劉玨

For todays culturally conscious urban youth， hitting an exhibition on the weekend is almost a necessity. From Shanghais West Bund to the 798 Art District in Beijing， it has never been so easy to find an avant-garde installation to take a selfie with.

But what does it all mean？ Open one of those exquisitely designed brochures， or read an art review website， and chances are， youll know the definition of every individual word， yet they form some incomprehensible puzzle when put together： The sentences are a mile long， and the phrases include “視覺表征” （sh#ju9 bi2ozh8ng， visual representation） and “異質(zhì)性敘事” （y#zh#x#ng x&sh#， heterogeneous narrative）. Dont bother looking to the title for help， especially when many works are simply called “Untitled.”

Art talk didnt use to be this hard to understand. In traditional Chinese painting， an artists personal thoughts， sentiment， or philosophy was thought to be reflected in their depiction of the world， and was valued as much as the visual experience of their work.

An important concept was 意境 （y#j#ng）， usually translated as “artistic conception.” First coined by renowned Tang dynasty （618 – 907） poet Wang Changling， it describes the intense aesthetic harmony?of imagery and meaning. To say that a painting or a poem 有意境 （y6u y#j#ng， has artistic conception） is to say it has a “soul.” A common cliché is to throw in an additional quote from Tang painter Zhang Zao， who epitomized traditional Chinese painting：

A： This painting of mountains and water has a special artistic conception.

Zh- f% sh`nshu@hu3 h0n y6u y#j#ng.

這幅山水畫很有意境。

B： Indeed， it “depicts the outside world with inner sentiment.”

D！qu- sh# “w3i sh～ z3ohu3， zh4ng d9 x～nyu1n.”

的確是“外師造化，中得心源”。

Ancient poetry and painting often went hand in hand. The imagery conjured by poetry and the sentiment conveyed by a painting were often interchangeable. “詩中有畫，畫中有詩 （Sh～ zh4ng y6u hu3， hu3 zh4ng y6u sh～. Theres painting in his poetry， and poetry in his painting） ” was a compliment given to Tang poet-painter Wang Wei.

Fast forward to the 1950s and 60s， and talking about art became far easier. In fact， there was just one rule： 藝術(shù)為人民服務(wù) （y#sh& w-i r9nm！n f%w&， art should serve the people）， as dictated by Mao Zedong at the Yanan Forum on Art and Literature in 1942. Influenced by the Soviets， most artwork from this time was based in realism， and found their subjects and themes in the lives of common people. The highest praise that could be bestowed on art was to say that it “源于生活，高于生活” （yu1n y% sh8nghu5， g`o y% sh8nghu5， draws from life while exceeding it）， a concept proposed by Russian revolutionary Nikolay Chernyshevsky.

A： Where do you think the artist got her inspiration？

Hu3ji` de l！ngg2n c5ng n2l@ l1i？

畫家的靈感從哪里來？

B： From real life; although based on life， it certainly exceeds life.

C5ng xi3nsh！ sh8nghu5 zh4ng l1i， su～r1n yu1n y% sh8nghu5， d3n g`o y% sh8nghu5.

從現(xiàn)實(shí)生活中來，雖然源于生活，但高于生活。

The values and language to understand and discuss artwork during this time were simple， but now sound clichéd after decades of repetition， especially since they were applied to every politically correct artist.

In todays globalized art world， there are no longer simple， universal criteria for quality. The taste of the market often matters more than the works political orientation. In the 1980s， Western collectors started to show interest in buying modern Chinese art; four decades later， Chinese works make up nearly 30 percent of the global auction turnover， and the value of art as an investment has made talking about it a profitable skill—literally. This causes reviews to become “inflated” with purported deep meanings to justify the price tag.

In this group of sculptures， some are staring blankly， some are yawning; it is both mocking and shouting， which has the significance of a genius giving a prophesy.

Zh- z^ di`os& q%nxi3ng， y6u de z3i f`d`i， y6u de z3i d2 h`qian， zh- sh# y# zh6ng ti1ok2n h9 n3h2n， y6u zhe ti`nc1i y&y1n b`n de y#y#.

這組雕塑群像，有的在發(fā)呆，

有的在打哈欠，這是一種調(diào)侃和

吶喊，有著天才預(yù)言般的意義。

He uses vivid colors to express a track of temperament toward original simplicity， displaying a unique comprehension of universe and life.

T` y7ng f&y6u sh8ngm#ngl# de s-c2i bi2oxi3nch$ f2np^gu～zh8n de x～nx#ng gu@j#， bi2oxi3nch$ du# y^zh7u h9 sh8ngm#ng b%'-r de t@w&.

他用富有生命力的色彩表現(xiàn)出返樸歸真的心性軌跡，表現(xiàn)出對(duì)宇宙和生命不二的體悟。

In one infamous case， Chinese artist Ye Yongqing built a successful career on the back of critics pretension. For 30 years， reviews of Yes paintings blindly praised their themes and technique， with some even claiming that his style was influenced by traditional Chinese aesthetics. It turned out hed been plagiarizing Belgian painter Christian Silvain all along.

