文/余小蕙
颜：首先是红砖美术馆馆长闫士杰提议做我的一个个展，他邀请侯瀚如担任策划，瀚如仔细看了我的资料，进行了梳理和规划。
余：展览标题“利悟利”是怎么来的?
颜：“利悟利”是我2001年注册的公司的名字，全名叫“廊坊利悟利艺术品有限公司”，因为当时我起的名字“空想”——我不想有倾向的名字，空想是相对最纯粹的词了，因为它没有多余的修辞──工商部门不给注册，所以就用了法语“rêverie”的音译。Rêverie是查字典查到的，我觉得最接近中文空想的意思。策划人把这次展览的题目叫“利悟利”，是因为他觉得这个名字很有达达的美学趣味。
余：艺术家成立公司似乎蔚为一股趋势，以商业机构的名义取代艺术家个人的身份，将企业运作的手段和模式，从生产、包装到行销，悉数引入艺术领域，以此探索和重新定义今天艺术家多重复杂的属性，或是游走在艺术与商业之间的灰色地带——一方面嘲讽当代艺术的商业化，同时自己也获取庞大的利益。你当初为什么想成立公司？ 这和你的艺术思考以及创作实践之间有什么直接关联吗？
颜：利悟利公司是用来处理我个人的财务和税务等问题的。事实上，2001年我是用在CAAW （中国艺术文件仓库）个展卖作品的钱成立了利悟利，那个展览卖掉了全部作品。现在的艺术体制是围绕着钱来运转的，我的介入就像经营生意。我做过一个叫《无限艺术工程》的项目，目的是为了打开艺术和商品的界限，因为我认为凡能看见的东西都是商品，就像你看到的我的作品也会想到什么价格。2012年第十三届文献展上相对完整地展出了一次；因为也不是全部，所以在文献展上，作品名称叫《有限艺术项目》
余：除了成立注册公司外，你想过把企业运作模式（例如：分工、制作、行销、交易）移植成为你的艺术手段？或是想创造属于你自己的经营模式？
颜：我是对自己不画画的状态作为艺术形式感兴趣，并非对公司化的的制作模式感兴趣。做艺术用任何手段都算不上什么创造，但艺术家之间对艺术的理解和态度是有区别的。
余：你觉得做艺术和做生意没什么两样，看来你也不认同艺术家存在什么知识分子或社会的良心之类的光环？你怎么看今天艺术家的身份以及他在社会扮演的角色？
颜：所谓的光环是人的系统制造的，权威也是这样来的。所有的理论和评价，也是在为利益服务，为觉得学术系统需要革命了。做艺术和做其它生意的区别只是经营内容的不同——本质上没什么不同。我看到艺术并不能使人高尚起来。我现在对艺术家的身份没兴趣了，当别人问起我是做什么工作的时候，我总是很尴尬——而我是靠在画廊卖一些东西生活的…… 我就是在一个充满矛盾的现实里，尽量使自己的存在更合乎情理。
余：今天艺术价值与价格多半混而不分，甚至经常是市场决定了艺术价值。你的作品表面看起来玩世不恭、轻描淡写，骨子里流露了对当代艺术文化从自身逻辑到运作机制透彻而犀利的体悟，并揭示其中的种种悖论和谬误。另一方面，你和当代艺术机制的关系却又总是模棱两可——既批判又拥抱。能不能谈谈为什么选择这种暧昧不明的立场？你认为过去那种很绝对的批判方式在今天这个社会还有效吗？你个人会希望作品获得别人哪些其他层面的认识和理解吗?
颜：当代艺术完全体现的是金钱和权力的意志。这是一个指鹿为马的时代。艺术和做其它的生意没什么不同，当代艺术更像制作奢侈品，营销手段也和经营一个品牌是一样的心理学。拥有艺术品并不能证明你的思想和趣味，我不喜欢收藏。我不会幻想真的被人理解，因为我不要与人平等。
余：这次在红砖美术馆的展览,很大成分与2012年你参加的德国文献展直接相关，不论是对那次文献展参展作品《有限艺术项目》的重新装置和展示，或是两件新作：《利悟利》使用了你在卡塞尔参观大众汽车厂时看到的喷漆流水线的装置结构；《XANAX》则由若干个文献展厅的缩小模型组成。为什么文献展成为你重要的创作灵感来源？事实上，你长久以来与文献展有着复杂的心理纠葛，早于1997年就曾经和另一位艺术家洪浩伪造文献展邀请函，广发中国艺术家,以此嘲讽艺术家对西方大展的向往和憧憬。这么多年了，而且本身也已参加过两次文献展，你对文献展的心态有什么改变?
颜：（关于1997年假造文献展邀请信）我并没有意识地嘲讽过任何人，只是自己的感觉。2011年，我为了准备2012年第13届文献展的作品，就按Documenta-Halle （文献展览馆）的空间做过一个模型。想起来，对我来说那是一个最完美的空间。当然我是指它的内部空间设计——外边什么样我早忘了；不过里边的空间在特定的时间里展什么东西都能引起人重视。所以我希望把我所有做过的作品都在那里面展，所以就做了若干个模型，叫 《XANAX》，里面放什么东西都会觉得很high。艺术家都有文献展情结，不然不会总是被提起——参加文献展还是最叫人羡慕和嫉妒的！
余：这揭示的无非是当代艺术的权力话语机制。然而从90年代末期到今天，全球艺术圈的权力消长发生了很大的改变：中国今天成了西方策展人、画廊、收藏家关注和追逐的焦点……
颜：一切都是经济利益！我感觉现在人们关注的焦点不在艺术家的意志力上——人们关注自己的理财选择是否聪明；关注“艺术家”是否维护和自己一样的共同利益，而不是为了寻找更深刻的东西。中国经济的发展就像是高铁，很多人都坐了上去。我感觉自己就像是一个搬运工，只是把一些东西搬到列车上。
余：你对今天全球艺术体制运作的游戏规则有什么样的看法和态度?
颜：权力就像一个阴道，所有的人都在寻找它，对于哪的人来说都一样，游戏规则看起来是开放的──有人用的是嘴；有人用的是手；有人用的是肾功能……
余：那日常生活里头渗透的各种权力关系呢？你同样感受深刻吗?
