1st Mathe Coullery Memorial Lecture “Kong dot Flux” Guangzhou, China, late December 2007 – I was riding in a car stuck in traffic when I noticed an advertisement on the back of a bus which featured the words Kong.net. Earlier that morning, I had opened an email from IAC President Janet Mansfield asking me for the title of this evening’s talk. That was nine months ago. I had no talk and no title for something that did not exist. However, there in Guangzhou staring at the back of that bus “Kong dot net” sounded good to me: A little Chinese, a little hip, tech, now, but what did it mean? I had no idea. I emailed the words Kong dot net to Janet and assumed I would figure it out later. In time, I learned about the word Kong. In Chinese Kong means empty. When used to compose thoughts or concepts there is Kong Zhong and Tian Kong which mean In the Air and In the Sky. Kong Jian means Space and Kong Xu, Emptiness; Kong Kuo, Vast; Kong Xian, Free or Idle. Kong Ling is a concept important to Chinese Art and Philosophy meaning that which resides beyond the material fact and the obvious subject or image of a work of Art: a spiritual resonance or dimension, an enlightenment. So, you see, as logic would have it Kong.net must refer to a website: a vast incorporeal emptiness full of information, a network in the air where we can log on and expand our consciousness. Clearly, Kong is a very useful and provocative word that, in combination with other words, allows for a quality of the unknown to be known. It helps to capture the intuitive sense of what one understands, but can’t pin down precisely with fact. Therefore, it seems appropriate as part of the title of this talk. As my intention is not necessarily to recite facts. My intention is to offer, in the brief time allotted, an outline of my impressions engendered by well over a decade of dialogue with China: What I sense was or is in the air, in the empty space between things. Change is one way to define contemporary China: dramatic, rapid change. I have never experienced the energy of change so powerfully. It is an energy that is compelling, inspiring and immensely challenging. Contemplating this I refined my title, dropping Net I chose Flux, meaning flow and continuous change. As a ceramic artist and teacher my observations are circumscribed by my profession and the particular circumstantial nature of my activities in China. I have never had a plan or strategy regarding China, although I have continually responded, whenever possible, to invitations and opportunities offered. Numerous early opportunities did focus the general direction of my activities. I have been in China almost every year since my first visit in 1991. That makes seventeen years of adventure, travel, work, study. No question, I have learned a great deal about China: its culture, its history, its people. I have had extraordinary, life altering experiences, filled my personal library with countless books on China and made genuine, lasting friendships. Nevertheless, I am still overwhelmed by China. When asked: “What do you think about China?” I am at a loss as to how to respond. Usually, I say: “That is a big question; how much time to you have?” Sometimes I simply say: “It is amazing!” I may add the thought that whenever I visit China I am overwhelmed with wonder. At this point, I think I have gotten over being surprised. If you are truly open to experience nothing is really surprising, but everything does make you wonder. That is why I keep coming back to China. There is always something more, some contradiction I need explained, something deeper that I want to understand. I’m curious, fascinated and bewildered by China. Perhaps, it is more profoundly true that in the search for myself China has been my guide, my teacher and, like a schoolboy, I have fallen in love with my teacher. My first trip to China was funded by the United Nations Development program. I was invited to speak at the 1991 Beijing International Ceramic Art Convention held at North China University of Technology. It was the first of its kind to be held in China. In my memory it seems that I could have been visiting Beijing one hundred years ago. There have been so many changes, transformations of every kind all across China since then. Only the countryside remains unchanged, or so it seems. In 1991, I was embraced by an eagerness to learn about contemporary ceramic art in the West. The urgency was genuine, refreshing, fee of cynicism. The root history of ceramics is Chinese. Across the centuries, regardless of upheaval and political change, ceramics has continually been produced in China. The Chinese artists I met first knew well this piece of their inheritance. They knew that ceramics had a very deep and rich Chinese identity. It was their identify, but just then, in the early 1990’s, they were beginning to feel, intuit, a new potential: the potential of the individual artist. The discovery of the potential of personal creativity was fueling a desire to grasp as much as possible as fast as possible. Who knew what would happen next? Right now, right then, it had to happen. Fitting into the world in a new way was on the horizon. The earnest emotional intensity I felt coming my way was inspiring, to say the least. I was