"I wanted to have a dialogue with the earth
and the universe and the cosmos here. So the idea was to
start with nothing, begin very local and reach for something
much grander in scale."
"I inherited something that
Chairman Mao passed down to us—create slogans that
people can get
behind."
"I thought it was very strange that without these imperfections,
these would be figures that people worshipped. It seemed
so arbitrary."
Can you talk about
how the Iwaki village in Japan has changed over time, from
your visit many
years ago to today, and how the boat piece "Reflection" came
about?
CAI:
This work arose out of a couple
of interesting points in Japanese history. One is that Japan
went through a period of transformation that’s probably
very similar to what China is going through right now. Except
China is going through it in a very uneven way. There’s
a difference between the rich and the poor, whereas Japan
changed very rapidly, uniformly. All of a sudden wooden boats
were completely obsolete—they were replaced by iron, metal,
and resin boats. And it was for me it was a very shocking
thing to see because in my hometown we still had wooden boats.
In Japan you would see these beautiful little boats that
looked and behaved just like wooden boats, but when you got
up close, knocked on them, they actually made this hollow
sound. When you pushed or pulled them they were very light.
Whereas in my hometown it took many men to push a wooden
boat into the ocean. Here it was completely different.
In the Meiji period Japan went through over a hundred years
of modernization, which all came through western science,
theories, and ideas. So they felt like modern Japan was a
product of western thought and influence. At this time, when
I was going to Iwaki, there was a wave of new science coming
out of San Francisco. The Japanese were quite excited by
this. They thought that this was the time of the Pan Pacific,
that a new age had come. So there was a lot of excitement
that got generated during this time. They felt that here
Japan could truly have some kind of contribution to the world.
That it was no longer a discussion of western culture or
eastern culture, but that we could arise above these discussions,
it would be a global community.
This was the background for
where the exhibition happened. When I came to Iwaki I came
barehanded, with nothing. I wanted to begin a dialogue with
the local people. I wanted to have a dialogue with the earth
and the universe and the cosmos here. So the idea was to
start with nothing, begin very local and reach for something
much grander in scale.
I inherited something that Chairman Mao passed down to us—create
slogans that people can get behind. The slogan I came up
with for Iwaki was, “Begin a story here. Create an
artwork here. Begin a dialogue with the universe here. Create
a story of this time with the people here.” The idea
was that everything should begin here, in this location.
We should forget discussions about globalization or the Pan
Pacific. All these things could be put aside. What was important
was that everything would begin with the people here and
now. And we could have a dialogue with the universe at large.
ART:21:
Was it a shared artwork? Did
everyone in the village participate?
CAI:
The project was actually first
known only by a small number of people. Slowly it was made
known to the more general public. These people, the core
group, first started working just out of the goodness of
their hearts, just out of charity, because the museum had
very little money. They just felt like maybe they could help
out a little bit. But through the process of the project
they became so involved, much more than they anticipated.
They felt that through the project they found things that
were very meaningful to them.
For example, in order to excavate
this boat on the beach we had to find old ship makers of
the village. They were very old, in their 80s, because that
art
is kind
of lost. But we had to get them to come out to show us how
and where to pull the boat. Also how to cut it so that the
boat wouldn’t fall apart and could still be put back
together again. These kinds of things revived some of the
things that were lost.
And at the same time I also made another
piece on the horizon called, "The Pan Pacific Horizon," which
had five kilometers of gunpowder fuse ignited on the water
to sketch out the horizon line between the ocean and sky.
When we did this I actually proposed this idea where any
citizen of the city could purchase one meter of the gunpowder
fuse with ten U.S. dollars. We ended up with a 5,000 meter-long
fuse. Over 2,000 people participated and bought sections
of it, so we had realized this through the help of these
people. And the same time they started this thing where they
asked everybody along the coast in the area to turn off their
lights during the project, because they thought the line
would be much more believable. The project was part of the
larger "Project for Extraterrestrials." It’s
meant as a message to the universe. The people understood
it thoroughly and
felt that
by turning off the lights they could make the piece more
complete and more beautiful. So they were even participating
in the creative process.