颜：我不要因为做艺术所形成的价值观使日常很不合情理。
余：《利悟利》以不断运转的汽车厂喷漆流水线比喻了今天艺术作品批量生产的方式，更重要的是，再次传达出你对绘画行为的态度：既然画画已不纯粹、非关艺术家表达，那么何不找别人画？——而且也可以是机器！2012年文献展上，你每天将现场展出的画作挑选几幅送到大众汽车厂，用亮光漆覆盖在原来的图像上——原先的图像消失了，如今变成了单色画……
颜：单纯的从装饰性来说，汽车漆是很漂亮的，而且比油画颜料的保持持久的时间长很多。随便一个什么东西只要喷上那么一层，都很漂亮。我如果对收藏有兴趣的话，首先会考虑自己的墙上直接挂一个崭新的“辉腾（Phaeton）”的汽车门，因为我相信它所包含的工艺和智慧不比一张油画少。在卡塞尔大众汽车厂覆盖掉的那些画成为了一个新的现实：它是一个承载了复杂的历史的物件。
余：你对工业生产流水线有什么特别的感觉或激动，以至于会把设备带进美术馆里头?
颜：我不会对哪些机器激动。我去过大众汽车厂一个展示生产过程的用于做公关活动的空间，如果你去到那里你也会喜欢的——但谈不上激动：那里有洁白的机器和空间，舒服的光线和温度，播放着巴赫的音乐，桌子摆着随便喝的香槟…… 就像是在一个治疗心理疾病的诊所里，你会感到被关怀——只不过那些台上的发言，显得有些多余。我是对那些饱和的投入所带来的慷慨感兴趣，我对现代工业化生产的批判或者歌颂是没有意义的。我的反应是个人的，做艺术是基于个人，代表不了公共利益。
余：你还将不同汽车门鈑金件直接悬挂在红砖美术馆的墙面，成了艺术品！
颜：没有什么不可以成为艺术的东西！让美术馆和专家接受你的想法是好玩的事情。
余：汽车门上从背面凸印着一行描述性文字，此举意味着什么?
颜：那些车门挂在墙上不比挂一张油画不漂亮，那些文字就是对曾经存在过的油画的描述。
余：上头的字全是英文——为什么在中国的美术馆展示，选择英文字样？
颜：吃沙拉的时候我更喜欢用筷子。文字仅仅是一种工具，只要能让人读得出来就够了。对于不识字的人来说，你写中文也是没用的。你在上海也不一定非要说上海话吧。懂英语的人看起来不更像诗歌吗？那些文字的概念就是能给人带来图像的想象。
余：这次展览里头展示了大量的图像，内容从人物到风景到其他艺术家的作品，五花八门、包罗万象。那种扑天盖地、无所不在的感觉，就像我们日常生活中充斥着林林总总的影像，不管是不是你选择看到的。
颜：是经验让我们遇到了那些图像。在我看来，图像的存在和消失无非就是幻觉。
余：你用“遇到”这个词挺有意思的：是一种机缘，不是强求、刻意去创造出来的。这也是你的一种人生态度吗?
颜：态度就是美学。
余：那你在乎真实吗？真实存在吗？对你来说，什么是真实？
颜：真实在心里，现实没有真实。
余：谈谈你这些图像的内容、来源、选择和创作方式?
颜：就像你前面说的，遇到那些图像是机缘，是生活背景和经验加上现有的资源形成的机缘。关于那些作品(objects)，我把我的选择和介入制作看作是多余的部分——所以我很多的工作就是如何剔除作品的多余部分；就是尽量什么都不做。我这样做的原因是认为自己怀才不遇，做当代艺术不值得我自己去动手。为此我还是付出了很大努力的。在这样逐渐形成的一个轨道上，我可以让助手更高兴自由地去工作了——至于他们做成怎样，我都是很喜欢。
余：你是否给予助手某些指示？
颜：2012年文献展之后，我就不再安排图像给他们去制作了，他们的工作更自由了。
余：那你会希望作品整体上表达什么样的效果吗?
颜：我不能限定别人想什么，我的解释不会比那些作品更清楚。如果把屁放出来是舒服的，也可以把艺术当成一个屁。
余：你从几年前发明编号创作——以电脑程序处理，把图像分解为不同组件，聘用非专业画工按号码涂色——到现在让助手自由创作，其实是把同一个逻辑的思路走得更加彻底。不过你以前每件作品、每个系列，都是自己构想出一套清晰严格的制作方式，助手只是执行者——你现在甚至把内容的决定权分给其他人！你努力将自己从作品中剔除之后，你和作品之间还存在着什么样的关系？你的“创造性”在哪？
颜：是时间和空间形成了我的“创造性” —— 使不做事情成为一种形式，我很努力的地方是，让这种语言形式走向成功，这就是我对艺术史的贡献。我把不做事情当作艺术的形式，围绕着这个概念，我做了很多的工作：包括和你的对话，和画廊的谈判，和美术馆的沟通……
余：这么说来，在你眼里，艺术家与创造性行为无关，所谓的“作品”不过是物件（object），就像商品或工业产品一样；你努力把自己从作品中剔除干净，专心扮演你一开始提到的“经营生意”那部分的角色。这可说是你面对当代艺术体制所充满的混沌和矛盾，以及艺术商业化、艺术家职业化、艺术品商品化的困境的态度和“生存之道”。你想象过艺术家把不做事情成为一种艺术形式的极致会是什么样的一个状态吗？
颜：这个时代的高人我们是接触不到的，因为现实实在是太幼稚太暴力了，我更欣赏没落和颓废的审美——现在我只是作点生意而已。
余：对你来说，艺术到底是什么?
颜： 一个不断觉悟的过程。
余：你现在做的一切挑战着传统艺术观以及艺术机制――尤其是直接关系到你的生存和经济利益的艺术市场――运作的几个重要基石，如：艺术家具有不可取代的创造性、作品是艺术家思想情感的载体等。你考虑过这个发展是否会对你的市场产生不好的影响？
颜：我现在看不到对当代艺术有理性的分析，所以我就是要把作品（object）搬上市场的顺风车。
余：你欣赏的艺术家有哪些?
颜：我喜欢戈雅（Francisco de Goya）和杜尚（Marcel Duchamp），是他们使艺术家觉得做什么都不对。
余：我想先从这次在红砖美术馆的个展谈起。你根据哪些方面来构思这个展览和选择展出作品?
颜：首先是红砖美术馆馆长闫士杰提议做我的一个个展，他邀请侯瀚如担任策划，瀚如仔细看了我的资料，进行了梳理和规划。
余：展览标题“利悟利”是怎么来的?
