Ai Weiwei's porcelain seeds are still gracing the Turbine Hall floor at Tate Modern: the latest in the Unilever Series.
Since the exhibition opened last October, however, there's been a significant change in the artist's circumstances. As I reported here, his studio in Shanghai was demolished by the Chinese authorities a couple of weeks ago: an action almost certainly related to his vocal criticism of the government and its human rights record.
There's an article on Weiwei in the WSJ this week:
Celebrated internationally, Mr. Ai has largely escaped a backlash against his activism. Until now. Days before we met, his first major exhibit at 798 was abruptly canceled. Yet there is little chance he will back down. Perhaps unapparent earlier to his parents, his veins are unquestionably filled with the blood of his father, an artist and celebrated poet exiled to a labor camp during Mao's purges. Ai Weiwei grew up in China's desolate Xinjiang province, watching his father clean toilets.
Why put himself at similar risk? "No reason, really," Mr. Ai says, mumbling into his beard. But then he rises up, adding: "I want to have a purpose, to protect the dignity of life. I feel it's ridiculous to live in a condition where people cannot access their rights. I don't want children to live in this situation.
"We have a responsibility, as artists, to fight for better conditions. I see freedom and justice as basic, fundamental rights for everyone. I'm just in this position to make my voice heard." He acknowledges that his fame, and friends around the world, afford him that ability. "But there are a million people like me in China. I don't think they can stop us all."
I was in Tate Modern this morning.
Any mention of all this - the destruction of Weiwei's studio and the increased level of harrassment he's now experiencing - in the exhibition blurb? Nope. At least, not that I could see, and I had a pretty good look round. Nor is there anything on the Tate's website. It's all business as usual:
The precious nature of the material, the effort of production and the narrative and personal content create a powerful commentary on the human condition. Sunflower Seeds is a vast sculpture that visitors can contemplate at close range on Level 1 or look upon from the Turbine Hall bridge above. Each piece is a part of the whole, a commentary on the relationship between the individual and the masses. The work continues to pose challenging questions: What does it mean to be an individual in today's society? Are we insignificant or powerless unless we act together? What do our increasing desires, materialism and number mean for society, the environment and the future?"
What does it mean to speak out against a corrupt and repressive government? Should we offer some kind of support to an artist whose work we're showing who's just had his studio demolished? Or at least mention the fact? Might this not be relevant to to these questions about individuals in society? About acting alone or acting together?
Apparently not. That's far too specific. Far too messy. Far too political. Best keep the questions so vague, so inspiringly woolly, that they become meaningless: the kind of art-speak boilerplate that's peeled off by the yard on this sort of occasion, but that no one should in any way take seriously. After all, this is art, not politics.
And would Unilever continue this most mutually beneficial sponsorship arrangement otherwise?
Well, why can't he just interrogate imperialism or something, like all the other artists? Why does he have to be difficult and different and make trouble?
Posted by: Retardo | January 27, 2011 at 09:50 PM