moved, excited and eager, as an artist and teacher, to share my knowledge, experience and to offer encouragement. I was willing to extend my hand, my heart, my resources and reputation to anyone I could. I was caught up in what was then call: “A New Spring Wind.” “A New Spring Wind” was the theme of the 1991 Beijing Conference. The President of North China University of Technology stated the following in his opening remarks: “International ceramic art friends attend this symposium that will exchange ceramic art experience with Chinese artists which will become driving power on the development of Chinese ceramic art and will make vigorous progress.” Immediately, at the time, I was confounded by these words. I wanted to participate, to learn on one hand and on the other I felt a powerful reticence. I was unsure of what the best course of action might be except to emphasize the fact that in my experience the process of artistic development took considerable time, struggle and an observant vulnerability to one’s own life and cultural traditions. Back in 1991 my thinking was colored by my exposure to the writings of French philosopher Paul Ricoeur. In his book, History and Truth, he wrote the following observation: “Everywhere throughout the world one finds the same bad movie, the same plastic atrocities, the same twisting of language by propaganda. It is a fact, every culture cannot sustain and absorb modern civilization. There is the paradox: how to become modern and return to sources, how to revive an old dormant civilization and take part in universal civilization.” This paradox suggested by Ricoeur was constantly repeated to me in various ways as I traveled across China beginning in 1992 talking with artists, art students, art school administrators, curators, critics and business people. I presented to many their first in depth look at contemporary international ceramic art. I spoke at factories, schools, hotel dinning rooms, museums. One of my first talks was in Beijing at the School of Art and Craft, now a part of Tsinghua University. The students were very respectful, very quiet. There were no questions. Everyone was waiting for the faculty to take the lead. By contrast the first lecture I gave in Jingdezhen, that same year, was a near riot of enthusiasm. Questions came flying at me with due respect, but with great eagerness and concern for thoughtful answers. There was a storm during the lecture and all the electricity went off, but we kept talking with each other about ceramics, about art. Far from the capital of China the tone was very different. The artist-faculty of the Jingdezhen Ceramic Institute were giving permission. Jingdezhen was a most progressive place then and I met the most remarkable individuals, remarkable artists. My heart was captured by Jingdezhen. On May 20, 1994, I hosted a banquet and Karaoke—dance party for the faculty of the Jingdezhen Ceramic Institute. This was a small gesture of appreciation on my part which turned out to be the party to end all parties as far as I was concerned. The month, the day, the year: the timing was right. Everyone danced and danced with everyone, no gender phobias. The older faculty, deeply experienced with the dynamics of Chinese life, found within themselves a youthful exuberance and, extending their permission and hope for the future, blended their spirits with the chemistry of optimism. The companionship of the moment was golden. Everyone was welcoming a new voltage of possibility. Events like this one may have occurred elsewhere in China in the early 1990’s, but they were not commonplace. It was a very special time in China, in Jingdezhen, in Chinese ceramic art. It was a very special time in my life. In 1998, I was the featured speaker at the first Yixing International Ceramic Art Conference. This was a breakthrough moment. A new openness was palpable, participants were allowed a new freedom to engage the city and the citizens of Yixing. The big question, however, was the same: “How can Chinese ceramics be more modern without losing its Chinese character?” A more sophisticated translation would be: “How can Chinese ceramic art become a potent force in a post-modern world so saturated by the influence of the West without losing a particular Chinese identity born of a thousand years of intellectual and spiritual achievement?” I have never had an answer to this question except to say don’t worry about it. Work from your experience and learn the craft. The core dilemma of authenticity is the concern of every artist. Do what you love to do, be passionate. Anxious, self-conscious concern won’t help. If one wishes heritage to have a voice in the work, research it, embrace it. Live in the present. Be wary, attentive to success. If success and recognition are first and foremost in your mind the quality of your work will probably suffer. Distinguished artist-professor, Zhu Danian, gave the closing lecture at the ’91 Beijing Conference which struck a clear note of truth for me. He said to the artists present: “Honor who you are, believe in yourself, grow into your ability.” He continued by speaking about the sensual richness of materials in correspondence to human life and how essential it was to know material in order to transmit