颜：“利悟利”是我2001年注册的公司的名字，全名叫“廊坊利悟利艺术品有限公司”，因为当时我起的名字“空想”——我不想有倾向的名字，空想是相对最纯粹的词了，因为它没有多余的修辞──工商部门不给注册，所以就用了法语“rêverie”的音译。Rêverie是查字典查到的，我觉得最接近中文空想的意思。策划人把这次展览的题目叫“利悟利”，是因为他觉得这个名字很有达达的美学趣味。
余：艺术家成立公司似乎蔚为一股趋势，以商业机构的名义取代艺术家个人的身份，将企业运作的手段和模式，从生产、包装到行销，悉数引入艺术领域，以此探索和重新定义今天艺术家多重复杂的属性，或是游走在艺术与商业之间的灰色地带——一方面嘲讽当代艺术的商业化，同时自己也获取庞大的利益。你当初为什么想成立公司？ 这和你的艺术思考以及创作实践之间有什么直接关联吗？
颜：利悟利公司是用来处理我个人的财务和税务等问题的。事实上，2001年我是用在CAAW （中国艺术文件仓库）个展卖作品的钱成立了利悟利，那个展览卖掉了全部作品。现在的艺术体制是围绕着钱来运转的，我的介入就像经营生意。我做过一个叫《无限艺术工程》的项目，目的是为了打开艺术和商品的界限，因为我认为凡能看见的东西都是商品，就像你看到的我的作品也会想到什么价格。2012年第十三届文献展上相对完整地展出了一次；因为也不是全部，所以在文献展上，作品名称叫《有限艺术项目》
余：除了成立注册公司外，你想过把企业运作模式（例如：分工、制作、行销、交易）移植成为你的艺术手段？或是想创造属于你自己的经营模式？
颜：我是对自己不画画的状态作为艺术形式感兴趣，并非对公司化的的制作模式感兴趣。做艺术用任何手段都算不上什么创造，但艺术家之间对艺术的理解和态度是有区别的。
余：你觉得做艺术和做生意没什么两样，看来你也不认同艺术家存在什么知识分子或社会的良心之类的光环？你怎么看今天艺术家的身份以及他在社会扮演的角色？
颜：所谓的光环是人的系统制造的，权威也是这样来的。所有的理论和评价，也是在为利益服务，为觉得学术系统需要革命了。做艺术和做其它生意的区别只是经营内容的不同——本质上没什么不同。我看到艺术并不能使人高尚起来。我现在对艺术家的身份没兴趣了，当别人问起我是做什么工作的时候，我总是很尴尬——而我是靠在画廊卖一些东西生活的…… 我就是在一个充满矛盾的现实里，尽量使自己的存在更合乎情理。
余：今天艺术价值与价格多半混而不分，甚至经常是市场决定了艺术价值。你的作品表面看起来玩世不恭、轻描淡写，骨子里流露了对当代艺术文化从自身逻辑到运作机制透彻而犀利的体悟，并揭示其中的种种悖论和谬误。另一方面，你和当代艺术机制的关系却又总是模棱两可——既批判又拥抱。能不能谈谈为什么选择这种暧昧不明的立场？你认为过去那种很绝对的批判方式在今天这个社会还有效吗？你个人会希望作品获得别人哪些其他层面的认识和理解吗?
颜：当代艺术完全体现的是金钱和权力的意志。这是一个指鹿为马的时代。艺术和做其它的生意没什么不同，当代艺术更像制作奢侈品，营销手段也和经营一个品牌是一样的心理学。拥有艺术品并不能证明你的思想和趣味，我不喜欢收藏。我不会幻想真的被人理解，因为我不要与人平等。
余：这次在红砖美术馆的展览,很大成分与2012年你参加的德国文献展直接相关，不论是对那次文献展参展作品《有限艺术项目》的重新装置和展示，或是两件新作：《利悟利》使用了你在卡塞尔参观大众汽车厂时看到的喷漆流水线的装置结构；《XANAX》则由若干个文献展厅的缩小模型组成。为什么文献展成为你重要的创作灵感来源？事实上，你长久以来与文献展有着复杂的心理纠葛，早于1997年就曾经和另一位艺术家洪浩伪造文献展邀请函，广发中国艺术家,以此嘲讽艺术家对西方大展的向往和憧憬。这么多年了，而且本身也已参加过两次文献展，你对文献展的心态有什么改变?
颜：（关于1997年假造文献展邀请信）我并没有意识地嘲讽过任何人，只是自己的感觉。2011年，我为了准备2012年第13届文献展的作品，就按Documenta-Halle （文献展览馆）的空间做过一个模型。想起来，对我来说那是一个最完美的空间。当然我是指它的内部空间设计——外边什么样我早忘了；不过里边的空间在特定的时间里展什么东西都能引起人重视。所以我希望把我所有做过的作品都在那里面展，所以就做了若干个模型，叫 《XANAX》，里面放什么东西都会觉得很high。艺术家都有文献展情结，不然不会总是被提起——参加文献展还是最叫人羡慕和嫉妒的！
余：这揭示的无非是当代艺术的权力话语机制。然而从90年代末期到今天，全球艺术圈的权力消长发生了很大的改变：中国今天成了西方策展人、画廊、收藏家关注和追逐的焦点……
颜：一切都是经济利益！我感觉现在人们关注的焦点不在艺术家的意志力上——人们关注自己的理财选择是否聪明；关注“艺术家”是否维护和自己一样的共同利益，而不是为了寻找更深刻的东西。中国经济的发展就像是高铁，很多人都坐了上去。我感觉自己就像是一个搬运工，只是把一些东西搬到列车上。
余：你对今天全球艺术体制运作的游戏规则有什么样的看法和态度?
颜：权力就像一个阴道，所有的人都在寻找它，对于哪的人来说都一样，游戏规则看起来是开放的──有人用的是嘴；有人用的是手；有人用的是肾功能……
余：那日常生活里头渗透的各种权力关系呢？你同样感受深刻吗?
颜：我不要因为做艺术所形成的价值观使日常很不合情理。
余：《利悟利》以不断运转的汽车厂喷漆流水线比喻了今天艺术作品批量生产的方式，更重要的是，再次传达出你对绘画行为的态度：既然画画已不纯粹、非关艺术家表达，那么何不找别人画？——而且也可以是机器！2012年文献展上，你每天将现场展出的画作挑选几幅送到大众汽车厂，用亮光漆覆盖在原来的图像上——原先的图像消失了，如今变成了单色画……
颜：单纯的从装饰性来说，汽车漆是很漂亮的，而且比油画颜料的保持持久的时间长很多。随便一个什么东西只要喷上那么一层，都很漂亮。我如果对收藏有兴趣的话，首先会考虑自己的墙上直接挂一个崭新的“辉腾（Phaeton）”的汽车门，因为我相信它所包含的工艺和智慧不比一张油画少。在卡塞尔大众汽车厂覆盖掉的那些画成为了一个新的现实：它是一个承载了复杂的历史的物件。
余：你对工业生产流水线有什么特别的感觉或激动，以至于会把设备带进美术馆里头?
