Yue Minjun b. 1962

signed in pinyin and dated 2001, framed

Some abrasion and paint cracks to the edges with associated very minor areas of paint loss. Otherwise generally in good condition.
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Yue Minjun's art has its origins in a resolute presentation of self; he is notorious for the constant laughter of his self-portraits, which both amuse and alienate his worldwide audience. Perhaps this double effect is indicative of the artist's own ambivalence toward an esthetic of truth, especially in a country whose well-organized surface belies the fact that it is under the sway of a one-party government. One of the creators of the Cynical Realism movement, Yue paints pictures intended to raise questions regarding the effectiveness of modern society in China; his penchant for the absurd makes him one of the most effective commentators in China today. Over the years, Yue has been engaged in figuration, whose visual implications are usually jaded or politicized, depending on one's own political perceptions of China. The kind of Everyman scenario we encounter in Yue's broad range of circumstances encourages us to identify with the dislocations of Chinese public life, which allows little if any deviations from the mean.

Interestingly enough, Yue's self-portraits re-envision a figure who, despite China's official call for conformity, maintains his sense of self. The sheer repetition of his laughter ensures that we recognize the persistence of a rebellious personality, whose origins go back to the 1980s, a time of ferment and achievement in Chinese art. Figuration remains important in China in ways Westerners may not fully understand—the approach allows artists to pay their respects to Western traditional art even as they promote a subversive reading of their own culture. Indeed, part of Yue's power derives from his use of media and imagery that deliberately differentiate from traditional Chinese theme. Thus his art may well be a determined recognition of a Western orientation, although his subject matter tends to focus on Chinese themes. Yue's main point appears to be tied to a persistence of self in social circumstances in which individuality comes at a premium, or is denigrated as too selfish to survive the needs of society.

So Yue's superficially silly tableaus are actually documents recording feelings of doubt and distance in regard to contemporary Chinese mores. In light of this insight, suddenly Yue's output takes on a darker perspective, from a viewpoint that accentuates an Everyman allegorical purpose in the paintings as well as a more specific, more critical treatment of the conditions facing the Chinese population today. It is not so easy to tie down the specifics of an interpretation that would do specific justice to the implicit generalizations of Yue's art; however, the paintings engender their own intense circumstances, as if the narratives suggested by them exhort the viewer to some new vision of China's past and present, and, hopefully, future. No one can predict what will happen next, but in the pursuit of a fairer treatment of people, Yue seems to hope that the future will unlock, both literally and figuratively, Chinese thought.

It may be that Yue's allegories render him impervious to a specifically political reading of his art. He can claim, with considerable justification, that he is only painting himself. But that is the key to understanding the social import of Yue's art—he emphasizes the variety of his circumstances and criticizes Chinese politics by repeating his artistic persona in various settings. One may, or may not, be overwhelmed by the similarity of Yue's laughing faces, but the circumstances and backgrounds in which the artist finds himself in are widely different. The passionate laughter Yue subjects us to records a survival instinct in the face of political oblivion; he has not faced issues of censorship because the work only suggests and does not actuate dissent. Yet Yue's position is inevitably vulnerable, even if he deliberately skirts specific issues. Because of his prominence, one assumes that he is under greater scrutiny than other artists, and the increasing prices paid for his art make him a star whose implications are to be watched.

Sea of the Brain (Lot 34) is, by implication, a satire of the late Communist leader. Consisting of a large painting of Yue's grinning head, complete with perfect, brilliantly white teeth and a black abyss of a mouth, Mao disconcertingly shows the head of Mao swimming in water at the top of Yue's open skull. One is reminded of Mao's swimming exploits during the Cultural Revolution, done in part to convince the Chinese that he was still physically well. At the same time, the image is a most likely a reference to Mao's brainwashing of his country's population: Mao's invasion into the minds of its citizens is seen as an aggressive act, encouraging a cult-like devotion to the leader. Here Yue's smile feels more like a grimace, even though he seems oblivious to the fact of Mao swimming in his brain. It seems to me that Yue is at his best when challenging the status quo, and his portrait of Mao undermines the credibility of Yue's laughter, which seems that much more absurd, given the painting's visual information.