemies”frst, then friends fnally. For all of them, however, this experience was unforgettable all their life, because they had never done so before. At that time, Ms. Zhang Hui, a stage artist from the Central Academy of Drama, cooperated with the architect Yu Jia from Shenzhen city. They were in a building space without interior decoration where the pouring work of the overall structure had been completed. They continually discussed how to position the functions of the space as a stage and an exhibition ground, and fnally produced their space formation. Another cooperation example was Wang Hui and He An. Wang called his work “one millimeter,” and finished a complex structure with one-millimeter steel wires. He An rented 700 million ants from Guangxi province, who believed that those ants were one-millimeter in size, and left them crawling within their space. So much for the examples. They all brought forward results that couldn’t have been accomplished with their respective intellectual effort alone. This is just like one plus one is greater than two. When I was working as a curator, I would ask myself the same questions as I did with drawing: if you start from the known to fght your way out, how would you eventually present your distrust of the known? The last but not the least, what will be the form of the action in the end?

汪建偉 “黃燈”第二章節(jié)《“我們知道我們在做什么……”》展覽現(xiàn)場（裝置作品邊沁之圓） 綜合媒介 尺寸可變2011 年Wang Jianwei, Chapter II “We Know What We Are Doing…” exhibition scene (Bentham circle of installation work), “Yellow Lamp,”mixed media, variable size, 2011

艾：那您是引導藝術家這么做？

汪：不，我只是建立起這樣的一個時間經(jīng)驗。就像這次我的個展，四點鐘開幕，我把它叫“有人在后院排練”，名字和現(xiàn)實一樣，我們就是四點鐘在后院開始排練。有點像是“排演”這個概念，參加的人，我們以前也有過交談、合作，不在一個完全互相不知道的情況下，但我們又沒有排練過，我們不知道這十個人在一起會有什么出現(xiàn)。有策展人、批評家、藝術家、表演者、建筑師，最終我還請了牧師。牧師來之前，我也沒有告訴他我要問什么問題。我在現(xiàn)場問牧師一個關于“復活”的問題，是我最近從哲學讀物里讀到的。我認為有兩個重要的層面，第一，它是非生物意義上的死亡，所以從這個意義講，它就是“生”。第二，它從來沒有說過是個女人的死，還是男人的死，是以色列人死，還是巴勒斯坦人死；它是人的死，所以這里建立了另外一個緯度，就是“普遍性”。魯明軍馬上就說：“尼采有著名的‘上帝已死’，牧師，我不是想冒犯你，但你作為牧師怎么看？”牧師回答說：“我確實聽見很多人說，上帝死了，但我現(xiàn)在還不能確實告訴你上帝是不是死了，但我確實地告訴你，尼采是死了。”排練居然是這么開始的。我又問演員：“你們是不是每一次做戲劇的時候都要排練，排練是怎么進行的？”演員就過來說：“不一定，我們今天就可以告訴你，我們?nèi)齻€可以朗讀我們最喜歡的文本，我們從來沒排練過，沒有排練是因為，要讓你上演的戲劇才要排練，上演的戲劇一般都是制片人精心定制的，它會有票房，我們喜歡的如果不在這個系統(tǒng)里，永遠不會有上演的機會，但我們確實喜歡，我們今天想讀一下這個東西。”我的邏輯是，每個人覺得自己說完了就可以走了，我最先說完，我就走了。離開不用作任何解釋，不用鞠躬，因為你們沒有在表演。最后，空間負責人宣布后院的排練已經(jīng)結束了，謝謝大家。沒有掌聲。大家就說：“啊，就完了?。俊币驗闆]有表演，所以沒有掌聲，沒有“觀眾”。我們跟他們在同樣的時間里分享一些東西。

Ai: Did you lead the artists in the process?