颜：我不会对哪些机器激动。我去过大众汽车厂一个展示生产过程的用于做公关活动的空间，如果你去到那里你也会喜欢的——但谈不上激动：那里有洁白的机器和空间，舒服的光线和温度，播放着巴赫的音乐，桌子摆着随便喝的香槟…… 就像是在一个治疗心理疾病的诊所里，你会感到被关怀——只不过那些台上的发言，显得有些多余。我是对那些饱和的投入所带来的慷慨感兴趣，我对现代工业化生产的批判或者歌颂是没有意义的。我的反应是个人的，做艺术是基于个人，代表不了公共利益。
余：你还将不同汽车门鈑金件直接悬挂在红砖美术馆的墙面，成了艺术品！
颜：没有什么不可以成为艺术的东西！让美术馆和专家接受你的想法是好玩的事情。
余：汽车门上从背面凸印着一行描述性文字，此举意味着什么?
颜：那些车门挂在墙上不比挂一张油画不漂亮，那些文字就是对曾经存在过的油画的描述。
余：上头的字全是英文——为什么在中国的美术馆展示，选择英文字样？
颜：吃沙拉的时候我更喜欢用筷子。文字仅仅是一种工具，只要能让人读得出来就够了。对于不识字的人来说，你写中文也是没用的。你在上海也不一定非要说上海话吧。懂英语的人看起来不更像诗歌吗？那些文字的概念就是能给人带来图像的想象。
余：这次展览里头展示了大量的图像，内容从人物到风景到其他艺术家的作品，五花八门、包罗万象。那种扑天盖地、无所不在的感觉，就像我们日常生活中充斥着林林总总的影像，不管是不是你选择看到的。
颜：是经验让我们遇到了那些图像。在我看来，图像的存在和消失无非就是幻觉。
余：你用“遇到”这个词挺有意思的：是一种机缘，不是强求、刻意去创造出来的。这也是你的一种人生态度吗?
颜：态度就是美学。
余：那你在乎真实吗？真实存在吗？对你来说，什么是真实？
颜：真实在心里，现实没有真实。
余：谈谈你这些图像的内容、来源、选择和创作方式?
颜：就像你前面说的，遇到那些图像是机缘，是生活背景和经验加上现有的资源形成的机缘。关于那些作品(objects)，我把我的选择和介入制作看作是多余的部分——所以我很多的工作就是如何剔除作品的多余部分；就是尽量什么都不做。我这样做的原因是认为自己怀才不遇，做当代艺术不值得我自己去动手。为此我还是付出了很大努力的。在这样逐渐形成的一个轨道上，我可以让助手更高兴自由地去工作了——至于他们做成怎样，我都是很喜欢。
余：你是否给予助手某些指示？
颜：2012年文献展之后，我就不再安排图像给他们去制作了，他们的工作更自由了。
余：那你会希望作品整体上表达什么样的效果吗?
颜：我不能限定别人想什么，我的解释不会比那些作品更清楚。如果把屁放出来是舒服的，也可以把艺术当成一个屁。
余：你从几年前发明编号创作——以电脑程序处理，把图像分解为不同组件，聘用非专业画工按号码涂色——到现在让助手自由创作，其实是把同一个逻辑的思路走得更加彻底。不过你以前每件作品、每个系列，都是自己构想出一套清晰严格的制作方式，助手只是执行者——你现在甚至把内容的决定权分给其他人！你努力将自己从作品中剔除之后，你和作品之间还存在着什么样的关系？你的“创造性”在哪？
颜：是时间和空间形成了我的“创造性” —— 使不做事情成为一种形式，我很努力的地方是，让这种语言形式走向成功，这就是我对艺术史的贡献。我把不做事情当作艺术的形式，围绕着这个概念，我做了很多的工作：包括和你的对话，和画廊的谈判，和美术馆的沟通……
余：这么说来，在你眼里，艺术家与创造性行为无关，所谓的“作品”不过是物件（object），就像商品或工业产品一样；你努力把自己从作品中剔除干净，专心扮演你一开始提到的“经营生意”那部分的角色。这可说是你面对当代艺术体制所充满的混沌和矛盾，以及艺术商业化、艺术家职业化、艺术品商品化的困境的态度和“生存之道”。你想象过艺术家把不做事情成为一种艺术形式的极致会是什么样的一个状态吗？
颜：这个时代的高人我们是接触不到的，因为现实实在是太幼稚太暴力了，我更欣赏没落和颓废的审美——现在我只是作点生意而已。
余：对你来说，艺术到底是什么?
颜： 一个不断觉悟的过程。
余：你现在做的一切挑战着传统艺术观以及艺术机制――尤其是直接关系到你的生存和经济利益的艺术市场――运作的几个重要基石，如：艺术家具有不可取代的创造性、作品是艺术家思想情感的载体等。你考虑过这个发展是否会对你的市场产生不好的影响？
颜：我现在看不到对当代艺术有理性的分析，所以我就是要把作品（object）搬上市场的顺风车。
余：你欣赏的艺术家有哪些?
颜：我喜欢戈雅（Francisco de Goya）和杜尚（Marcel Duchamp），是他们使艺术家觉得做什么都不对。
Yu Hsiao Hwei
Yan Lei: First of all, it was the director of Red Brick Art Museum, Yan Shijie, who suggested the idea of me doing a solo exhibition. He invited Hou Hanru to curate the show. Hanru looked through my material very carefully, and then went through a process of organizing and planning.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: How did the exhibition’s title of ‘Rêverie’ come about?
