Hu Xiaoyuan’s installations often comprise everyday material such as sewing-thread, hair and fabric. Her work has been exhibited at Documenta 12 in Kassel and at Kunsthaus Graz in 2007. Hu Xiaoyuan was born in 1977 in Harbin, and lives and works in Beijing.
Three questions to Hu Xiaoyuan
Caroline Elgh, Assistant Curator: China is a big country and the living situation I understand varies a lot depending on which city or region you live in. The big cities on the east coast like Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou where most of the artists in this exhibition live are also very different from each other. You live in Beijing, so in your work as an artist, how do you relate to your city and home environment?
Hu Xiaoyuan: I was born in Harbin and lived there till I was 16. It is a city that has a pretty long and cold winter. In those 15 years there, I had a total of six padded woollen trousers. Among them, a few held up by suspenders which I wore until I was 12. You must realise that I detested those trousers held up by suspenders, as they always made me late whilst getting to and from classes! I always felt nervous and anxious about visiting the bathroom in between lessons. The men and women in the city all loved dressing up. Even in the coldest days during winter, I would often see women with bare legs donning long fur coats – their noses and faces would be frozen purple but their legs remained white as snow. Have you seen a woman in an expensive mink coat taking the public bus? I loved standing right next to them because it would warm me up. I have been living on my own in Beijing since I was 16 till today. After I’d left my parents and moved from the remote north to Beijing, I no longer return to Harbin much. In April this year, I had to return to renew my passport. It is like the city in my mind had never existed before and that made me feel somewhat hesitant. Nevertheless, I know that nothing much has changed inherently.
Beijing changes every day, and I float around aimlessly along with the city. I was a high school student from the age of 16 to 20, and lived in a small “dormitory” made for the four-year school system, situated in the urban centre. I slept for many hours during that time, but I hardly dreamt at all. I spent my idle hours trying to exhaust my seemingly infinite youthful energy. Between 21 and 24 years old, I was at the university and lived in a building on this side of the city. I had to ride several bicycles each day on rough and worn roads, travelling back and forth between classes, the dormitory and a house that I rented. I relocated many times, but continued to live on this side of the city. Since I was 25 till today, strange things have happened:
1. The dormitory that I’d been in during high school – my first “home” in Beijing – has become a factory. On the exterior, it looks exactly the same, but I can no longer enter because I don’t have a work pass.
2. Between the time I was studying in university till last year when I bought a house, I’d rented more than 10 flats for lodging, but I can’t find the exact location of any of them – and I can’t recall which house number, level or unit number I was in. I guess this may be due to a weakened mental state and my lack of sleep.
3. Although the house which I’d just bought is a newly built one on the same piece of land where I’d previously rented a small house (now demolished), lately I’ve been thinking a lot of an old tree that used to be next to that small house, wondering where it is now.
4. Aside from my home, I find it hard to stay anywhere else. I can’t recall how these places look, but will just generally divide them as places that were “fun” or “not fun” to stay in. Also, in these places I don’t sleep well, and just can’t stop thinking of going home. Return to Beijing… take a hot shower, and go have a good night’s sleep.
“How do I relate”? I guess it is just as you can see… I… My work...
Caroline Elgh: I would like to refer to the hype of Chinese art. As a Western citizen you encounter the work of Chinese artists in a lot of important institutions, galleries and collections. I know that you travel a great deal and that your work has been shown in several international exhibitions. Is it important for you to show your art outside China? What does in mean and how do you look upon the relationship between China and the West?
Hu Xiaoyuan: In April 2006, I went to Europe for the first time. For the three weeks I was there, I made the following itinerary: six first days in Paris, then to Liverpool for five days, on to London for six days, back to Paris for another four days before heading home. This was not a personal trip. If it was for travelling, I think I would choose to go to Egypt and North Korea first and foremost. Those are places that interest me.
During the 10 days I spent in Paris, aside from work, I visited all sorts of museums. At the end, I came to a conclusion – while they were all pretty good, they had absolutely no relation to me. I tried to view as many vibrant and exciting things as possible. In Liverpool, I found a restaurant serving delicious Sichuan cuisine which was comparable to what is served in Beijing. I ate there for all 5 days. I had fun in London, but some of the museums made me a little depressed. I felt a certain sense of regret when I saw a number of very traditional classical Chinese paintings being used as the representation of Chinese art in the folk art exhibition halls…
Later, I had the opportunity to visit some other countries. I discovered that there were historical buildings that continued being used today in many European cities. They were essentially made of stone, and in some places, buildings from the 13th or 14th century were still preserved and in use. To think that the first builders who used stone for their constructions must have hoped that their buildings would last the test of time and change the face of the earth – and these buildings have continued to serve people well today! In China, we also have a number of historical buildings, but most of them are constructed with mud and wood, while bricks and mortar are usually used as secondary material, and as a result, these buildings are hard to preserve. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; may the dead be at peace, may the living be released.” This is a line from the Book of Common Prayer, but I feel that it could well be used to describe “the East.” It’s similar to the notion of “Heaven and Man as One.” If there is really a God in control, then the segregation of East and West must be a dichotomy that He or She created – any state of conflict or harmony between the two will not last for long, as it is only in this mutually dependent manner that they can lead the world to a final end.
Exhibitions abroad are just as important to me. I continue to have to organise my train of thought to be as lucid as possible before I can present them.
Caroline Elgh: From where do you take your starting point and what inspires you as an artist? Is it other artists or perhaps other creators like filmmakers and musicians or something completely different?
Hu Xiaoyuan: At about the beginning of April this year, I felt that it was time to rid myself of a question that had been puzzling me! It has always made me wander around the periphery of life, resulting in slowness and difficulty. I spent more time pondering it, and although I have not obtained any result, this sort of thought process has become an addiction. In the past 30 years, I’ve felt like I’ve been nibbling on my own being bit by bit! During this thought process, I can sense a sort of gradual dissection and development, a sort of nurturing and reduction of the “self,” a sort of transformation and observation of the “self”… I still like to cry, though I no longer do it in all situations but only specific ones; I still despise violence and loathe the basic primal nature of humans, though I can now clearly see that I am occasionally like that as well; I have become more disciplined and principled about my knowledge of things, though oftentimes these same principles do not suit me well. I am tired of the different manners of living that I know of, and once in a while I’m in despair, for me and everything else in this world, though I continue to want to play the role of an observer. I want to fall into a deep sleep, wake up and forget everything, but my conditioned reflex has got stronger and stronger, while my sleep gets less and less. As a result, I have more time than ever to sit and think. Think think think… watching as my “obsession” gets more convoluted, complicated and depressing. Do I really have nowhere else to escape? I must be in desperate need of an instant “miracle”!
Hence, on a particular day in April this year, I earnestly asserted to myself: life is but a journey, and journeys can be long or short, crooked or smooth, gentle or hurried. And I know where I come from, and where I am heading… the only thing that is not certain is how I am to cross this immediate portion. Thinking should also be serious, and it should be seriously carried out, bit by bit with time.
My existence is the starting point of everything I do. The process is only an inevitability.