Tong Wang : My Art Itself Is a World
王彤：我的艺术本身就是个世界
“王彤的作品为我们提供了一个能够超越现状的视觉，强调神秘性，让想象的世界成为我们日常生活的一部分。他对世界的体验可以比拟为英国著名艺术家威廉·布莱克所描述的：
“Tong Wang ’s works offer us a vision that transcends the present condition. They emphasize a sense of mystery, allowing the imagined world to become an integral part of our everyday lives. His experience of the world can be likened to what the renowned British artist William Blake once described:
一沙一世界，一花一天堂
双手握无限，刹那是永恒
To see a world in a grain of sand, And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.
双手握无限，刹那是永恒
To see a world in a grain of sand, And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.
王彤毋庸置疑是一个令人印象深刻的例子，一个连接传统与创新并且为东西方艺术表现形式之间创造新的视觉对话的中国艺术家。他的作品将中国和全球的观点融合在一起，形成具有艺术说服力的综合体。”
Tong Wang is undoubtedly a striking example—a Chinese artist who bridges tradition and innovation while forging a new visual dialogue between Eastern and Western modes of artistic expression. His works merge Chinese and global perspectives into a compelling artistic synthesis.
——Else Marie Bukdahl, D.Phil. (Denmark)
Doctor, Professor, renowned Nordic art critic. Former Rector of the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts, former Chair of the Carlsberg Foundation; Member of the Royal Danish Academy
“在创作中，我既是第一个创造者，也是第一个欣赏者，所有的创作过程一定要通过我的心。创作的时候同时也要把自己清空，让自己回到最初的状态，回到那个干干凈凈的，就像刚出生的那个样子，不带任何偏见，不带任何观点来创作。”
“In the act of creation, I am both the first creator and the first viewer—every part of the process must pass through my heart. At the same time, I must empty myself, returning to an original state—clean and pure, like a newborn—creating without prejudice, without preconceived ideas or opinions.”
——王彤 Tong Wang
我出生在大连金县，大约5岁时全家搬到辽宁朝阳，可以说朝阳是我的家乡。我们住在地质队家属院，那是一排排白瓦红砖的平房，墙上全写着标语和口号，我们那栋房子墙上写的标语是“团结，紧张，严肃，活泼！”。
后来每家都垒起自家小院，我家的墙上就剩下了“肃，活泼”了。那时几乎家家都养鸡和猪，若有养狗的人家，那么，我们小孩子就尽量不经过他们的家门口。
每一家后来都在院子种树，我家院子里就有一棵杏树和一棵杨树。我画过一张以家为主题的水彩画，画面的中心是一个贴着对联的蓝色大门，右面晾着衣服，左面是杏树枝干，在冬日温暖的阳光下，我的家就像城市里的世外桃源。那张画我还保存着，但画中的房屋早已不在。
我从16岁到26岁，一直生活在鲁迅美术学院。那个时候，不仅仅是我，而是我同一时代的年轻人都对中国以外的任何地方充满好奇心。
I was born in Jin County, Dalian, and around the age of five, my family moved to Chaoyang in Liaoning Province. In many ways, I consider Chaoyang my hometown. We lived in the housing compound for the geological survey team—rows of red-brick bungalows with white-tiled roofs. Slogans and political catchphrases were painted on the walls. The one on our building read: “Unity, Tension, Seriousness, Liveliness!”
Later, every household built their own little yard, and on our wall, only the characters “Seriousness” and “Liveliness” remained. At that time, nearly every family raised chickens and pigs, and if someone had a dog, we children would avoid walking past their front door.
Eventually, everyone planted trees in their yards. In ours, we had an apricot tree and a poplar. I once painted a watercolor of my home. At the center of the composition is a blue gate with Spring Festival couplets pasted on it; on the right, clothes hang drying; on the left, branches of the apricot tree stretch out. Bathed in the warm winter sunlight, my home felt like a hidden paradise in the middle of the city. I still have that painting, though the house it depicts is long gone.
From the age of sixteen to twenty-six, I lived at the Lu Xun Academy of Fine Arts. At that time, not just me, but many young people of my generation were filled with a deep curiosity about anywhere beyond China.