Yan Lei: ‘Rêverie’ (Chinese: Li Wu Li) is the name of the company I set up in 2001. The full name is ‘Langfang Li Wu Li Artwork Company Ltd.’, because at the time, the name I had originally proposed – (‘Fantasy’ – I didn’t want to have a tendentious name. Fantasy is quite a pure word, because it doesn’t have any superfluous rhetoric) – was turned down by the commercial authorities. So I ended up using a transliteration of the French word ‘rêverie’. I came across the word rêverie in the dictionary. I think it’s the closest you can get to the Chinese idea of fantasy. The reason the curator chose Rêverie as the title for this exhibition is that he thought the word had an aesthetic ring of Dada about it.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: It seems to have become quite a trend for artists to set up companies. They use the name of a commercial organization to replace the identity of individual artists. The tools and models of business operations, from production and packaging to marketing, have been drawn into the sphere of art, in order to explore and redefine the multi-faceted and complex attributes of today’s artists. Or maybe it is more about wandering about in the grey area between art and business, on the one hand scorning the commercialization of contemporary art, and yet at the same time getting great benefit from it personally. Why did you originally want to set up a company? Was there any direct link between this and your artistic way of thinking and creative practices?
Yan Lei: I use the Li Wu Li Company to deal with personal finance and tax matters. In fact, I created Li Wu Li in 2001 when I sold works from my solo exhibition at CAAW (China Art Archives and Warehouse). All the works in the exhibition were sold. The system of organization of art these days revolves around money, and my involvement in it does resemble running a business. I made a project called ‘Unlimited Art Project’ in order to break down the boundaries between art and commodities, because I think that all objects you can see are commodities, just as when you look at one of my works you might think about its price. It was displayed almost its entirety at Documenta 13 in Kassel in 2012, but because it wasn’t actually complete, for that exhibition the title of the work was ‘Limited Art Project’.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Apart from setting up a registered company, have you thought about transposing business models (for example division of labor, production, marketing, transactions) to become your trick to making art? Or do you want to create your own business model?
Yan Lei: What I am interested is my state of not painting being an art form; I couldn’t care less about the production model of corporatization. The means you use to make art don’t count as creation, but artists among themselves differ in their understanding of and attitude to art.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: If you feel that there isn’t a big difference between doing business and doing art, then I guess you don’t agree that artists have some kind of aura of intellectualism or social conscience? How do you see the identity of today’s artists and their role in society?
Yan Lei: Any so-called aura is fabricated by a man-made system. Authority also comes about in this way. All theory and evaluation are also just about serving interests, about believing that academic systems need to be revolutionized. The difference between making art and doing other kinds of business is simply that the content of the operation is not the same; otherwise there is really no difference. I don’t look at art as something that elevates people at all. I’m not interested in the identity of artists anymore. When people ask me what I do for a living, I never know what to say, when in fact I make a living from selling things in galleries… I am simply struggling to make sense of my existence in a reality full of contradictions.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Today, most of the time, the price and value of art are indistinguishable, even to the point where quite often it is the market that dictates the value of art. At first sight, your artworks come across as being frivolous and light-hearted, but then deep down, you reveal a perspicacious understanding of contemporary art and culture, from its logic to the operation mechanism. You show its various paradoxes and fallacies. And yet, your relationship with the contemporary art system is rather ambiguous, both criticizing it and embracing it. Could you talk about why you chose this ambiguous position? Do you think that the very harsh way of criticizing used in the past would still be effective in today’s society? Might you personally hope that your works will stir up other levels of awareness and understanding?
Yan Lei: What contemporary art reflects completely is the will of money and power; we are living in an era of deliberate misrepresentation. There isn’t really any difference between making art and doing other business. Contemporary art is even more like making luxury goods; and you use the same psychology for marketing it as for managing a brand. Owning artworks does not prove that you have thoughts and taste. I don’t like collecting. I can’t imagine really being understood by people, because I don’t want to be equal to others.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: A lot of the works you are showing in this exhibition at Red Brick Art Museum are directly related to your participation in Documenta 13 in Germany in 2012. This is true of both your newly revamped installation of ‘Limited Art Project’, which was originally on show at Documenta, and the two new works – ‘Rêverie’ used the set up of the paint line that you had seen when you visited the Volkswagen factory in Kassel, and ‘Xanax’ is a series of miniature models of the exhibition space in Documenta-Halle. Why did Documenta become such an important source of inspiration for you? Actually, you have had a complex psychological involvement with Documenta for a long time. Back in 1997, together with another artist, Hong Hao, you forged invitations to Documenta and sent them to many Chinese artists, and thus poked a finger at artists’ infatuation with major exhibitions in the West. It was a long time ago, and since then you have taken part in Documenta twice. How has your attitude towards Documenta changed?
Yan Lei: (About the fake invitations to Documenta in 1997) I had absolutely no intention of poking fun at anyone, it was just the way I felt. In 2011, in order to prepare the works for the following year’s Documenta 13, I made a model of the exhibition space in Documenta-Halle. If I think about it, for me it is one of the most perfect exhibition spaces. Of course I’m talking about the interior space; I can’t remember what the exterior is like. Depending on what is exhibited, at a given time, the interior space can catch people’s attention. So I wanted to be able to exhibit all the artworks I had made in that space. That’s why I made a series of models called ‘Xanax’, and whatever is put inside, will make you feel high. All artists have a ‘Documenta complex’; otherwise it wouldn’t be always brought up in conversation. Taking part in Documenta is what makes people really admire or envy you
Yu Hsiao-hwei: This simply reveals the mechanisms of power and discourse of contemporary art, whereas since the end of the 1990s up until now, there has been a huge transformation of the power dynamics of the global art scene. China has now become the focal point for Western curators, galleries and collectors…
Yan Lei: Everything is about financial profit. I feel that today what people focus on is not an artist’s willpower; people focus on whether their financial choices are smart or not, on whether ‘artists’ uphold the same interests as they do – it’s not about looking for something deeper. China’s economic development is like a high-speed rail, and a lot of people have climbed on board. I feel like I’m a porter, just carrying some things onto the train.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: What is your view of the rules of the game governing how today’s global art system functions?
Yan Lei: Power is like a vagina, everyone’s looking for it, and it’s the same no matter whose it is. The rules of the game appear to be open; one person will use his mouth, another his hand, yet another his loins…
Yu Hsiao-hwei: What about various kinds of power relations in daily life? Do you feel them in the same deep way?
Yan Lei: I don’t want to make daily life become unreasonable because of having to adhere to a system of values formed by making art.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: The constantly revolving car factory paint line is a metaphor for the mass production mode of today’s artworks, but more importantly, it yet again conveys your attitude towards the act of painting: since painting is no longer pure, and is not about the artist’s expression, there’s no reason not to get other people to paint, or even a machine to do it. During the 2012 Documenta, every day you selected a number of paintings that were being shown and sent them to the Volkswagen factory where the original painting was covered over with industrial paint. The original image disappeared, replaced by a monochrome painting…
Yan Lei: From a purely decorative point of view, car paint is very beautiful, and it’s much more long lasting than oil paint. You can spray a layer of this paint on any object, and it becomes beautiful. If I were interested in collecting, the first thing I would first think of hanging on my wall would be a brand-new Volkswagen Phaeton car door, because I believe that it has just as much craftsmanship and sophistication as an oil painting. The paintings that were covered over in paint at the Volkswagen factory in Kassel became a new reality, one carrying a complex historical background.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: What is the particular feeling or buzz that you get from an industrial production line, that makes you want to bring this apparatus into a museum?
