LIN CHUNYAN : EASTERN EYE, WESTERN LIGHT
By Glenda Korporaal China Correspondent
This article was originally published by The Australian, Thursday September 26, 2019
This article was originally published by The Australian, Thursday September 26, 2019
Artist Lin Chunyan at his studio east of Beijing. Picture: Li Xiaonan
In 1989, when Beijing artist Lin Chunyan first came to Australia, some people thought his work had been made here. They saw his 1985 work, Two Figures Climbing a Tree, a work of yellow faceless figures against a backdrop of olive green and tan and now owned by the Queensland Art Gallery, as being inspired by Australian colours.
Lin, whose new solo exhibition will be opened at the Vermilion Gallery in Sydney on Thursday night by Lucy Turnbull, sees similarities between the landscapes of Australia and China.
“The natural beauty of Australia has great similarities with the natural beauty of China,” Lin tells The Australian in his studio in the artists village of Songzhuang, east of Beijing. “In some cases you can find the same blue sky in Australia as you get in China.”
Lin says these similarities were part of what made him feel at home when he arrived in 1989 after an invitation by the late Geoff Parr, head of the University of Tasmania’s School of Art. “You do not feel it is alien,” he says.
Lin enjoyed the experience so much he stayed in Australia after an initial three-month residency in Hobart. He was living in Sydney at the time of the tragic events in Tiananmen Square on June 4, 1989.
Like so many others from mainland China who happened to be in Australia at the time, Lin benefited from the offer of then prime minister Bob Hawke to stay. He spent time in Bundeena, south of Sydney, living near his friend, portrait painter Shen Jiawei.
But unlike Shen, Lin struggled to sell his work in Australia. After years of odd jobs, including working as a builder’s labourer, working in a cardboard box factory and delivering fridges, he moved back to Beijing to make a living as an artist.
But his admirers, including long-time friend Geoff Raby — the former Australian ambassador to China, who has curated the new exhibition — say the experience of living in Australia changed his work, with drab colours being replaced by whites and lighter-coloured figures.
Walking around his studio, Lin points to a picture of a reclining woman in translucent white with a garland of flowers for her head. This work dates back to his time in Bundeena. “Flowerhead,” Lin says with a smile.
Raby says Lin’s body of work has moved through many stages of expression over the past three decades: bleak urban settings to natural images of “warm light and brightness” to wintry landscapes to the “light and colour and hope” of the current show.
He first met the artist in the mid-80s when he was working as head of the economics division of the Australian embassy in Beijing. They renewed their friendship in China when Lin returned to Beijing and Raby was ambassador from 2007-11, later staying on as a business consultant.
Lin’s later work includes different figures, almost faceless, ghost like figures that float across a landscape, moving in and out of the trees.
A work from last year, Early Spring, features purple-grey figures drifting in and out of green trees. Veins, also produced last year, has similar figures but these float in and out of a bright red tree, its branches like red veins. “They are like ghosts and spirits,” Lin says. “It is a mixture of reality and fantasy, things real and unreal, things gained and lost.”
Lin, whose new solo exhibition will be opened at the Vermilion Gallery in Sydney on Thursday night by Lucy Turnbull, sees similarities between the landscapes of Australia and China.
“The natural beauty of Australia has great similarities with the natural beauty of China,” Lin tells The Australian in his studio in the artists village of Songzhuang, east of Beijing. “In some cases you can find the same blue sky in Australia as you get in China.”
Lin says these similarities were part of what made him feel at home when he arrived in 1989 after an invitation by the late Geoff Parr, head of the University of Tasmania’s School of Art. “You do not feel it is alien,” he says.
Lin enjoyed the experience so much he stayed in Australia after an initial three-month residency in Hobart. He was living in Sydney at the time of the tragic events in Tiananmen Square on June 4, 1989.
Like so many others from mainland China who happened to be in Australia at the time, Lin benefited from the offer of then prime minister Bob Hawke to stay. He spent time in Bundeena, south of Sydney, living near his friend, portrait painter Shen Jiawei.
But unlike Shen, Lin struggled to sell his work in Australia. After years of odd jobs, including working as a builder’s labourer, working in a cardboard box factory and delivering fridges, he moved back to Beijing to make a living as an artist.
But his admirers, including long-time friend Geoff Raby — the former Australian ambassador to China, who has curated the new exhibition — say the experience of living in Australia changed his work, with drab colours being replaced by whites and lighter-coloured figures.
Walking around his studio, Lin points to a picture of a reclining woman in translucent white with a garland of flowers for her head. This work dates back to his time in Bundeena. “Flowerhead,” Lin says with a smile.
Raby says Lin’s body of work has moved through many stages of expression over the past three decades: bleak urban settings to natural images of “warm light and brightness” to wintry landscapes to the “light and colour and hope” of the current show.
He first met the artist in the mid-80s when he was working as head of the economics division of the Australian embassy in Beijing. They renewed their friendship in China when Lin returned to Beijing and Raby was ambassador from 2007-11, later staying on as a business consultant.
Lin’s later work includes different figures, almost faceless, ghost like figures that float across a landscape, moving in and out of the trees.
A work from last year, Early Spring, features purple-grey figures drifting in and out of green trees. Veins, also produced last year, has similar figures but these float in and out of a bright red tree, its branches like red veins. “They are like ghosts and spirits,” Lin says. “It is a mixture of reality and fantasy, things real and unreal, things gained and lost.”
Early Spring, 2018, oil on canvas, 200 x 300cm
Veins, 2018, oil on canvas, 200 x 300cm
As security tightens in Beijing ahead of the October 1 national day celebrations, Lin insists his art has nothing to do with politics, unlike some other Chinese artists.
