Keywords: Clues, Museology, Perception, Ghost, Scene Coordination
Location: Shanghai
Interviewee: Hu Yun / Interviewer: Cai Yingxi
Text excerpt by: Feng Zhenting / Proofread by: Cai Yingxi
Cai Yingxi: You do not consider your creation as part of art research. So, let's first discuss what kind of research you oppose.
Hu Yun: The term “research” often conjures up a particular mode of working in people’s minds, such as needing to thoroughly investigate a matter, find numerous cases, then analyze and track them, and finally engage with some professionals...
Cai Yingxi: In our previous interviews with artists, we've found that the "research-oriented projects" of Chinese artists seem more like a discovery process driven by the desire to understand something. Their ultimate goal does not necessarily involve uncovering the truth or accumulating knowledge. Artists can be inspired by any issue or scenario, including topics concerning social and natural sciences.
Hu Yun: I have also been organizing my recent work, and through revisiting these works and exhibitions, I realize that it's difficult to generalize a definition for my work, nor can I find a continuous thread. My direction and content have been constantly changing, without a clear method or objective. If anything, it involves people and things I am interested in…
Cai Yingxi: Could you provide an example of a person or event that interests you using one of your works?
Hu Yun: A recent piece of mine is still linked to experiences from my grandfather’s early years, but this connection stems from an accidental discovery rather than through verifying his past life. I stumbled upon an old art album in his bookshelf, titled Exhibition of Achievements in Economic and Cultural Construction of the Soviet Union (Beijing Soviet Exhibition Hall, Shanghai China-Soviet Friendship Building, 1954). I became interested in this exhibition, and it served as a starting point for my new work; however, it has little direct relevance to my grandfather—who was my initial point of interest. This is a typical example where the original point of interest diverges into many other elements, potentially yielding new works which are no longer directly connected to the original inspiration.
Cai Yingxi: The works related to your grandfather's experiences aren’t new for you, are they?
Hu Yun: Correct. To be precise, it started in 2012 with the solo exhibition “Our Ancestors” at the series “Carnival Under Convention” at the Goethe-Institut Shanghai. However, I’m also trying to intentionally blend various threads involved in my work, a process that contradicts the organized tracing typically required in research. I am actually reconstructing the relationships among these elements and reflecting on the importance of narrative while questioning the logic of the narratives themselves, not to mention their veracity. I might initially use the simplest methods to mix and juxtapose them, then seek out relationships among them. I’m cautious of becoming ensnared in any particular narrative, like the project related to natural history that started in 2010, where for about a year, I wanted to dig deeper along that line, finding numerous materials and seeming to encounter endless possibilities…
Cai Yingxi: What exactly is the issue with this line of inquiry?
Hu Yun: The problem lies in the fact that its starting point is already based on the authoritative system of museology. As an artist, one can certainly critique museology and its methodologies, but whether such criticism still holds potency today remains in question. Using the discipline's methods to critique it might always be, so to speak, a step behind.
Cai Yingxi: Several of your projects, such as "Monuments of Memory," "Mystical Garden," "Our Ancestors," "Revisiting Memories," etc., are related to museology. Are there other disciplines involved as well?
Hu Yun: It’s hard to escape these major categories—natural history, anthropology, colonial history... The early botanic and zoological gardens in China (Southeast Asia) were established by Western colonizers of that time. They are like living monuments, or witnesses, a direction I still intend to delve into. However, this doesn’t mean that such interests will immediately merge with my own artistic creation. Currently, it’s more about my habit of paying attention to and visiting botanical gardens wherever I go, especially the botanical ones.
《记忆的纪念碑》，录像装置，英国自然历史博物馆，胡昀 ，2012，图片由艺术家及英国自然历史博物馆提供
Cai Yingxi: I remember you once expressed an interest in the Nantong Museum quite early on, and it took you about a year or two to incorporate it into your work. During the process of conceptualizing the work, I believe you must have visited the museum and consulted numerous sources. What happened during that process that led you to eventually turn it into a piece of artwork?
Hu Yun: My initial interest stemmed from various descriptions of the museum I read in books, which were quite abstract and merely broad historical summaries of the museum. It was later that I realized that my interest actually lay in the person behind the events - Zhang Jian, the founder of the Nantong Museum. I've been to Nantong only a few times for some preliminary understanding. Zhang Jian's descendants moved overseas early on, and a conventional approach might first involve interviewing his descendants to learn about him from various perspectives, but I didn’t want to do that, as I question whether their descriptions would genuinely help me understand the person. So instead, I chose to directly visit his cemetery at Wolf Mountain in the suburbs of Nantong, where there is a large garden called Se Garden, intended by Zhang Jian as his burial site. I also visited his private residence in downtown Nantong… Thus my working method could also be considered a form of fieldwork, though this kind of fieldwork doesn’t have a very clear objective.
Cai Yingxi: So, you did not intend to restore a certain history but merely wanted to experience the place and the scene?
Hu Yun: Yes, I feel that being on site might bring me closer to that person, which included my revisits to some places where missionaries had traveled as well. I did not look for archival information about them, but merely visited some of the places they had been to, which, of course, have long since changed. During the entire trip, I received many insights that made me think a lot. I would continually imagine what these people were like, and the final piece ended up being somewhat like my feelings about the person or the impression they left me. It’s hard to describe precisely what this method is; the last time I was on a residency at Iaspven in Stockholm, I visited a small island bought by Kang Youwei. Incidentally, I ran into Professor Hong Zaixin en route. He was in Stockholm 'searching for things' (a local collector had amassed a large collection of Chinese calligraphy and paintings and even built a mansion for his collection in the suburbs), so I went with Professor Hong. On the way, I mentioned Kang Youwei’s island to him, and he asked why I had decided to visit. I said it was for no particular reason, just that I had learned about this episode while working on another piece and wanted to see it. He chuckled and said, 'It’s the gods who chose you, not you choosing to follow something,' which I think now is actually quite an apt analogy; what artists do feels very much like preaching.