Yan Lei: I don’t get excited about those machines. I went to a showroom of the production line at the Volkswagen factory, which was part of a public relations campaign. If you went there, you would probably like it too, but I can’t say I was excited. It was a spotlessly white space with spotlessly white machinery, with pleasant lighting and a comfortable temperature, Bach was being played over the PA system, you could help yourself to as much champagne as you wanted… it felt a bit as if you were being cared for in a mental health clinic, only the speeches being given from the podium seemed a little overdone. I’m interested in the generosity that was revealed in the total devotion to create the space. I feel that it is meaningless to criticize or praise modern industrial production. My reaction is purely personal. Making art is very personal and individual; it cannot represent the public interest.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: You also hung up different parts of car doors on the walls of Red Brick Art Museum, and turned them into works of art!
Yan Lei: There is nothing that can’t be turned into a work of art. It’s fun to get art museums and specialists to accept your ideas.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: The doors have been embossed from behind with lines of descriptive text, what is the meaning of this?
Yan Lei: The car doors hanging on the walls are no less beautiful than an oil painting would be hanging there. The texts are descriptions of the oil paintings that once existed.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: All of the descriptions are in English. Why did you choose to use English for an exhibition in an art museum in China?
Yan Lei: I prefer using chopsticks when I eat salad. The writing is merely a tool; it’s enough if you can have people make out the words. For illiterate people, it would be the same if it were in Chinese. It’s like when you’re in Shanghai, you don’t have to be able to speak Shanghainese. For people who do understand English, doesn’t it look more like a poem? The idea behind the texts is to help people to imagine the image.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: There are a large number of images in this exhibition, and the content goes from people to landscapes, to other artists’ works. They are multifarious, all-embracing; creating a kind of overwhelming, omnipresent feeling. It’s just like our daily life that is filled with countless images, whether or not we have chosen to see them.
Yan Lei: It is experience that makes us come across those images. In my opinion, the existence and disappearance of the images is nothing more than an illusion.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: It’s very interesting that you use the term ‘to come across’. It’s a matter of chance, rather than being forced or deliberately brought about. Is this also part of your attitude towards life?
Yan Lei: Attitude is aesthetics.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: So do you care about truth? Does truth exist? For you, what is truth?
Yan Lei: Truth is in your heart, reality has no truth.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Can you tell me about these images – their content, where they came from, why you chose them, and how you created them?
Yan Lei: As you said earlier, encountering these images is a matter of chance, it’s about chance made up of someone’s background and experience plus existing resources. As for those objects, I see my choice and involvement in their production as being superfluous. So a lot of my work goes into working out how to get rid of the superfluous parts of the object. That is to say, I try as much as possible to do nothing. My reason for doing this is that I feel that I am underappreciated, and that it is not worth doing the work myself to make contemporary art. Having said that, I still put a lot of effort into doing all this, and on this track that has gradually been created, I have been able to allow my assistants to work in a happier and freer way. And as for how they do it, I am always happy with it all.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Did you give your assistants any pointers?
Yan Lei: After the 2012 Documenta, I stopped providing the images for them to make, and their work became even freer.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: So what kind of effect would you hope the works will deliver overall?
Yan Lei: I cannot define what other people think, my explanation won’t be any clearer than the works themselves. If it makes you feel better to let the fart out, then you could also see art as a fart.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: A few years ago, you started painting by numbers, using a computer program to break the image into different components, and then you hired non-professional painters to paint, following the numbers. Now, however, you are getting your assistants to create freely. In fact, this is the same logical thought process, just taken to another level. Yet in the past, with every work, with every series, you mapped out a clear and rigorous set of production methods to be used; your assistants merely executed your orders. Now you’ve even handed over the right to choose the content to other people. After having put so much effort into detaching yourself from the works, what kind of connection do you still have with them? Where is your creativity?
Yan Lei: It’s time and space that constitute my ‘creativity’– turning doing nothing into some kind of form. The thing I work hard at is making this form of language achieve success; this is my contribution to art history. I have turned doing nothing into an art form. Yet I have still done a lot of work around this concept, including this conversation with you, negotiating with art galleries, communicating with art museums…
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Thus, for you, an artist has nothing to do with creative behavior; so-called artworks are simply objects, just the same as commodities or industrial products. And you strive to detach yourself completely from the works, and concentrate on playing the role of ‘running a business’, as you mentioned at the beginning. It could be said that this is your attitude and ‘means of survival’, facing the chaos and contradictions of the contemporary art system, and the dilemma of the commercialization of art and the professionalization of artists. Have you pictured what kind of situation there would be if artists pushed not doing something as an art form to extremes?
Yan Lei: The great people of this era are out of our reach, because reality is too naïve and too violent, and I prefer the aesthetics of decline and decadence. Now I only do a bit of business, that’s all.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: In the end, what is art for you?
Yan Lei: For me, art is a process of constant consciousness and awareness.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Everything you do now challenges some major cornerstones of the traditional concept of art and the mechanisms of art – in particular, the art market that is directly linked to your survival and the economic interests – for instance, that artists have irreplaceable creativity, that artworks are vectors for artists’ thoughts and feelings. Have you thought about the fact that this development could have a bad impact on your market?
Yan Lei: At the moment, I don’t see any rational analysis of contemporary art, so I just want to put objects on the market and play it for what it’s worth.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: What artists do you appreciate?
Yan Lei: I like Goya and Duchamp. They are the ones who made artists think that nothing they could do would be right.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: I would like to start by talking about your solo exhibition currently on at Red Brick Art Museum. What aspects did you consider while planning this exhibition and choosing which artworks to show?
Yan Lei: First of all, it was the director of Red Brick Art Museum, Yan Shijie, who suggested the idea of me doing a solo exhibition. He invited Hou Hanru to curate the show. Hanru looked through my material very carefully, and then went through a process of organizing and planning.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: How did the exhibition’s title of ‘Rêverie’ come about?