His imagery possesses an elegant， ethereal air， which is harmonious and lyrical; resembling the aesthetic quality of Chinese literati painting.

T` de t%xi3ng j&y6u y# zh6ng k4ngl！ng de、pi`oy# de q#x～， f8ich1ng h9xi9 h9 sh$q！ng， l-is# y% Zh4nggu5 w9nr9nhu3 l@ de sh0nm0i q&w-i.

他的圖像具有一種空靈的、飄逸的氣息，非常和諧和抒情，類似于中國文人畫里的審美趣味。

Therefore， its good to take reviews with a grain of salt. Frequent gallery visitors may have noticed that artists tend to throw around concepts translated from English， mostly drawn from Western philosophy and cultural criticism， in their descriptions of an exhibition. These may mean very little to untrained ears， and can in extreme cases sound like gibberish：

He utilized conception as an interest and motivational mechanism， combining the resolution of image with the reconstruction of language， forming a “self-logic.”

T` y@ gu`nni3n zu7w9i y# zh6ng q&w-i h9 d7ngl# j～zh#， ji`ng t%xi3ng de ji0x～ h9 y^y1n de ch5ngz^ ji9h9 q@l1i， x！ngch9ng le y# zh6ng z#lu5j#.

他以觀念作為一種趣味和動(dòng)力機(jī)制，將圖像的解析和語言的重組結(jié)合起來，形成了一種自邏輯。

So prevalent is this obfuscatory language that Chen Danqing， an influential contemporary artist and critic， has condemned it. “I didnt realize the academic essay style has invaded contemporary art; I dont understand these ‘a(chǎn)rt critics at all，” he commented while serving on the jury of the Chinese Contemporary Art Award （CCAA） in 2013， adding that bad criticism made him want to bang his head against the wall.

The ten-dollar words， contrived syntax， and deliberate ambiguity also prompted photographer Lou Liang to pen the satirical essay “Quick Guide to Speaking Nonsense about Chinese Contemporary Art，” in which he walked readers through ways to describe everyday objects and activities as if they were pieces of art.

One trick， according to Lou， is to use unnecessarily abstract phrases where a common verb or noun would do： 拍照片 （p`i zh3opi3n， taking a photo） should be 影像創(chuàng)作 （y@ngxi3ng chu3ngzu7， “image creation”）; 現(xiàn)在 （xi3nz3i， now） should be replaced with 當(dāng)下 （d`ngxi3， the present moment）. If you want to artistically convey the fact that you took a snap of a street crossing on your phone， say：

Before the happenings of the present， I conducted a single image creation on the trivial fragments on the street in reality.

Z3i d`ngxi3 f`sh8ng zh～qi1n， w6 du# xi3nsh！ sh8nghu5 zh4ng ji8t5u x#su# de pi3ndu3n j#nx！ng le d`nc# y@ngxi3ng chu3ngzu7.

在當(dāng)下發(fā)生之前，我對(duì)現(xiàn)實(shí)生活中街頭細(xì)碎的片段進(jìn)行了單次影像創(chuàng)作。

Humdrum daily activities instantly sound deep and important in art talk： Take the phrase “我餓了” （w6 - le. I am hungry）， which could be turned into the much more sophisticated “我產(chǎn)生了當(dāng)下自身生存的需求” （W6 ch2nsh8ng le d`ngxi3 z#sh8n sh8ngc%n de x$qi%. I developed an immediate existential demand）. Along the same lines， trying and failing to order takeout would be：

I attempted to initiate interaction with modern technology， but ultimately formed an unfulfilled realization.

W6 du# xi3nd3i k8j# f`q@ le ch1ngsh# de ji`oh&， d3n zu#zh4ng x！ngch9ng w-i w1nch9ng de ch9ngxi3n.

我對(duì)現(xiàn)代科技發(fā)起了嘗試的交互，但最終形成未完成的呈現(xiàn)。

Even consuming a snack—say， a sloppy jianbing pancake made by a street vendor in a hurry—can become a fundamental act of expression：

This high-temperature artwork， filled with uncertainty， is an impromptu creative presentation.

Zh- ji3n g`ow8n y#sh&p@n sh# ch4ngm2n b%qu-d#ngx#ng de j！x#ng chu3ngzu7 ch9ngxi3n.

這件高溫藝術(shù)品是充滿不確定性的即興創(chuàng)作呈現(xiàn)。

Like art itself， language for discussing artworks is constantly evolving， and no one can agree on a single meaning. This is a good thing， because when artistic jargon runs out， the amateur critic can always use the following lines：

This artwork has different spiritual connotations in different contexts; it is open to infinite interpretations.

Zh- ji3n y#sh&p@n z3i b&t5ng de y^j#ng zh4ng y6u b&t5ng de j～ngsh9n n-ih1n， t` de ji0d% y6u w%qi5ng de k0n9ngx#ng.

這件藝術(shù)品在不同的語境中有不同的精神內(nèi)涵，它的解讀有無窮的可能性。