Hunter Braithwaite: Shanghai needs to trust its artists

In Paris, Larry Clark’s retrospective was censored. In Washington, D.C., a firestorm erupted over a David Wojnarowicz video. 

Here in Shanghai, there were at least nine cases of art exhibitions being censored since the beginning of the Expo on May 1. 

And, who could forget Ai Weiwei’s notorious 10,000 crab party?

The root of the concept of Chinese censorship of the arts lies in the 1942 Yan’an talks on Art and Literature, where Mao declared that “art should serve the revolution,” and thus be an arm of the state. This is the basic idea of Socialist Realism, and it dictated the arts in China up until the reform and opening in 1978. 

Artists slowly started creating work that didn’t serve the state, and the government responded with fundamental distrust. 

Shanghai art today

In order to show work today, galleries must apply for an exhibition permit from the governing censorship bodies at the district, city and national levels. The higher ups approve shows featuring foreign artists.

At the root of this idea is a more pervasive mindset: fetishizing dissent.

A gallery’s business license also makes a difference.

Many times, gallerists have a business license to sell art, but not to display it.

“You can sell, but you can’t create a dialog,” says a Shanghai gallerist who was interviewed for this article under the condition of anonymity. “Commodities are not threatening. Ideas are threatening.”

A recent law that requires galleries to display a price tag alongside the piece exemplifies this insistence on art as commodity.

So what are the ideas that are most threatening? Well, I’ll let you use your imagination.

There’s little nudity on display in Shanghai’s galleries. And, a law passed last year banning the exportation of images of Mao keeps the political commentary down. Interesting, since much of the Chinese art from the 1990s thrived on pictures of the leader done up in a Warhol style.

Art spies

All of these rules are enforced by three officials who make it to every opening in town. A massive undertaking to say the least.

Dubbed the “art spies” by many in the local art community, sometimes the officials will go incognito to a gallery opening, approaching gallerists sometimes posing as fellow artists -- even armed with USB sticks full of paintings -- asking questions to ensure all official procedures are being followed.

But the Boris and Natasha shtick quickly wears thin though when a targeted gallery gets a visit from the local police and the National Security Bureau.

Work can be confiscated, fines dolled out and galleries padlocked, all with little reason given.

• More on CNNGo: "Shanghai -- China's future art capital?"

Chabianqiu

擦边球 (chabianqiu) is the term for when a ball bounces off the goalpost but still manages to get in. It means playing just inside the rules, and it’s how galleries manage to keep things interesting in Shanghai.

Besides the obvious response of not applying for any permits and keeping one's fingers firmly crossed, there are several ways to get around the art regulations, explain many gallery owners.

If you can’t display work in a public location, hang the work in a private alcove. Gallery bathrooms and kitchens are technically private and thus able to skirt by regulations.

If you're wondering why so many galleries have well-adorned bathrooms, now you know.

You can sell, but you can’t create a dialogue. Commodities are not threatening. Ideas are threatening.— Shanghai gallerist

If you can’t display a video, circulate portable mp4 players throughout the gallery.

If you can’t sell a catalog, demand a suggested donation.

Same goes with booze.

Shanghai gallerists aren’t limiting their activities, but finding out the true meaning of chabianqiu.

The muse of censorship

But how does this affect art?

An idea that’s gaining momentum in Shanghai today is that the censorship can actually be local art’s muse.

That is the constraints placed on an artist lend another level to his work. It is more necessary, more vital, more real.

At the root of this idea is a more pervasive mindset: fetishizing dissent.

Dissent is sexy.

If an artist can be viewed in both aesthetic and political terms, he will be applauded by critics and collectors, and his selling power increases. Look at Ai Weiwei. 

• More on CNNGo: "The new Shanghai art street: Yongkang Lu"

Although sexy, this doesn't make for an honest atmosphere for appreciating art.

Rebecca Catching, a former journalist turned gallery director, realizes that harsh restrictions limit public understanding of art.

"The problem is, [critics/journalists] have to write about art in a purposefully vague manner. There's already a gap between contemporary art and the public, and this makes it worse."

According to Catching, artists, writers, and curators are "hiding in ambiguity."

In the end the censorship is only one symptom of a greater problem: distrust. Shanghai’s art scene won’t match its great potential until there is greater trust in the arts.

Shanghai already has all aspects of a thriving art scene -- talented artists, great galleries and museums, and a moneyed and voluminous public.

But until all of these factors are embraced instead of monitored and sequestered, the arts will not meet their potential.