Yan Lei: ‘Rêverie’ (Chinese: Li Wu Li) is the name of the company I set up in 2001. The full name is ‘Langfang Li Wu Li Artwork Company Ltd.’, because at the time, the name I had originally proposed – (‘Fantasy’ – I didn’t want to have a tendentious name. Fantasy is quite a pure word, because it doesn’t have any superfluous rhetoric) – was turned down by the commercial authorities. So I ended up using a transliteration of the French word ‘rêverie’. I came across the word rêverie in the dictionary. I think it’s the closest you can get to the Chinese idea of fantasy. The reason the curator chose Rêverie as the title for this exhibition is that he thought the word had an aesthetic ring of Dada about it.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: It seems to have become quite a trend for artists to set up companies. They use the name of a commercial organization to replace the identity of individual artists. The tools and models of business operations, from production and packaging to marketing, have been drawn into the sphere of art, in order to explore and redefine the multi-faceted and complex attributes of today’s artists. Or maybe it is more about wandering about in the grey area between art and business, on the one hand scorning the commercialization of contemporary art, and yet at the same time getting great benefit from it personally. Why did you originally want to set up a company? Was there any direct link between this and your artistic way of thinking and creative practices?
Yan Lei: I use the Li Wu Li Company to deal with personal finance and tax matters. In fact, I created Li Wu Li in 2001 when I sold works from my solo exhibition at CAAW (China Art Archives and Warehouse). All the works in the exhibition were sold. The system of organization of art these days revolves around money, and my involvement in it does resemble running a business. I made a project called ‘Unlimited Art Project’ in order to break down the boundaries between art and commodities, because I think that all objects you can see are commodities, just as when you look at one of my works you might think about its price. It was displayed almost its entirety at Documenta 13 in Kassel in 2012, but because it wasn’t actually complete, for that exhibition the title of the work was ‘Limited Art Project’.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Apart from setting up a registered company, have you thought about transposing business models (for example division of labor, production, marketing, transactions) to become your trick to making art? Or do you want to create your own business model?
Yan Lei: What I am interested is my state of not painting being an art form; I couldn’t care less about the production model of corporatization. The means you use to make art don’t count as creation, but artists among themselves differ in their understanding of and attitude to art.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: If you feel that there isn’t a big difference between doing business and doing art, then I guess you don’t agree that artists have some kind of aura of intellectualism or social conscience? How do you see the identity of today’s artists and their role in society?
Yan Lei: Any so-called aura is fabricated by a man-made system. Authority also comes about in this way. All theory and evaluation are also just about serving interests, about believing that academic systems need to be revolutionized. The difference between making art and doing other kinds of business is simply that the content of the operation is not the same; otherwise there is really no difference. I don’t look at art as something that elevates people at all. I’m not interested in the identity of artists anymore. When people ask me what I do for a living, I never know what to say, when in fact I make a living from selling things in galleries… I am simply struggling to make sense of my existence in a reality full of contradictions.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Today, most of the time, the price and value of art are indistinguishable, even to the point where quite often it is the market that dictates the value of art. At first sight, your artworks come across as being frivolous and light-hearted, but then deep down, you reveal a perspicacious understanding of contemporary art and culture, from its logic to the operation mechanism. You show its various paradoxes and fallacies. And yet, your relationship with the contemporary art system is rather ambiguous, both criticizing it and embracing it. Could you talk about why you chose this ambiguous position? Do you think that the very harsh way of criticizing used in the past would still be effective in today’s society? Might you personally hope that your works will stir up other levels of awareness and understanding?
Yan Lei: What contemporary art reflects completely is the will of money and power; we are living in an era of deliberate misrepresentation. There isn’t really any difference between making art and doing other business. Contemporary art is even more like making luxury goods; and you use the same psychology for marketing it as for managing a brand. Owning artworks does not prove that you have thoughts and taste. I don’t like collecting. I can’t imagine really being understood by people, because I don’t want to be equal to others.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: A lot of the works you are showing in this exhibition at Red Brick Art Museum are directly related to your participation in Documenta 13 in Germany in 2012. This is true of both your newly revamped installation of ‘Limited Art Project’, which was originally on show at Documenta, and the two new works – ‘Rêverie’ used the set up of the paint line that you had seen when you visited the Volkswagen factory in Kassel, and ‘Xanax’ is a series of miniature models of the exhibition space in Documenta-Halle. Why did Documenta become such an important source of inspiration for you? Actually, you have had a complex psychological involvement with Documenta for a long time. Back in 1997, together with another artist, Hong Hao, you forged invitations to Documenta and sent them to many Chinese artists, and thus poked a finger at artists’ infatuation with major exhibitions in the West. It was a long time ago, and since then you have taken part in Documenta twice. How has your attitude towards Documenta changed?
Yan Lei: (About the fake invitations to Documenta in 1997) I had absolutely no intention of poking fun at anyone, it was just the way I felt. In 2011, in order to prepare the works for the following year’s Documenta 13, I made a model of the exhibition space in Documenta-Halle. If I think about it, for me it is one of the most perfect exhibition spaces. Of course I’m talking about the interior space; I can’t remember what the exterior is like. Depending on what is exhibited, at a given time, the interior space can catch people’s attention. So I wanted to be able to exhibit all the artworks I had made in that space. That’s why I made a series of models called ‘Xanax’, and whatever is put inside, will make you feel high. All artists have a ‘Documenta complex’; otherwise it wouldn’t be always brought up in conversation. Taking part in Documenta is what makes people really admire or envy you
Yu Hsiao-hwei: This simply reveals the mechanisms of power and discourse of contemporary art, whereas since the end of the 1990s up until now, there has been a huge transformation of the power dynamics of the global art scene. China has now become the focal point for Western curators, galleries and collectors…
Yan Lei: Everything is about financial profit. I feel that today what people focus on is not an artist’s willpower; people focus on whether their financial choices are smart or not, on whether ‘artists’ uphold the same interests as they do – it’s not about looking for something deeper. China’s economic development is like a high-speed rail, and a lot of people have climbed on board. I feel like I’m a porter, just carrying some things onto the train.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: What is your view of the rules of the game governing how today’s global art system functions?
Yan Lei: Power is like a vagina, everyone’s looking for it, and it’s the same no matter whose it is. The rules of the game appear to be open; one person will use his mouth, another his hand, yet another his loins…
Yu Hsiao-hwei: What about various kinds of power relations in daily life? Do you feel them in the same deep way?
