China's post-1980s artists and the one-child policy

Artist Gao Mingyan, who was born in Shanghai in 1983, uses his art to comment on what he sees happening around him -- and the results are often frightening to behold. He says that being a young Chinese artist in today's world is a complicated business, but that some of the criticism leveled at his generation may be deserved.

“When compared to previous generations, young [Chinese] artists lack a sincere passion for art,” he says. “The artists of this generation have more opportunities. They experience more, and face bigger temptation. Therefore they have more to think about and more choices to make.”

Gao adds that in the case of his own art, there is an aspect of apparent narcissism that he believes stems from his background as an only child.

Lise Li is the director of Vanguard Gallery, which represents Gao and is one of the few Shanghai galleries specifically focusing on the work of young artists. She says that the One-Child Policy may have resulted in a generation of artists who are more selfish than previous generations.

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But rather than this being a negative, Li claims this selfishness is a positive thing for the future of Chinese art.

“Maybe being selfish isn't good for society, but to be a good artist, this means looking at their real feelings and their own minds,” she says.

Post-1980s artists are renowned for their inward focus, something uncommon in the work of previous generations of Chinese artists.

“People born before 1980s in China always focus on the society, politics and history -- huge issues -- whether or not this is what they are most interested in,” Li says.

“But people born after 1980 don't mind what people think of them,” she continues. “They only think of their heart and so they create works that are interesting to them, and this is the one reason why we want to work with people from this generation.”

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Gao Mingyan, born in Shanghai in 1983, is open about the effects of being a product of the One-Child Policy in his art.

A lonely life

Fan Shisan is a 27-year-old Shanghai-based photographer whose work specifically documents how the effects of China's One-Child Policy have affected his generation.

His series (see gallery at the top of the article), “Two of Us,” is made up of more than 50 photographs in which a young Chinese is depicted with an alter ego, a double, posing in a different position.

The effect suggests a split personality, people searching for something more to complete their lives, something beyond themselves. It’s this sense of isolation and yearning for understanding which shines through in Fan’s work, and which he says helps define what it is to be part of his generation.

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“I felt like I wanted to shoot something about people my age,” says Fan. “I looked around and I felt there was a common story, and I wanted to find some way to photograph that. I didn’t know how exactly, then this concept just came to me and I started to use this technique to shoot young people.”

Fan's series clearly demonstrates a generation marked by isolation and loneliness, an emotional state he says is misunderstood by society.

[These young Chinese artists] grew up with the idea that even artists lacking great technical skill can find financial success. They are not taught the benefits of tempered, long-term growth and just like the majority of Chinese society, they only trust what money can be earned right here, right now.— Leslie Kuo

“I keep wondering why people think that the 'one-child' children are ‘Little Emperors,'” he says. “In most of China, parents are so busy earning money and trying to live, they don’t have time to pay attention to their child.”

Adam J. Schokora is CEO and co-founder of NeochaEDGE, a Shanghai-based creative agency in which the vast majority of artists belong to the post-1980s and even post-1990s generation.

He says these themes of isolation, introspection and nostalgia for childhood are common themes in their work. Schokora believes these themes directly stem from their backgrounds as only children.

“This is probably why the younger generation of artists is so introspective,” he says. “They grew up without peers in their households and had to entertain themselves in their own heads. It's kind of a beautiful thing.”

The center of attention

Leslie Kuo, the Director of Shanghai's Leo Gallery, has curated shows specifically featuring young Chinese artists and she says that the pressure of being a single child, and therefore being the focus of a family's hopes and dreams, is the primary cause of the isolation demonstrated in the work of young Chinese artists.

“Being the primary source of pride, joy, and in some cases finances places a huge burden of responsibility on young adults today,” she says. “No wonder they yearn for childhood.”

If anyone knows about family pressure, it's Ou Wenting, a 26-year-old artist who actually returned to university after graduating from Hangzhou's prestigious Academy of Art in order to get her parents off her back about getting a “real job.”

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Ou's work also explores themes of isolation, with pieces depicting a young woman looking into a happy scene from the outside. Despite the pressure she feels from her family to give up art in favor of a more commercially secure future, Ou says that a love of art and a faith in the importance of her work means she can overcome these obstacles.

“It depends on whether art is your love, your language or not, and whether you can live without it or not,” she says. “Some families understand, some don't. This is not easy to handle, but the most important thing is whether you are sure of what you are doing.”

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Ou Wenting's shows themes of isolation, here a young woman seen looking into the audience's space from the outside.

Money matters

There's certainly little doubt that post-1980s artists are not afraid of making money. Very different to the ideal of the starving artist, refusing to betray their creativity, experts say young Chinese artists today are a very pragmatic bunch, wanting to be richly rewarded for their work.

According to Kuo, this comes down to an issue of entitlement which has been bred by the phenomenal success of Chinese art in recent years, as well as the inflated sense of self-importance which they acquire through being the primary focus of their family.

“[These young Chinese artists] grew up with the idea that even artists lacking great technical skill can find financial success,” says Kuo. “They are not taught the benefits of tempered, long-term growth and just like the majority of Chinese society, they only trust what money can be earned right here, right now.”

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Fan agrees that many of his peers are increasingly au fait with the business of being an artist, but he is part of a small, but passionate, group of young artists who are operating outside the mainstream in order to preserve their artistic identity.

“For artwork to be valuable it’s not dependent on the work itself, it depends on business. So I don’t care about this. I just do my work,” he says.

“Art is not paint on paper or taking a camera and shooting. These things are easy. The most difficult thing is to make something with meaning, year after year. My series is meaningful because it reflects my time and my life, it’s an authentic experience.”

Casey is a city/lifestyle journalist from Melbourne, Australia, who has been based in Shanghai since 2007.

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