Chinese contemporary artist Zhang Huan
(張洹) garnered an early reputation as somewhat of an enfant terrible of Beijing’s art world. In his breakout 12 Square Meters he examined the tortures of existence by smearing his naked body with fish oil and honey after which he sat for an hour in a
bug-infested latrine. The 1995 To Add One Meter to an Anonymous Mountain (為無名山增高一米) consisted of 10 naked bodies piled on the summit of Miaofengshan (妙峰山) west of Beijing, with nine artists later the same day simulating intercourse with a nearby peak.
Videos of these performance works are currently on view at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Taipei, and form part of a retrospective of Zhang’s oeuvre under the title Amitoufo (阿彌陀佛). The show provides a solid overview of the artist’s career, from his early existential investigations and social critiques to his later Buddhist-inspired sculptures and ash on linen paintings.
Trained as an oil painter at Beijing’s Central Academy of Fine Arts, Zhang became disenchanted by the limitations of the medium and began experimenting with performance art. At this time, Zhang and other like-minded Chinese artists established the Beijing East Village, which enabled
the burgeoning artist to explore his new direction.
But audiences and critics generally met his penchant to perform naked with bafflement or derision, so in 1998 Zhang moved to New York, an environment more amenable to his performance art.
Two videos at MOCA are representative of his New York period. The 1998 Pilgrimage — Wind and Water in New York (朝拜–紐約風水) shows a naked Zhang lying face down on a Ming-style bed that is covered with thick blocks of ice, while My America (Hard to Assimilate) (我的美國) features a naked Zhang sitting on a stool as 60 volunteers, also naked, pelt him with loaves of bread.
The videos suggest the isolation of recent immigrants to New York and subtly poke fun at the city’s (and America’s) multicultural presumptions.
Zhang returned to China and opened a studio in Shanghai in 2006. It was at this time that he became a practicing Buddhist — a spiritual transformation that has informed his work ever since.
Amitoufo’s curator, Yang Shin-Yi (楊心一), does a superb job of showing this remarkable change by juxtaposing Zhang’s revelatory performance videos with his religiously inspired sculptures.
Buddhist influences are manifest in the hanging leather sculpture Cowskin Buddha Face No. 4 (牛皮佛臉4號). The hide is shaped to form the face of Buddha and hints at the inseparable relationship between animal and human, flesh and spirit.
A more general examination of China’s religious heritage can be found in Chinese Civilian & Chinese Warrior (文化部長和國防部長). The 5m-tall sculptures of the gods of literature and war are embedded with Buddhist relics, offering dishes and unburned incense sticks, invoking the ritualistic aspects of religion and its appearance in Zhang’s artistic practice.
There is much else to see in Amitoufo: The 11 ash paintings that examine China’s history from the Republican period until 1970 offer an interesting statement about the country’s public memory and future. But the value of the exhibit lies in the curator’s ability to demonstrate how Zhang channeled the existential angst of his early performance art into the transcendent calmness of his later paintings and sculptures.
That US assistance was a model for Taiwan’s spectacular development success was early recognized by policymakers and analysts. In a report to the US Congress for the fiscal year 1962, former President John F. Kennedy noted Taiwan’s “rapid economic growth,” was “producing a substantial net gain in living.” Kennedy had a stake in Taiwan’s achievements and the US’ official development assistance (ODA) in general: In September 1961, his entreaty to make the 1960s a “decade of development,” and an accompanying proposal for dedicated legislation to this end, had been formalized by congressional passage of the Foreign Assistance Act. Two
President William Lai’s (賴清德) March 13 national security speech marked a turning point. He signaled that the government was finally getting serious about a whole-of-society approach to defending the nation. The presidential office summarized his speech succinctly: “President Lai introduced 17 major strategies to respond to five major national security and united front threats Taiwan now faces: China’s threat to national sovereignty, its threats from infiltration and espionage activities targeting Taiwan’s military, its threats aimed at obscuring the national identity of the people of Taiwan, its threats from united front infiltration into Taiwanese society through cross-strait exchanges, and its threats from
Despite the intense sunshine, we were hardly breaking a sweat as we cruised along the flat, dedicated bike lane, well protected from the heat by a canopy of trees. The electric assist on the bikes likely made a difference, too. Far removed from the bustle and noise of the Taichung traffic, we admired the serene rural scenery, making our way over rivers, alongside rice paddies and through pear orchards. Our route for the day covered two bike paths that connect in Fengyuan District (豐原) and are best done together. The Hou-Feng Bike Path (后豐鐵馬道) runs southward from Houli District (后里) while the
March 31 to April 6 On May 13, 1950, National Taiwan University Hospital otolaryngologist Su You-peng (蘇友鵬) was summoned to the director’s office. He thought someone had complained about him practicing the violin at night, but when he entered the room, he knew something was terribly wrong. He saw several burly men who appeared to be government secret agents, and three other resident doctors: internist Hsu Chiang (許強), dermatologist Hu Pao-chen (胡寶珍) and ophthalmologist Hu Hsin-lin (胡鑫麟). They were handcuffed, herded onto two jeeps and taken to the Secrecy Bureau (保密局) for questioning. Su was still in his doctor’s robes at