8:41
Carol Yinghua Lu
As I was saying earlier, when we started to conceive the theme for the Triennale, we had already been through two years of lockdown. It was not only a great strain on our physical state, but also a challenge to our mental and psychological conditions. This experience made us reflect a lot on the historical processes that brought us to this moment. We were eager to understand why this happened, why there were so many differences in opinions, and why ideological tensions over approaches to COVID control became so heated. We were really thinking hard about the social, political, intellectual processes that contributed to that difficult condition we were in.
At the same time, we reflected on the biennale and triennale format—these international exhibitions that have, since the 1990s, become a major platform for presenting and producing contemporary art. We felt that it was a moment to reassess and reevaluate such an exhibition format. As the world began reconnecting and reopening, quite a great number of biennales and triennales resumed their causes. So they began to open again, they were suspended during COVID, and they began to announce their upcoming opening dates. During that time, we sensed a fatigue surrounding biennales and triennales, as if they had lost much of their momentum and relevance. Since we were about to direct one ourselves, we wanted to reflect on and understand why this was the case.
We thought about the process of how the triennale and biennale came about and realised that some of the problems with biennales and triennales today are that many of these exhibitions are based on certain research, news, or timely issues but lack historical depth. As a result, much of the discussion on social conditions and issues remains superficial; it has become very flat.
We also felt that many large-scale exhibitions have turned into spectacles, more like entertaining events, rather than presenting very serious and in-depth historical discussion or serious engagement with important issues. We felt that the art market discourse has, to some extent, hijacked these large-scale exhibitions, making them more commercialised and entertaining, as I was saying.
We wanted to look for a theme that could contend, or address some of our concerns, and so we turned to Lu Xun because his book, ‘Wild Grass’, was written exactly 100 years ago. When he wrote it, he was in his middle age, just as Liu Ding and I are now. On a personal level, we identify with Lu Xun in his self-reflection and confrontation with his own frustrations as a middle-aged person in a society full of challenges. Chinese society at that time was extremely turbulent and unstable, filled with wars and conflicts. It was a society that had undergone a revolution, but a new social order had not yet come about, so frustration and depression became central themes in ‘Wild Grass’.
While ‘Wild Grass’ was written about hopelessness and despair, it was also about the resilience and agency of the individual. Instead of us preparing for the complete or perfect order in the discourse of modernism, this work was very much talking about individual agency and having the courage to confront desperation head-on. We found a great parallel between the social reality of 100 years ago and the current turbulent society–full of conflicts, wars, and disasters. It is so uncertain, and everyone has a great sense of frustration and hopelessness. These are shared feelings that we can identify with in Lu Xun’s work. We wanted to write the ‘Wild Grass’ of today through the Yokohama Triennale.