Artist Nathan Zhou's latest solo exhibition "The Sound of Nature" was held at AIKE in Shanghai in March this year, allowing us to witness the artist's explorations in the fields of painting, sculpture, and installation over the past two years.
"The Sound of Nature", installation view, AIKE, Shanghai, 2023
Upon entering Nathan Zhou's exhibition space at AIKE, one is swiftly enveloped in the energy field created by the artist and his works. The newly constructed temporary walls at the entrance and the immediately visible large-scale work Celebration (2022, oil on canvas, 230×300 cm double-sided), prepare us for immersion into his world. On another side, like poetry or a murmur, English words suggest the artist's sensitivity to text and the underlying literary logic in his works.
Nathan Zhou, Celebration, 2022, oil on canvas, double-sided, 230 x 300 cm, courtesy of the artist and AIKE
Navigating beyond this transient corridor, an array of paintings varying in size and richness of imagery, alongside sculptures and installations, emerges to engage in a collective, direct interaction with the audience. Amid the previous standstills and upheavals, Nathan Zhou's brush narrates objects and figures imbued with natural characteristics: flowers, cacti, forests, volcanoes, and more. It seems these whimsical imaginations transform Zhou's studio into a series of wondrous natural worlds where he can roam and wander freely, transmuting dreams into realities beneath his brush.
Upon closely observing each artwork, one discovers an increasing detail and intrigue that draws viewers alternately closer and then compels them to step back. Similar to the sense of freedom consistently present in Nathan Zhou’s paintings, the viewing atmosphere created by the artworks is also free. Interestingly, during the viewing process, more and more "faces" appear before me, constantly emerging from various corners of the canvas, whether from clouds, tree trunks, or flowers. "Initially, when I started painting from life, I painted those trees, and those trees had many 'faces'. That shape was simply confined within a frame by me. The faces in the clouds might be a bit intentional. In fact, everyone might see something they perceive in the clouds, we all tend to 'see something' in clouds. I saw various faces, which may also relate to my experiences at the time, and I recorded them.” We might interpret this phenomenon through the concept of animism, yet this is not entirely accurate. For Nathan Zhou, emphasizing the "spirit" was not the original intention, "It’s not necessary. It's just what I felt, plants inherently have life, especially plants."
The transition from acrylic to primarily using oil paint as the medium of creation marks one of the most significant changes for Nathan Zhou at this stage and for this collection of works. This shift in medium inevitably brings about alterations in the artist's creative sensations: "I feel the change of medium is like dealing with two different things. Starting to use oil paint was like learning to paint all over again. Around the time we decided to hold this solo exhibition, I shifted my focus to the images I wanted to create, not thinking about techniques, materials, or concepts, just painting what I desired to paint." For self-taught artists, changes in materials also represent a renewal and enhancement of confidence. "It truly is a form of confidence. It was only after the end of last year that I felt like I had become an artist. Before, I might have been more in a learning phase, but this time it felt like passing a test," says Nathan Zhou. "The desire to create becomes very strong, including trying forms that I previously feared. Now, I feel bold enough to attempt them. I might not do them well, but at least I can take the first step."
In this collection of works, one may also discern the semblances of “masters,” but whether these shadows belong to the artist or to ourselves is an intriguing topic. "Regarding the one with the sofa (Mountain Shadow Road, 2022, oil on canvas, 218×218cm), some people have mentioned to me that I seem to have painted myself as Picasso, though I had no such intention. I find this aspect of art fascinating; many people see it and think of Picasso, but I'm not sure what they're referring to—whether it’s the technique or the feeling?”
Nathan Zhou, Picnic, 2022, oil on canvas, 186 x 135 cm, courtesy of the artist and AIKE
When confronted with images containing distinct and concrete imageries, individuals naturally generate associations informed by their existing knowledge systems. These associations are not deliberate; it is like how a thousand people have a thousand different perceptions of Hamlet. As we engage with a work of art, our perceptions traverse our established knowledge structures and familiar domains, yielding diverse interpretations—this underpins the allure of directly engaging with artistic works.
"Often, I am more intrigued by the personal lives of artists, not their techniques. For instance, my decision to copy Picasso’s paintings is motivated by my interest in why he visited that particular seaside city annually, and I am curious about why he chose such imagery to symbolize his life experiences. In another painting Mountain Shadow Road, the texture on the floor is actually the pattern of the bedsheet from Munch's old-age room, which I turned into a carpet. My interest lies in his personal life because I believe that experiences at certain stages in their lives had an influential impact on their creative outputs reflected as stylistic changes. I am curious about what they were thinking at the time and why they made such decisions."
Nathan Zhou, Mountain Shadow Road, 2022, oil on canvas, 218 x 218 cm, courtesy of the artist and AIKE
Upon viewing this collection of works in the gallery, the pervasive imagery of "faces" eventually gave rise to a sensation of being observed by the paintings themselves. Is this effect of the works "gazing" at the viewer intentional on your part?
