Ai Weiwei is now in 'exile' in Portugal. He has a new show at the Cordoaria Nacional entitled "Rapture". The show reminds me so much of his show at Alcatraz that we saw in 2015, when Ai was confined at home ('kidnapped'), his passport confiscated. The big difference is that the artwork is shown in a single, extremely long space rather than a series of discrete 'cells' – the Cordoaria is a building that was used to make rope (you can still see the pulleys, tracks, and measure marks).
The first piece, at the show's entrance, is an archway made of bicycles. Stand on-axis, and the assemblage becomes a blur of motion (nothing is in motion); stand at an angle, and it becomes a jumble of parts; stand at the side, and the order becomes clear.
Upon entering, the next piece is a long snake made from backpacks. Beautifully assembled, sinuous, but playful, the serpent works very much like the dragon kite we saw at Alcatraz – both sinister and silly. The backpacks represent, in number, the children killed by a 2008 earthquake in Sichuan. Simply counting the children is an authority-defying act, as the Chinese Communists do not want the world, or its own citizens, to know the truth – a fitting point in these days of pandemic data collection.
From the entrance, the docent explains, we can go left to the 'reality' side, or right to the 'fantasy' side; we go to the right.
The first 'fantasy' object is a kind of over-sized 'Flintstones' car wheel. At first I think it might be part of the rope-making, but it is, in fact, a scaled-up roll of toilet paper executed in darkly-seamed Portuguese marble. The perfect pandemic-era starter, it reminds me very much of the highly-grained bathroom tile that seems popular here (we're apartment hunting again). Of the pandemic, Ai says, "This unbridled demand for toilet paper represents the insecurity and mistrust of people in the system in which they live."
Next, is a low, circular platform covered in hand-carved, toy-like objects or 'votive figures': heads, skulls, hands with middle fingers extended, trucks full of people, boats full of people, tanks, weapons, body parts. The artisans are from Brazil, and the images obviously represent things from their daily lives. One imagines that by playing or praying, one can tell a different story or maybe change an outcome.
Then we have the large 'bird's wing' (which we did see at Alcatraz). The 'feathers' are made from Tibetan solar cookers, and many of the hot water kettles are still suspended there.
In the next space, the artwork is moved to the periphery – to the walls, the ceilings and floors. On either side are portraits of Chinese astrological animals. Initially, I think these are low-bit graphics applied to panels, but they are made of Lego (again, similar to the portraits we saw at Alcatraz).
I recall a podcast about animals heads looted from a fountain at the Summer Palace, the Yuanming Yuan – The Twelves Heads from the Garden of Perfect Brightness. In the story, an exclusive art auction is sabotaged by a Chinese agent demanding that the heads be returned to China. Ai becomes part of the story when he claims the heads are not cultural relics, but 'pieces of propaganda'.
So Ai casts his own 'fake' animal heads, and sends them on a world tour. As he points out, the Communist Party had no problem destroying old relics during the Cultural Revolution: "China has been victimized by the imperial states, but—still China is a bigger victim by its own government."
After listening to the podcast and reading up on this, I am glad to see the actual artwork today.
Suspended from the ceiling, above the line of animal heads are kite-like constructions of mythical creatures, somewhere between demons and angels: multi-headed winged reptiles, cow-warriors, translucent hybrid dragons. Some figures are more complete than others; some have no tissue at all. The various states of assembly actually highlight the paper lantern and kite-making techniques used by the artisans from Shandong.
As the floating parade of 'chimera' continues, they are joined on the floor by what looks like a dirty, old rug, but it is a carpet runner meticulously-made to resemble the tracks of a tank. It's meant to remind us of the 'tank man' from Tiananmen Square, and is woven like a tapestry, with colored and textured detail to appear as cracked earth, broken pottery, and dead grass.
Leaning against the side wall is an animal skin, with a kind of poem created by scarring the hide with the brand marks from various ranches or farms – a play on the idea of brands, ownership, mass production, and subjugation. The typography is savage and lovely.
At the end of the hall is a life raft made of bamboo, and carrying a number of human and human-like refugees; some appear to be the astrological animals (this type of boat is known as a 'zodiac'). You are forced to strain a bit to focus the forms and faces, but the kites have prepared us to consider these pieces. The boat reminds me of the small, hand-carved objects from earlier in the show, and of course brings together the animal heads, the kite construction, and the stories of the refugees. Around the base are quotes and poems that help tell the story of human and artistic displacement.
Then, on the far wall, is an enormous panel of Portuguese azulejos. It is a history of human wandering. In exile from his homeland, as he wanders the world, Ai energizes the local crafts-peoples and artisans to tell their versions of this shared human narrative. It's no different now that he's made the Alentejo his new home – Portugal's traditional trades of stone work, textiles, tiles, and cork are all represented at this show.
On the long walk back to 'reality', I can stop to check the smaller works and get up close to the Lego portraits. Off to one side, there are a number of photographs of Ai giving the middle finger to iconic buildings and places: the Mona Lisa, the Sydney Opera House, the Eiffel Tower, the White House.
Upon entering the other side, we are first confronted by a self-portrait, sculpted using a CNC milling machine in cork. It is Ai, with the top part of his head absent, seated in a knotty wood chair, handcuffed to the armrest. He seems to be emotionless, staring strait ahead – and we soon learn why.
Just beyond the cork statue is a set of large, rusty boxes. These contain dioramas of Ai's imprisonment in 2011 for 'tax evasion'. At one end of each box is a window and ventilation fan; you can peer into Ai's cell, and see him eating, washing, being interrogated. At various points on the tops of the boxes, you can stand on a small step and peer down as well. The scenes are beautifully lit, and disturbingly life-like. In each case, Ai is being watched 'a little too closely' by two uniformed guards. In his cell is the same knotty wood chair from the cork self-portrait.
On the other side of the prison cells, there are stacks of rags. A closer inspection reveals that it's a map of China, and as I turn the corner, a map of the world. I'm uncertain why some island nations are shallower than the continents (ie Japan, Iceland) – do the smaller stacks become unstable at height? I also like how thin peninsulas like Baja California just hang, shapeless, from the main landform.
On the other side of this map, are smaller cases with 'manufactured' objects rendered in 'artisanal' materials: hand-cuffs in wood, a hard-hat in marble, inner-tubes in stone, a puzzle game in porcelain, another roll of toilet paper – in each case, the transformation seems to make the object, perhaps, more valuable, but less 'useable'.
Lego portraits in reverse, these are less 'repeatable'. However, they do blur the distinction between objects of 'reality' and 'fantasy', asking: which are more common? which are easier to mass-produce?
The floor opens again and there is a tower of porcelain jars with familiar images of tanks, refugees, encampments, and dragons. Beyond that, there is another over-sized lifeboat, this one made of black, inflatable plastic.
On the far wall is a wallpaper mural with the same images as from the other end, a history of human wandering, theme and variation. Nations are abstract, we make them up. Yet our species invests nearly all its time and treasure creating and enforcing them – and manufacturing so much suffering. Still, the search for 'belonging' is as universal as it is personal, theme and variation.
I can think of no better way to spend the Fourth of July than to celebrate the work; appreciate the ideas of liberty, justice, and dignity; and examine what it means to make things of great value, versus the value of making a great many things.
As of July 2, several dozen 'Republican states', including Georgia, have stopped reporting daily COVID information, making the collection and graphing of the data a less meaningful exercise – fingers crossed that there will be some updates as time passes.
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