Yan Lei: I don’t want to make daily life become unreasonable because of having to adhere to a system of values formed by making art.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: The constantly revolving car factory paint line is a metaphor for the mass production mode of today’s artworks, but more importantly, it yet again conveys your attitude towards the act of painting: since painting is no longer pure, and is not about the artist’s expression, there’s no reason not to get other people to paint, or even a machine to do it. During the 2012 Documenta, every day you selected a number of paintings that were being shown and sent them to the Volkswagen factory where the original painting was covered over with industrial paint. The original image disappeared, replaced by a monochrome painting…
Yan Lei: From a purely decorative point of view, car paint is very beautiful, and it’s much more long lasting than oil paint. You can spray a layer of this paint on any object, and it becomes beautiful. If I were interested in collecting, the first thing I would first think of hanging on my wall would be a brand-new Volkswagen Phaeton car door, because I believe that it has just as much craftsmanship and sophistication as an oil painting. The paintings that were covered over in paint at the Volkswagen factory in Kassel became a new reality, one carrying a complex historical background.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: What is the particular feeling or buzz that you get from an industrial production line, that makes you want to bring this apparatus into a museum?
Yan Lei: I don’t get excited about those machines. I went to a showroom of the production line at the Volkswagen factory, which was part of a public relations campaign. If you went there, you would probably like it too, but I can’t say I was excited. It was a spotlessly white space with spotlessly white machinery, with pleasant lighting and a comfortable temperature, Bach was being played over the PA system, you could help yourself to as much champagne as you wanted… it felt a bit as if you were being cared for in a mental health clinic, only the speeches being given from the podium seemed a little overdone. I’m interested in the generosity that was revealed in the total devotion to create the space. I feel that it is meaningless to criticize or praise modern industrial production. My reaction is purely personal. Making art is very personal and individual; it cannot represent the public interest.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: You also hung up different parts of car doors on the walls of Red Brick Art Museum, and turned them into works of art!
Yan Lei: There is nothing that can’t be turned into a work of art. It’s fun to get art museums and specialists to accept your ideas.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: The doors have been embossed from behind with lines of descriptive text, what is the meaning of this?
Yan Lei: The car doors hanging on the walls are no less beautiful than an oil painting would be hanging there. The texts are descriptions of the oil paintings that once existed.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: All of the descriptions are in English. Why did you choose to use English for an exhibition in an art museum in China?
Yan Lei: I prefer using chopsticks when I eat salad. The writing is merely a tool; it’s enough if you can have people make out the words. For illiterate people, it would be the same if it were in Chinese. It’s like when you’re in Shanghai, you don’t have to be able to speak Shanghainese. For people who do understand English, doesn’t it look more like a poem? The idea behind the texts is to help people to imagine the image.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: There are a large number of images in this exhibition, and the content goes from people to landscapes, to other artists’ works. They are multifarious, all-embracing; creating a kind of overwhelming, omnipresent feeling. It’s just like our daily life that is filled with countless images, whether or not we have chosen to see them.
Yan Lei: It is experience that makes us come across those images. In my opinion, the existence and disappearance of the images is nothing more than an illusion.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: It’s very interesting that you use the term ‘to come across’. It’s a matter of chance, rather than being forced or deliberately brought about. Is this also part of your attitude towards life?
Yan Lei: Attitude is aesthetics.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: So do you care about truth? Does truth exist? For you, what is truth?
Yan Lei: Truth is in your heart, reality has no truth.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Can you tell me about these images – their content, where they came from, why you chose them, and how you created them?
Yan Lei: As you said earlier, encountering these images is a matter of chance, it’s about chance made up of someone’s background and experience plus existing resources. As for those objects, I see my choice and involvement in their production as being superfluous. So a lot of my work goes into working out how to get rid of the superfluous parts of the object. That is to say, I try as much as possible to do nothing. My reason for doing this is that I feel that I am underappreciated, and that it is not worth doing the work myself to make contemporary art. Having said that, I still put a lot of effort into doing all this, and on this track that has gradually been created, I have been able to allow my assistants to work in a happier and freer way. And as for how they do it, I am always happy with it all.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Did you give your assistants any pointers?
Yan Lei: After the 2012 Documenta, I stopped providing the images for them to make, and their work became even freer.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: So what kind of effect would you hope the works will deliver overall?
Yan Lei: I cannot define what other people think, my explanation won’t be any clearer than the works themselves. If it makes you feel better to let the fart out, then you could also see art as a fart.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: A few years ago, you started painting by numbers, using a computer program to break the image into different components, and then you hired non-professional painters to paint, following the numbers. Now, however, you are getting your assistants to create freely. In fact, this is the same logical thought process, just taken to another level. Yet in the past, with every work, with every series, you mapped out a clear and rigorous set of production methods to be used; your assistants merely executed your orders. Now you’ve even handed over the right to choose the content to other people. After having put so much effort into detaching yourself from the works, what kind of connection do you still have with them? Where is your creativity?
Yan Lei: It’s time and space that constitute my ‘creativity’– turning doing nothing into some kind of form. The thing I work hard at is making this form of language achieve success; this is my contribution to art history. I have turned doing nothing into an art form. Yet I have still done a lot of work around this concept, including this conversation with you, negotiating with art galleries, communicating with art museums…
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Thus, for you, an artist has nothing to do with creative behavior; so-called artworks are simply objects, just the same as commodities or industrial products. And you strive to detach yourself completely from the works, and concentrate on playing the role of ‘running a business’, as you mentioned at the beginning. It could be said that this is your attitude and ‘means of survival’, facing the chaos and contradictions of the contemporary art system, and the dilemma of the commercialization of art and the professionalization of artists. Have you pictured what kind of situation there would be if artists pushed not doing something as an art form to extremes?
Yan Lei: The great people of this era are out of our reach, because reality is too naïve and too violent, and I prefer the aesthetics of decline and decadence. Now I only do a bit of business, that’s all.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: In the end, what is art for you?
Yan Lei: For me, art is a process of constant consciousness and awareness.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: Everything you do now challenges some major cornerstones of the traditional concept of art and the mechanisms of art – in particular, the art market that is directly linked to your survival and the economic interests – for instance, that artists have irreplaceable creativity, that artworks are vectors for artists’ thoughts and feelings. Have you thought about the fact that this development could have a bad impact on your market?
Yan Lei: At the moment, I don’t see any rational analysis of contemporary art, so I just want to put objects on the market and play it for what it’s worth.
Yu Hsiao-hwei: What artists do you appreciate?
Yan Lei: I like Goya and Duchamp. They are the ones who made artists think that nothing they could do would be right.