feeling. He spoke of communication and the importance of engaging the viewer. He spoke of mystery and the necessity for work to have hidden meaning. Gradually, this question about Chinese ceramic art and the world receded into the distance. I rarely hear it anymore. Today the questions are less philosophical. Of course, the early 90’s in China were a more cautionary time. Political forces had yet to give in to commercial forces. Ding Xiao Ping’s open door policy had yet to reach full flower. As a foreigner I remember having to use exchange certificates, FEC’s, as opposed to the “people’s money,” renminbi. Also Tiananmen was still a fresh memory. Then Ding Xiao Ping’s famous tour of Southern China in early 1992 stimulated economic optimism throughout the country and the atmosphere lightened. If I had gone to sleep after my first visit to China and awakened here now, it would be like being transported directly from the 1950’s to the present day. I have often read that to understand China today one must understand the phenomena of the Cultural Revolution, 1966-1976. In terms of recent history, it is considered to be China’s watershed experience. Without the drama of the Cultural Revolution we might see a completely different social response to such things as individuality and uniformity, private and public. China has been redirecting herself down a speedway that leads away from the recent past. Currently, I’m often asked about getting professional connections, becoming recognized. I’m asked about exhibitions and publishing catalogues. More often than not, I am handed an artist’s glossy publication. I’m asked for my advice by industrial entrepreneurs on how to work with artists to promote business development. Recurrently, those questions are associated with the tourist industry. I must say that I miss those “early days” of the 1990’s. I miss the respectful, sometimes heated questioning. The days of eager inquiry concerning ceramic art and the future. Today, I have taken off the rose colored glasses to find artists in business, savvy men and women with a gift for public relations. China is a post-modern world with a vengeance. To be an artist is to be practical, realistic, embracing of the flow of now, striving for what is possible. Quality is primarily evaluated in terms of monetary success. Are there alternative ways to recognize quality? Should there be? Have there ever been? What is quality in the face of marketplace splendor? Does it matter? What is the role of art in politics, cultural evaluation and the education of society at large? How is art connected to the major issues of our time? I don’t hear conversations related to these questions. Perhaps, such discussions are privileged to the inside. Are they taking place in China? Are they taking place anywhere? Of course, I’m provoking speculation about values: about intellectual and artistic rigor. What is valued? In the turbulence of change and outreach, the ambitions of new Chinese generations are influenced by communications or clues they receive and identify from the world at large. If I had the power to influence this process I would send a message of encouragement and reinforcement aimed toward continual recognition of the Chinese gift for craft as well as artistic inventiveness. I was talking with a Chinese friend recently and he referred to the saying Xin Ling Shou Qiao, meaning clever and deft, which is usually used to describe someone, especially a craftsperson, who has a creative mind and a pair of skillful hands that can carry creativity to perfection. In my travels across China, I have seen this ideal of Chinese intelligence frequently. It is a mental brilliance and physical adeptness that is losing respect in this digital age. Here in contemporary China, in my conversations with young people, I’ve learned of their reluctance to commit energy to acquiring knowledge by learning about and with their hands. For them, making by hand is a real part of the present that symbolizes what they wish to leave behind. Students rightly want to grasp the new. The idea that everything important can be addressed by digital technology is a compelling assumption. Moving on, as they see it, is a broad ideal regarding what is good. They have yet to yearn for what is lost. Making by hand is just too slow, after all the pace of life has quickened, results must be instant. No time, so little time to learn. Looking at art from a different direction one is confronted by a contemporary Chinese art world which, outside the perimeter of ceramic art, seems more attentive to cultural dynamics, less reflexive, more aggressively in pursuit of intellectual agendas and confrontational issues. Although, today’s generation of young artists seem less concerned with defining a position within or against monolithic state culture. They are more focused on finding an individual stronghold in a culture of Flux. They are appropriating images of mass appeal, Western influenced consumer culture, or China’s vernacular urban heritage. The standard is art as critical response. The internet is pervasive as it is globally. This is opening up dialogues across China. There is the phenomena of the “Wangba,” cheap internet cafes, and the ubiquitous cell phone culture. Technology is