ART:21:
Can you say more about "Reflection"
about the statuary perhaps? What do the figures represent?
CAI:
Kuan Yin is a god or goddess
that I hold very close, a god that I worship. And when you
say that, you’re relying on some kind of eternal power
this figure has. However when I look at the Kuan Yin statues
in the museum, I see that they are artworks. I do not see
them as gods and goddesses. They are artistic representations
that are different from the types of idols that we use to
draw a link between us and the eternal power of the deity.
So here, in "Reflection," we have a few tons of
Kuan Yin figures, seen as artistic objects. They are placed
here
for that purpose. But of course because of the nature of
these statues, what they allude to brings on very strong
emotions and that becomes part of the richness of the work.
For me it’s really important that the work here displays
an aesthetic of decay along with the sunken boat with the
broken ceramic pieces. They form a unity in showing the power
of destruction, the beauty of destruction, whether it’s
from nature—because the boat has sunk—or through other
forces. It’s really the beauty of decay and death that
holds a power here.
ART:21:
So the meaning and power that
the statues have very much rely on context?
CAI:
Dehua’s very well known
for its white porcelain production—it’s the southern
capital for porcelain in China. A number of years ago I visited
this factory in Dehua and saw all these statues that looked
perfectly fine, but they were rejects. It could be a crack
somewhere or a finger broken off, or sometimes even a grain
of sand. Because of these imperfections, the statues are
no longer considered deities. I thought it was very strange
that without these imperfections, these would be figures
that people worshipped. It seemed so arbitrary. I thought
it was such a waste, so I said, “I’ll buy these
from you, at a fraction of the cost.” I’ve been
looking for an appropriate place to use these for some time.
I’ve been sitting here thinking that I should take one of the Kuan
Yin figures from this stack and put it in my studio. This Kuan Yin is what
we call on to bless the home with a son, with a male heir. If this were at
my home it would seem appropriate, but in the studio with all my staff there
maybe it’s not the most appropriate Kuan Yin to have. Here I see them
as artwork, like I said earlier, they don’t hold as much power as a
deity. But if I take one and put it in the studio, I think very naturally
my emotions will shift, I will see that as an object to be worshipped. And
if I brought my Kuan Yin from home to here, the role will shift yet again,
it will become an artwork and cease to be an object of worship, of ritual.
I think this is really quite interesting—it’s very complex and
there are a lot of nuances. And it’s very close to many things being
discussed in contemporary art. This very fine line, what defines the nature
of an object?
ART:21:
Can you describe how the Chinese
principle of "anyway" relates to your work, or
give an American analogy?
CAI:
It’s difficult to say.
Maybe the idea is like seeds and a field. A field is where
you work and the weather is the climate—in the broader
sense of climate—political, artistic, or otherwise.
My approach in the way I farm is very much at ease. I know
what the soil grows, I know what kind of weather comes when,
and I know what these seeds are, but where the seeds fall
and how it’s nurtured I let happen naturally. We take
advantage of the climate, the weather, whether it’s
rain or shine, and the temperature—these are all figured
in. So the approach is in a very naturalistic way going with
nature to see what may be fostered, what may come out of the
field and become fertilized.
This is a little bit abstract, but I think overall it’s
a more holistic way that eastern philosophy looks at something.
Things are always in a constant state of changing, shifting,
and adjusting. We are constantly shifting and adjusting to
the natural elements, so it’s not stagnant, it’s
alive—it’s a living, breathing system.
ART:21:
It also seems like you rely on
chance, or luck in your work.
CAI:
I had a streak of bad luck in
2003-2004, and it was told to me repeatedly—through various
ways. Bad luck or unlucky things, are in themselves a work—it
is a work of a very neutral nature. I felt that it was actually
very interesting to look at this. You are a person, you undergo
all kinds of conditions and weather. When you have sun, on
the other side you have shadow. You should look at what kind
of fruit bears in the light as well as what conditions arise
when you’re in the shadow. This is all very interesting
for me as a person and as an artist. These are all fascinating
things to examine and investigate.