Cai Yingqian: The activities of Western missionaries in China are closely related to China's modernization process, encompassing the establishment of various cultural, educational, and scientific institutions. Modernity itself is quite an abstract concept, which seems to present yet another narrative about modernity?
Hu Yun: Indeed, the concept is profoundly abstract and somewhat vague, and it is impossible to precisely determine any direct correlation between them. However, this ambiguity serendipitously serves as an excellent "excuse" for my work.
Cai Yingqian: The narratives in your work are indeed fragmented and contain fictional elements, yet there is an underlying logic among these fragments. My question is, how do you interpret these historical materials? What is the relationship between the historical materials and fiction, and between the author's discourse and the audience's perception?
Hu Yun: My ideal objective is to transcend narrative through each artwork or, more precisely, through a scene or an exhibition, and to let people experience a form of reality. Although this reality might be composed of individual artworks, I aspire for the space itself to create a reality. This reality has no hierarchical relationship with various historical narratives or the content I fictionalize; they are equal. I envisage something like a ghost or phantom wandering through the scene. All the figures in these narratives, to me, are formless, undefined entities in my mind, or merely sensations. However, these sensations are transmittable, or rather, they can be carried away by everyone, meaning that what I feel could be quite different from your experience.
Cai Yingqian: So, you believe that a clear logic or a disciplinary methodology might dispel this phantom?
Hu Yun: Not so much dispelled, but rather captured. It can no longer soar; it’s as if it’s been tied down with ropes, unable to move freely in the space.
Cai Yingqian: This could also be a problem with some research-oriented works or projects, where the questions posed by artists seem arid and fail to resonate with the audience.
Hu Yun: I previously discussed this with another artist who also engaged in projects related to museum collections. He mentioned the concept of 'policing', because, as it is widely recognized, all collections represent a history of human suffering—situations where some people have suffered while others display these items in museums. Our work attempts to expose these injustices, to highlight stains in history, prompting reflection in others. Summing it up, it seems that many art projects related to museums follow this logic, and I increasingly feel that this approach is insufficient. If the museum is your adversary, this method does not defeat it, as the Western museum system is quite robust. Nowadays, most museums and art galleries consciously involve artists in their mechanisms. These institutions are self-reflective, but merely having a critical stance towards the institutional mechanism is far insufficient today, exemplified by Hans Haacke’s room full of various public surveys and polls at the Venice Biennale.
在《约翰·里弗斯收藏》的玻璃柜前，英国自然历史博物馆
Cai Yingqian: In my exhibition “You Can Only Think about Something if You Think of Something Else", you created Mind Breaths, where a yoga mat embroidered with the same map used in your work "Revisiting Memory" displays the route of the Clark Expedition's fruitless journey through Northwest China between 1908 and 1909. This work, which was completed under your guidance, essentially left the interpretation of the narrative to the yoga instructor, with the audience engaging and perceiving through the practice of yoga. Using your earlier term, do you think they could feel this ghost? Or is the ghost perhaps dispensable?
Hu Yun: What they feel is certainly important to me. That work was an important experiment; it isn't so much about providing the audience with a specific image or distinct feeling. Rather, I wanted the participants to mentally disengage in that moment, to become absent... Attending an exhibition is essentially entering a narrative, and practicing yoga is like taking a break; not physically leaving, but actively disengaging from the environment, the present life, and everyday chores. I am continuing with the yoga and the expedition team piece; it’s not finished, and the work at the Times Art Museum is just a beginning. Those who did not participate might be curious about what these people are doing and why they are practicing yoga here. This is a somewhat ritualistic project, very physical and very personal. Conducting a ritual in the space of an art museum is also something that interests me.
《凝视呼吸》，现场行为装置，广东时代美术馆，2014
Cai Yingqian: The creation of rituals indeed represents a new exploration in your work. Is there a point at which a particular thread might become exhausted?
Hu Yun: On the contrary, I feel that a single thread can extend into too many directions, potentially never reaching an end. Sometimes, it makes me feel as though I’ve fallen into the sea, swimming tirelessly without ever seeing the shore. I think every person is like an ocean; if you choose to dive into one, you might find anything, but you could never find everything.
Cai Yingqian: Have you considered modes beyond exhibitions, such as publishing? And then there is film, a medium often used in narrative or research-based works.
Hu Yun: I am inclined to explore publishing, but I am possibly more enthralled by space, or specifically, the space within an exhibition hall. For me, it acts as the orchestrator for each piece, and conceiving an exhibition space is akin to conceiving a moving image.
Cai Yingqian: Or perhaps a sort of scene setting (mise en scene)?
Hu Yun: Exactly, to a large extent my work comprises a collection of scenes. Sometimes I find it challenging to edit them together because my mind is overflowing with images, and I’m reluctant to transform it into a clear narrative because I sense there are issues with that approach.
Cai Yingqian: Where is your next project taking place?
Hu Yun: I am preparing for a solo exhibition at AIKE Gallery.
The Para-Curatorial Series of Times Museum
Initiated by the Times Art Museum, the "Para-Curatorial Series" utilizes annual seminars and publications as its primary platforms, transforming the museum into a temporary community center, laboratory, and academy. The concept of "Para-Curatorial" defines curatorial practice as a critical discourse and practice, which encompasses but is not limited to the display of artworks and the production of exhibitions. It represents an interdisciplinary mode of thinking, research, spatial production, and knowledge exchange.
