When did you first discover you had an interest in painting?

In the third year of primary school. I recall that all the kids liked painting then. Everyoneloved painting, but slowly through time as they got older they stopped. I just carried on. Myfamily wasn’t very supportive. They didn’t understand. I carried on, right up to taking theentrance exam for Xi’an Academy of Fine Arts in 1998.

How did you begin to evolve your own language?

When I was at the academy, roughly after the first year, I had a strong sensation which camedirectly from experience. It complicated things. Coming from the countryside as I did to Xi’an, the shock of the rural-urban difference enormous. Each time I came to Xi’an and then returned home, the clash felt greater. I started trying to create my own works, but I couldn’t find a way to express that feeling. It was only later I realised it was the clash between the two that was provoking this sensation.

How do you begin a painting?

My technique is very simple. It’s almost like graffiti. Then, something happens, and suddenly a figure appears. It’s great when that happens. In truth, for years now I have been doing that same thing over and over. Repetition has become important to my work. Before it was all so simple, I was just daubing, but once I really started painting then the process became increasingly complex. 

Can you describe for us that process?

That’s not easy for me. When I began painting figures, it has a lot to do with the circumstancesof my life at the time. The standing figure, it felt exactly right at that time. Then I started to consider how to make better paintings. In this type of environment, which I also hardly ever leave, there’s a lack of comparatives. That’s what led me to repetition. It was just like when I taught students preparing for the entrance exam. They begin from a sphere, from a single object. Throughout the approach to the exam, they paint or draw the same thing, over and again. Without realising it they improve. In truth, what I needed most was to know that I was improving, so I decided to stick with painting the same thing. Whatever that form is, is not important. It is the process of doing it again and again that change, improvement, comes in a natural way. I don’t really concern myself with form or what it is that I want to express.

You work long hours in the studio every day. Can you describe your state of mind when painting?

I think I really began painting in 2007. That was an important year for me. I settled into a proper routine of working. No matter what I paint, the feeling in the moment helps me see clearly what is important, a feeling of stability, confidence that allows me to be just like my parents, up in the morning with the sun, home from the fields at dusk. Everything else insignificant. It was after 2007 that I began repeating the compositions in paintings in earnest. The act of repeating provided a great deal of inspiration. I didn’t have to think about what to do any more, or rather that question lost its significance. I found faith in working, that by doing I would make new discoveries. So, it’s never been about the forms in the paintings.

This process of repeating, is there something specific you are seeking?

When I began I was groping in the dark, but slowly things began to come clear. I knew that repetition was important. It proved so instructive, even if it does not always appear so from the paintings. I like the subtle nuances of the changes that unfold. I think it has a great internal power.

You use a lot of very dark hues, blue, green, purple etc. Do you find it hard to work with these

dark colours and keep them separate?

I have to say I like dark colours. For me it is certainly a challenge. They’re not easy to work with. It’s much easier to work with strong contrasts than close tones. How would you describe the aura of your paintings? Still? Silent? Alienated? I don’t know really. I never really thought about it. Perhaps it’s a bit like archery, when you look a long time at the target, take aim with the bow real slow, but never actually release the arrow. All you can see are the modelling, the body, nothing else is clear.

Do you have a kind of model of an ideal painting in your head?

No, neither model nor ideal. I’m not interested in this or that colour achieving this or that sensation, if that’s what you mean.

Do you look at the work of other artists?

I am a bit of a loner, although in the last two years I’ve been a bit more outgoing. Before that I was very reserved, almost obsessive about being alone. But that period of time was of benefit to me for as long as it needed to continue. Perhaps that’s not the case of all people. Others might find it to be a terrible state of affairs, but I found it to be a positive experience. It was like for a period of time I needed to go into myself in order to move forward with my work.

Is it right that some of the figures in your paintings suggest the postures of farming people in

the countryside？

The gesture and mood of the figures is definitely related to daily life. But I only really became aware of this after the fact. In the beginning it was a bit hazy, or related to my own subtle sense of difference. You know, like coming from my home town to have Xi’an before my eyes, even a simple greeting could prompt a violent emotion. My home in really in the countryside, and after studying in Xi’an I resisted going back home for years. I didn’t dare return, for reasons that are curious, strange, or just childish. As I carried on painting, I began to find some clarity. In 2007, this produced some positive change.

Do you feel that Shaanxi culture has an influence on your painting?

A little. Around 2003 or 2004, it was of interest to me for a while. Then I got tired of it. But it’s definitely there. Not that it is conscious. What I seek is something that’s hard to put into words, an intangible quality, beyond words. Hard to say.

You also work a lot on paper?

Yes, not sure why. Part of the process of repeating. In the beginning, with the painted surface thinner, I think it was about developing technique. Once I’d overcome that, I’d found a feeling for paper so I carried on. Still, it was really about repetition. I’d start a head and think it was going well, but the process of painting one would reveal all manner of problems. So you start again. By the time of the tenth, you’re hating the image, wondering why it always creates problems. You force yourself to continue and then one day, a transformation occurs. It all works. I have faith in this kind of transformation.