serving to make the political system more responsive, more flexible. Young artists are more connected to each other and more responsive to the latest fad and fashion. These artists do not remember the Cultural Revolution or Tianamen. They do seem to project a Western existential fear without much to corner it with. No new value system has taken the place of marginalized older, traditional beliefs. However, the Chinese family is still a singular, honored gravitational stronghold. Within the circles I travel relative to contemporary ceramic art in China the atmosphere has become more charged with competition. The players display a more guarded reflex. Voices are less supportive of each other and reluctant to extend recognition where recognition is due. They have chosen Harmony and Advancement as their IAC conference theme so I assume there is fresh concern for mutual awareness, sensitivity and support. Stepping back I see a China aggressively working out a new lease on life. The opportunities are still so new and the problems yet to be faced. China is working it out and Chinese artists of all disciplines are a major part of the process and the outcomes. I don’t really agree with Paul Ricoeur, I don’t see the same bad movies or the same plastic atrocities everywhere. It seems that what I see is more like what I hear when I listen to the international language, English, spoken by individuals from around the world. When I hear a Chinese artist speaking English, it is Chinese English. The French speak English like Frenchmen. The Americans speak English like Americans and so forth. I think China has been able to absorb contemporary life with its Western face and give it a spin. I see a synthesis which is uniquely Chinese. Gongtai is the word for a fashionable blend of Hong Kong and Taiwanese pop vocalization. Zhou Jie Lun is a “Gongtai” Taiwanese pop singer with a huge Chinese fan club. He appropriates words from ancient Chinese poems, folds them into the sexy contours of 30’s and 40’s Western song stylists, adds a touch of American Country Western or Latin rhythm and a techno edge. Sometimes I think I’m listening to languid, romantic disco love songs or, perhaps, there could be such a thing as nostalgic rap. I’m not sure what I am hearing, but I do know that this music, which rides a pervasive wave of cultural amalgamation, is indicative of the Chinese street. A trip to the environs of a Chinese luxury hotel or restaurant will reveal another kind of cultural synthesis. There you will find interior styles both Eastern and Western that borrow from a survey of time periods blended together with conviction like no where else on the planet. Big city China seems awash in a multifaceted collage of multicultural signifiers all suggesting wealth, success and prosperity. We might be right to call this trend Bling Kong. The Chinese scholar Lin Yu Tang wrote a book approximately sixty years ago about the Chinese people and Chinese culture characterizing China in terms of the female gender: assuming a definition of female as receptive and male as assertive. He observes Chinese culture across time and concludes that China, the longest enduring civilization on earth, has always absorbed and adapted all outside influences to be reborn again and again as a powerful player in world history. It is this process of absorption that is going on now and those of us fortunate enough to be present here and now are observing and participating in an extraordinary transformation of culture and an uncharted vision of the future that holds a brilliant array of possibilities for human achievement. We would do well to be attentive, to embrace and celebrate this process. It is our process. Flux is the nature of being and being at its core reveals an interconnectedness, a dynamic of mutual human dependency that is revealed to us more clearly each day. A fundamental teaching of Chinese, Mahayana Buddhism is the principle of Emptiness. For the Buddhist, emptiness is a way of describing the lack of the self existing independently. Phenomena is empty of any material, concrete, unchanging existence. Everything is dependent, interconnected, co-arising. We are each other in this sense. There is great wisdom in this ancient Chinese teaching, particularly at this moment in our growing awareness of a variety of serious global dilemmas. It is the mission of the International Academy of Ceramics to recognize mutual interest, to celebrate our common bond of art, ceramic art and friendship. Here in Xian we are especially mindful of our Chinese colleagues, their creative work and their astounding country. I dedicate this talk, Kong dot Flux, to them in admiration. Qing Kong is a Chinese way of saying: the clear sky extends ten thousand miles. In English we might say a million or as far as the eye can see. In English we might say: Long live the Queen. Chinese emperors, no doubt, enjoyed hearing Ten Thousand Years, life without limit. Acknowledging the opening of this Xian, IAC conference as an auspicious occasion, one favored by good fortune, I would like to conclude my remarks with the following Xian, IAC resolution, a toast if you will: Let our highest ideals and the guiding spirit of Mathe Coullery live on Ten Thousand Years. Wayne Higby |