“I don’t like myself to be characterised,” he says. “Even the definition of artistic freedom limits your work. I just follow what is beautiful and what strikes me.”
He argues that his art has always been about landscape and man’s connection to the natural world, saying this can transcend any political differences between countries. “I am an artist of natural scenery,” he says. “Other artists may engage in philosophic thinking about political conflict, but I wanted to find a new path, a new expression reflecting the natural things.”
While Lin has been a prominent figure on the Beijing contemporary art scene for the past 30 years, Raby says his work defies categorisation.
“He has stood apart from the main movements in the Beijing art scene,” Raby says. “Refusing to be influenced by the fashions of the day, he has continued to explore a highly personal emotional world through his painting.”
Lin is not unaware of the political backdrop influencing life in China. Like others there, he is worried about the potential implications of US President Donald Trump’s trade war with China.
“The conflict between East and West is pretty deep but I think human beings should go back to nature to seek the true meaning of life,” he says. “I don’t think politics and ideology should be mixed up with art. Ideology changes all the time but the relationship between human beings (and) the beauty of nature never changes.
“I don’t think there will be everlasting peace. There might be conflict, which is why I am working towards looking at the relationship between people and nature, which can reduce the chances of conflict between people.”
Lin, as with other artists who have moved back and forth between Australia and China, is well aware of the case of Chinese Australian artist Guo Jian, arrested in Beijing in 2014 and sent back to Australia after making a controversial artwork featuring Tiananmen Square covered with meat ahead of the 25th anniversary.
Lin’s connection to Australia first began with Nick Jose, cultural counsellor at the Australian embassy in Beijing from 1987-90, who befriended many young Chinese artists at the time, inviting them to parties and offering them exhibitions at the embassy.
Several ended up moving to Australia, only to return to Beijing, where they could make a better living as China’s art scene took off.
Lin finds it amusing that some of the works he painted in Bundeena were bought after he returned to China, by Australians who saw his popularity rising there.
Asked how his views have changed over his career, Lin says: “When I was young, I didn’t like Picasso’s work. I thought the colours he used were dirty and I didn’t like the concepts. But now I am older, when I come back to look at Picasso’s work, I realise there is a sincerity in his work and that other novel concepts now seem fake.”
Lin says the boom in Beijing art has been replaced by a softer, more uncertain market. He finds himself at another crossroads, wondering if Australia would be a better place to bring up his 2½-year-old daughter. “I haven’t made up my mind,” he says.
He knows he will better off financially as an artist in China but says “art is just a … part of your life”.
Lin says he has given up wanting to be a great artist. “I just want to be a good craftsman,” he says. “I want to make something that may not be great but it looks good, something which can move me and move others.”
Lin Chunyan: Second Spring opens at Sydney’s Vermilion Art gallery on Thursday and runs until November 2.
“I don’t like myself to be characterised,” he says. “Even the definition of artistic freedom limits your work. I just follow what is beautiful and what strikes me.”
He argues that his art has always been about landscape and man’s connection to the natural world, saying this can transcend any political differences between countries. “I am an artist of natural scenery,” he says. “Other artists may engage in philosophic thinking about political conflict, but I wanted to find a new path, a new expression reflecting the natural things.”
While Lin has been a prominent figure on the Beijing contemporary art scene for the past 30 years, Raby says his work defies categorisation.
“He has stood apart from the main movements in the Beijing art scene,” Raby says. “Refusing to be influenced by the fashions of the day, he has continued to explore a highly personal emotional world through his painting.”
Lin is not unaware of the political backdrop influencing life in China. Like others there, he is worried about the potential implications of US President Donald Trump’s trade war with China.
“The conflict between East and West is pretty deep but I think human beings should go back to nature to seek the true meaning of life,” he says. “I don’t think politics and ideology should be mixed up with art. Ideology changes all the time but the relationship between human beings (and) the beauty of nature never changes.
“I don’t think there will be everlasting peace. There might be conflict, which is why I am working towards looking at the relationship between people and nature, which can reduce the chances of conflict between people.”
Lin, as with other artists who have moved back and forth between Australia and China, is well aware of the case of Chinese Australian artist Guo Jian, arrested in Beijing in 2014 and sent back to Australia after making a controversial artwork featuring Tiananmen Square covered with meat ahead of the 25th anniversary.
Lin’s connection to Australia first began with Nick Jose, cultural counsellor at the Australian embassy in Beijing from 1987-90, who befriended many young Chinese artists at the time, inviting them to parties and offering them exhibitions at the embassy.
Several ended up moving to Australia, only to return to Beijing, where they could make a better living as China’s art scene took off.
Lin finds it amusing that some of the works he painted in Bundeena were bought after he returned to China, by Australians who saw his popularity rising there.
Asked how his views have changed over his career, Lin says: “When I was young, I didn’t like Picasso’s work. I thought the colours he used were dirty and I didn’t like the concepts. But now I am older, when I come back to look at Picasso’s work, I realise there is a sincerity in his work and that other novel concepts now seem fake.”
Lin says the boom in Beijing art has been replaced by a softer, more uncertain market. He finds himself at another crossroads, wondering if Australia would be a better place to bring up his 2½-year-old daughter. “I haven’t made up my mind,” he says.
He knows he will better off financially as an artist in China but says “art is just a … part of your life”.
Lin says he has given up wanting to be a great artist. “I just want to be a good craftsman,” he says. “I want to make something that may not be great but it looks good, something which can move me and move others.”
Lin Chunyan: Second Spring opens at Sydney’s Vermilion Art gallery on Thursday and runs until November 2.