The scale of your works varies widely. Can you talk about that?

It’s a very important part of my painting. I might make a small painting and want to make a larger one after, but find it doesn’t work because there’s some kind of fault in the composition or form. One work might feel just right, but as soon as the scale is altered the feeling changes and you corrupt the original idea. I’m very clear about this issue. When I start painting a figure, a large part of the canvas is already dark. For example, the figure stands in the upper half, but if the canvas is landscape not portrait the composition falls apart. When you realise this, you start to work differently. It forces you to seek out the right feeling. That feeling is very different at two metres than at 20 centimetres. I have the idea of painting figures at their original size, but I have yet to reach that target.

Generally speaking, how do you decide if a painting has gone wrong?

Because I can compare it with previous paintings. I think all artists do that. I never stop comparing. A few years ago, the studio was full of paintings that I was kind of happy with. After a while, I would go back and look at them, compare them with new works. It allowed me to be like those students preparing for the exam, able to see how I was doing. It helps me to see clearly. At least to judge that quality I am seeking. It’s not about a concept, or about art history, or tradition, or even a conventional value judgement. But there’s some elusive quality there which is very important. Not that I can really describe it in words.

So looking back from today, how would you describe your development?

I’ve certainly made progress. That much is obvious I think in ways subtle and significant. You can see by comparing the works. The paintings have become stronger, have become more focused. There is still a gap I feel between what I paint and what I have in my head, but that is lessening. Each time I begin a new painting I have no idea where it will go, I just know I want to paint. And then, through time and effort it comes clear. The painting tells me what it needs, and when it’s done. That’s all I know.

You can take several years to complete a painting?

Some of them, yes. But also true to say that some of them need time. I need to wait for them to be ready. I have to persist. With some paintings the feeling is right immediately, others are more elusive. But it doesn’t matter to me. I prefer the paintings to be obtuse rather than obvious. It can take a long time to reach that level of mystery. Sometimes I can spend a lot of time thinking about a form before I paint it and it still takes a couple of years to reveal itself to me. Even then, it might all go awry.

What about the works in the exhibition?

All except one are works begun before, or around, 2010. Since that time there has been some clear change in my style. But 2010 was an important time for me too. The works seemed to be moving in the right direction. Up to that point they had been stuck in the surface, bogged down and unable to escape. But then things began to change, from the form to the space, to the feeling. I felt them becoming stronger. But that was only my feeling.

What’s your attitude towards contemporary art?

No idea. Really no idea. But in recent years, people who have seen my paintings tell me that they are not contemporary. As I said, I don’t get out much. Around 2003, I couldn’t stand the term contemporary. But now, ten years on, I’ve seen but a few exhibitions. I’ve not see any video or installation works. I think they’re prpbably great, but for me there are many constraints. I can only focus on my own work to the best of my ability.

Have you participated in many exhibitions?

Twice. It’s different seeing paintings in an exhibition than in the studio. It’s like they’ve nothing to do with me. In the studio, we have a very intimate relationship, it’s harder to see the flaws. The first time was in Shanghai, hung on a white wall, standing four or five metres away, it was almost invisible. A piece of white in the midst of a black canvas, a heavy feeling for the viewer. But the painting was a bit oppressive even though that was not my aim and I work hard to minimize it.

Do you read much?

Before, I used to like to, but not now. I don’t really have time. Probably because I don’t have a concept of leisure time, well, in these last two years a little. I watch TV dramas at home but I spend most of my time in the studio. Painting is an exhausting activity, it makes your shoulders ache. So, no I don’t read much, and then only books that I have already read.

What about art books?

Mostly literature actually. I prefer poetry. I looked at too many art books before perhaps.

Does this have to do with finding a routine in life?

Yes. I don’t know what it is exactly. I find that the deeper I go into painting, my own state is increasingly important. I don’t mean about paintings being good or bad, but about painting occupying a central place in my life. It gives me purpose. Maybe I feel like I’m getting older. If any of these things can be said to have meaning for me, it’s only that they remind me of the past. I often find myself talking to myself, but I now have a slightly more relaxed approach to my work. It’s not like I have to paint every moment I am in the studio. Before, if there was anyone else around I couldn’t paint. I’m more relaxed now.

Is painting important?

It is to me! Even though there are already innumerable masterpieces, to the point where everything seems to have been done, still painting is important. In a general way, it affects but subtle impact on life, but it is still important. Especially for my life. The differences in style and form may be very minor, but they have their meaning, even though they have a minor impact upon individual lives. For me, painting comes closest to the state of my inner world. Perhaps it has no significant value, but of significance for me is that it leads me back to myself. But what do I know?