Wang: No, I just created such a time experience. Like my recent solo exhibition. It opened at four o’clock. I called it “Some Are Rehearsing in the Backyard.” As the name suggested, we indeed began our rehearsal at four there. Kind of “semi-staging.” Participants were my acquaintances, with whom I’d had talks or cooperation. They were not completely strange to each other. However, we hadn’t rehearsed together before. Nor did we know what would happen to the ten participants, including curators, critics, artists, performers, architects. I, too, managed to invite a priest. On the scene I asked him a surprise question about“resurrection,” which I got from a philosophy reading. To understand this, I think there are two important levels. First, it’s no biological death; so it’s “birth” in this sense. Second, it has never specifically referred to a woman’s death, a man’s death, Israelites’ death, or Palestinians’death. Therefore, another dimension is involved—“universality.” Lu Mingjun got in immediately: “Priest, Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche has a famous saying that ‘God is dead.’ Excuse me, I’m not offending you, but what’s your opinion?” The priest replied: “I did hear a lot of people say that God is dead. Now, I can’t definitely tell you if God is dead. But I can defnitely tell you that Nietzsche is dead.” With this, our rehearsal began! I asked the actors: “Do you rehearse every time you give performance? How does the rehearsal go on?” They came over and said: “Not necessarily. Today, we can tell you we three can read our favorite text. We’ve never rehearsed that, because a play needs a rehearsal only when it’s going to be put on, which, usually, is carefully customized by the producer, and aims at a box offce. If our favorite text is not included within this system, it’ll never be staged. However, we really love it, and we want to read it today.” My logic is that if anyone present feels that he can leave now, he can. So, I was the frst to have fnished, then I went away straight. No explanation, no bowing. No need for that, because you aren’t on the stage. Finally, the manager responsible for the space announced: “The rehearsal in the backyard is over. Thank you all!” No applause. Everyone else said: “Oh! Finished?” No applause, no “audience,” because there was no performance. We were just sharing something with them within the same time.

艾：也沒有導演。

汪：沒有啊。所以這就是你問的，我做展覽跟策展人有什么區(qū)別。我覺得，展覽“間隔”和作品《有人在后院排練》的邏輯是一樣的。我理解的所謂的策展人的工作，就是組織，提供展示可能性的一個系統(tǒng)。但我的這個“可能性”與我的工作室工作的起點是一樣的，是對“已知的匱乏”的行動，你的質(zhì)疑如何展示出來。我做導演也好，藝術家也好，策展人也好，我沒有變換生態(tài)，沒有變換工作方法。

艾：您從成都到上海。哪個城市對您影響更大？

汪：我不去理解我居住的地方，不去理解“城市”后面的事情。

艾：我是關心作品產(chǎn)生的一個環(huán)境語境。

汪：我用“環(huán)境”這個詞，不用“城市”這個詞。有大環(huán)境和小環(huán)境，這是我可以思考的，但城市作為一個概念，我不思考這個詞匯所對應的東西。我的理由很簡單，第一，這個城市怎么命名？比如北京，我跟北京有多大的關系？最近三年，我甚至沒有去過長安街，我知道的幾乎就只是家、工作室、朝陽區(qū)、798等，偶爾到更遠的地方，你讓我談城市，我就突然發(fā)覺我跟這個城市的關系非常局部。但這個局部可以代表這個城市嗎？我很懷疑。既然不能代表這個城市，那我就不敢說，我的這個局部就是這個城市。第二，你在朝陽區(qū)望京，這個環(huán)境給你產(chǎn)生了什么樣的關聯(lián)？這個可以說。但是望京跟北京什么關系，可能就是未知的。有些位置是跟你沒有關系的。如果說，你作為個中國人，你怎么想，這事兒就很荒謬，那你必須給“中國人”寫一個定義。如果沒有這個定義，這個問題也就不存在。

艾：你在追求一種普遍性的東西。

汪：我在德國、美國，我在任何一個地方，跟我在中國做展覽沒有特殊性。我每次都在糾正特殊性。比如說，有人問我“中國當代藝術”，我會非常直接地告訴他：“這不是我在思考的問題，但我也不會干預你們?nèi)ニ伎歼@個問題，但你也不要要求我?！边€有很多工作是我不做的。既然我懷疑特殊性，那我也不會以反對它而去獲利。我不去批判特殊性，只是我不做特殊性的工作。所以這就是“環(huán)境的多”，這個概念非常重要。我不會批評“環(huán)境的多”。特殊性本身是環(huán)境中存在的，有相當一部分是以此為生的，它有悖于我的工作。但是，我把它放進“環(huán)境的多”去思考的時候，它就具有了正當性。

Ai: No director, either.

Wang: No. So, just now I’ve answered your question: what is the difference between my work as a curator and as an artist. For me, the logic behind my exhibition “Partition” and that behind the workSome Are Rehearsing in the Backyardare the same. As I understand it, a curator is an organizer, a provider of a system exhibiting possibilities. Nonetheless, the “possibilities” here and the starting point of my studio work are the same, equally an action against the deficiency in “the known.” A presentation of your distrust. To sum up, I’ve never changed my ecology or my working way, no matter whether I serve as a director, an artist, or a curator.