Actually, no. While there are many eyes in these works, they are not intended to evoke a spine-chilling sensation. If I had wanted to emphasize such a stare, I would have rendered the eyes in a more disturbing manner. It seems to be more of a coincidence.
Do you consider the relationship between your artworks and the viewers?
I seldom consider this relationship; my focus is primarily on the interaction between myself and the artworks. Being rather introverted since childhood, I often imagine scenarios which I then translate into my paintings. I envision how I would act and feel within those scenes.
How do these scenarios typically arise? How do you choose them?
They often spontaneously occur to me, such as after going out to eat or hearing a song. If an idea remains potent for several days or weeks, I extract and elaborate on it in my creative process.
The stories within these scenes are reminiscent of fairy tales and dreamscapes. How do you construct or select these stories?
In fact, each work is quite unique. It would be more accurate to say that each piece is like a very short story of mine, only not conveyed through words.
Before you felt confident enough to consider yourself an artist, did you ever feel inadequate or that this path was not suitable for you?
That happened almost every week. It was mostly a personal feeling rather than influenced by others. One night, I might think highly of myself, then wake up the next morning wondering how I could have been so foolish. But now, it's simpler. If I think a piece is great one night and still feel good about it the next day, and it continues to appeal to me after a few more days, then that artwork is probably fine, and I continue working on it.
Only you truly know when it is time to finish.
Indeed, because some parts of a painting might be poor, and you could change these parts a hundred times, but if you feel that the whole is right, that’s enough. I used to not think this way; I would obsess over every little detail, which was a vicious cycle. Fix one area and another goes wrong, correct that and something else becomes a problem, because the painting is a cohesive whole. Now, my progress may be that I no longer obsess over those details but focus on the overall impression. I don't need that perfection. A painting that feels smooth and flawless like porcelain might not be to my liking. I prefer something a bit more low-profile, rougher around the edges.
What do you think is the origin of this aesthetic preference?
Since childhood, I’ve enjoyed DIY projects and making things by myself. However, I eventually realized that while other crafts can afford to be rough, painting cannot be too coarse. Hence, last year, I practiced various classical painting techniques for nearly a whole year. Therefore, some paintings seem technically skilled, while others are deliberately made to appear less technical. This was a consideration in the works displayed at this solo exhibition. However, I do not intentionally show that everything is technically accomplished. For instance, the pieces featuring vases were actually some of my most finely detailed works, but half a year later, I grew to really despise those pieces. After looking at them for a few months, I found them very irritating.
Nathan Zhou, Cheer, 2022, oil on canvas, 150 x 200 cm, image courtesy of the artist and AIKE
So were those vases intended to break away from technicalities?
Yes, I felt they weren't truly "me", although they might have been technically some of my best works. Then one day, I got really angry, randomly chose some colors, and added things on top. I don’t even know why I chose to add a vase. After finishing, I felt heartbroken thinking about why I did what I did, but once completed, I felt relieved and at peace.
Do the half-human, half-beast figures have a particular origin, such as those three "angels"?
Those three "angels" (Jubilee, 2022, oil on canvas, oil stick, charcoal, 195×758 cm) represent myself, Li Ming, and Zhou Yilun. I recall our tipsy state at the time by the West Lake. Initially, I did not prefer to solely paint human figures, perhaps due to my previous lack of skill and ability in realistic depiction. Thus, I started preferring to use forms resembling animals, as both animals and plants offer more flexibility. I wanted them to twist and turn in any way possible; since they were already "creatures," they could be all sorts of strange, more flexible and easier to manipulate. I wanted them to do whatever I envisioned.
Nathan Zhou, Jubilee, 2022, oil on canvas, oil painting stick, charcoal pencil, 195 x 758 cm, image courtesy of the artist and AIKE
Do you have a particular preference for “strange” imagery?
Not really, but I do need the figures to have arms and legs; I need them to be able to stand or allow me to pose them, which might relate to my thought process. Another thing is, the limbs are essential for me to express emotions through them. I don’t have a specific or frequently used form, which might not be ideal for an artist since constantly changing imagery can make it difficult for people to remember. Many people have mentioned this issue to me. Initially, my work wasn’t part of a series, and the changing forms made it hard to recognize, but later, I thought maybe a form is only used once a year, and there could be 20 series in that year. After ten years, one can see the sequence; it’s just that I’ve spread them out over time.
How do you currently understand the role of being an artist?
At this stage, I feel very peaceful. The natural elements in my artwork perhaps reflect my current state of mind—a sense of happiness and a type of energy. I feel very energized and joyful during this period. I am not sure where this energy comes from, but it feels very fulfilling. One aspect that relates to nature is that everything in nature is nice. Every tree, every flower—no matter if you scold them or hit them, they still smile at you, they won’t snap at you. When you feel sad or wronged, you can embrace a tree; it will never reject you, and they are always there waiting for you.
Nathan Zhou, In the trees, 2022, oil on canvas, 186 x 135 cm, image courtesy of the artist and AIKE