Ai: You moved from Chengdu to Shanghai. Which city has had a greater impact on you?

Wang: I’d not try to understand my living places, or something behind “a city.”

Ai: I’m being concerned about the environmental context in which artwork emerges.

Wang: I prefer the word “environment” to “city.” Macro or micro environment, yes, I may consider them. However, when “city” is taken as a concept, I never consider its equivalent. My reasons are simple. First, how do you defne “city”? Take Beijing as an example. How much do I have to do with Beijing on earth? In the last three years, I’ve even never been to Chang’an Street, the most famous of its kind locally. My whereabouts are almost just my home, studio, Chaoyang District, 798 ArtDist, occasionally somewhere farther away. So, if you catch me to talk about the “city,” all of sudden I fnd myself very, very “l(fā)ocal” in this city. However, can this locality represent the city? Very doubtful, I should say. Therefore, I’m reluctant to mark this city with this locality. Second, if you’re in the Wangjing area, Chaoyang District, what association will this environment conjure up? This you can give your opinion. But what’s the relationship between Wangjing and Beijing? It may be unknown. Some locations are not related to you. Just like asking: “What do you think of it as a Chinese?” How ridiculous! You have to give a defnition to “Chinese” frst. Otherwise, this question cannot stand at all.

Ai: You’re pursuing something universal.

Wang: No particularity, whether I conduct an exhibition in Germany, USA, or any other place. I’m always correcting particularity. For example, if someone asks me about “contemporary Chinese art”, I will tell him bluntly: “This is not a question I’m thinking about. But I won’t interfere with you to do so. Conversely, please don’t require me to do so, either.” There’s a lot of other work that I won’t touch. Since I distrust particularity, of course I won’t proft from going against it. I won’t criticize particularity, simply because I don’t do any particular work. So this is “environmental diversity,” a very important concept. I won’t criticize “environmental diversity.” Particularity itself exists in the environment, much of which lives on it. Although particularity runs against my work, it becomes justifable when I take it into “environmental diversity” in thinking.

汪建偉 “時間寺”戲劇部分《螺旋坡道圖書館》第二階段Wang Jianwei, Stage 2, The Library on a Spiral Ramp, theater part of Time Temple

艾：聽起來很復雜。

汪：其實你把我說的話，直接從字面上理解就好。我行文一直很少用定語，因為定語太多對主語傷害更大。比如我說“藝術”的時候，是不加定語的。沒有什么“中國當代藝術”“當代藝術”“年輕藝術家”“老年藝術家”“資深藝術家”“杰出藝術家”。這樣就可以把歷史對你的投射、語義學后面的東西變得很干凈。

艾：排除掉？

汪：不，排除不了，但變得很簡單。把定語去掉后，“藝術”后面的投射就少多了。前面定語越多，自由度越小。說穿了，自由真正就在這兒。其實藝術就是踐行自由的一個場所。所以，我不接受任何一個對藝術下指標、指令的任務書。這就是我認為的自由，同時也是我的政治態(tài)度。

Ai: Sounds so complicated.

Wang: In fact it’s all right if you understand what I say literally. I seldom use attributives. The more you use them, the more they will harm the subject. For example, when I mention “art”, no attributive comes before it. Nor I say “contemporary Chinese art,” “contemporary art,”“young artists,” “old artists,” “senior artists,” “distinguished artists,” and the like. By doing so, you remove away those projections that history has offered, and semantic associations as well. .

Ai: Root them out?

Wang: No, no way. But much more simplifed. With attributives cut off, the projections behind “art” are much fewer. The more attributives, the less freedom. After all, this is right where freedom is. In fact, art is where you exercise your right to freedom! Therefore, I won’t accept any task imposed on me in the name of art. This is the freedom in my eyes, and my political attitude as well.

艾 姝：天津美術學院學報編輯

岳中生：中國民航大學副教授

Ai Shu: Editor of Journal of Tianjin Academy of Fine Arts

Yue Zhongsheng: Associate professor at Civil Aviation University of China

“Art Is Where You Exercise Your Right to Freedom” : An Interview with Wang Jianwei

Conducted and organized by Ai Shu, translated by Yue Zhongsheng