留校三年后，也就是我在鲁美整十年了。当时我觉得十年的时间太久了，仿佛我就在鲁美的院子里长大似的。记得当年我那宿舍，窗户上挂的不是窗帘，挂的是棉被，看不到外面的光，就像把自己封闭起来的状态。
我曾带着学生去北方的农村画画，也去过内蒙古锡林郭勒草原，我自己也去过西双版纳，后来，我只想到国外的任何一个国家去体验，看看与我们有不同生活的人和文化。
我的目的地是哥本哈根，但是火车票的终点是柏林。现在想起来，我甚至不敢做第二次那样的旅行了。当时，我所办过的签证有蒙古国，波兰，苏联，东德，西德，南斯拉夫，然后才是丹麦。我的第一本护照上贴满了花花绿绿的签证，非常好看。
在欧洲生活了这么多年，我常在梦中梦见我姥爷（外公），在梦里，我们用瑞典语对话。你或许会觉得奇怪，但因为长久地生活在瑞典语的环境里，就一点不奇怪了。现在已经到了什么程度了呢？无论我在哪儿，我都能有在家的感觉。这种生活方式还是能够最大限度地让我自己来决定我未来怎么生活。
Three years after staying on to teach, I had spent a full decade at the Lu Xun Academy of Fine Arts. At the time, ten years felt like an eternity—as if I had grown up right there in the academy courtyard. I still remember my old dorm room: instead of curtains, we hung thick quilts over the windows, completely blocking out the light. It was like living in a sealed-off world.
I once took my students to rural northern villages to sketch from life, and we also went to the Xilingol Grasslands in Inner Mongolia. I traveled on my own to Xishuangbanna as well. But afterward, all I wanted was to experience life in any country outside China—to see people and cultures that were different from our own.
My intended destination was Copenhagen, but the train ticket ended in Berlin. Looking back now, I don’t think I’d dare take that kind of journey again. At the time, my travel visa included Mongolia, Poland, the Soviet Union, East Germany, West Germany, Yugoslavia—and only then Denmark. My very first passport was filled with colorful visa stamps; it was quite beautiful.
After living in Europe for so many years, I often dream of my grandfather. In those dreams, we speak Swedish. You might find that strange, but after spending so long in a Swedish-speaking environment, it really isn’t surprising. By now, I’ve reached a point where—wherever I am—I can feel at home. And this way of living allows me, more than anything else, to decide for myself how I want to live in the future.
画面的风格上，欧洲化或者中国化都不是我考虑的问题，我不会刻意让自己去接近某种特定的图像方式，我就只想着怎样能更接近自己的内心，有什么感受，就把它表现出来。我不会把中西方艺术当成是两种完全不同的东西，我觉得世界上所有的文化遗产，都是人类共通的文化遗产。我曾经拿“诗中有画，画中有诗”这个意境来看西方的风景画，我也会拿中国画的“飞白”去研究西方的艺术。我看到的是绘画的共通之处。
我认为，画的背后是同一个道理。所谓的中国画或者油画，只是材料不同而已。所有的画种，在根基上、在本质上是一致的。画不好国画的人，油画同样也画不好。
比起笔墨功底，我更喜欢孩子没有学过画画的那种幼稚的感觉。那些被中国画排斥的、不合规则的图像方式和技法东西我都很喜欢。我用了很多年才画出自己情感里的东西。
当年在鲁美国画系，我画了一张叫《母亲》的探索性的国画，画的是在人间的那种爱、动物之间的爱。一个年轻的母亲抱着孩子、远处一头老牛在注视着小牛……
当时把这张画曾送去参加全国国画第六届美展时被拒绝了，原因是说我的画不像是中国画。实际上，我从小耳濡目染父亲画山水画，总觉得只有笔墨和宣纸的世界是枯燥无味的，更何况，古人的笔墨与意境是我们现代人无法逾越的巅峰。那时，我就完全不在意画的材质和技法了，就是想要打破传统绘画的图像方式。
In terms of visual style, I’ve never concerned myself with whether my work appears more “European” or “Chinese.” I don’t deliberately try to align with any specific visual language. What matters to me is getting closer to my own inner self—whatever I feel, I try to express it. I don’t view Eastern and Western art as two fundamentally separate things. To me, all cultural heritage in the world is shared—it’s the common legacy of humanity.
I’ve looked at Western landscape painting through the lens of the Chinese notion of “painting within poetry, poetry within painting,” and I’ve used the Chinese concept of feibai (flying white brushwork) to study Western art. What I focus on are the universal aspects of painting.
I believe the essence behind all painting is the same. So-called “Chinese painting” or “oil painting” differ only in materials. At their core, at their roots, all forms of painting are aligned. Someone who can’t paint well in Chinese ink probably won’t paint well in oils either.
More than brushwork skills, I prefer the childlike simplicity of someone who’s never studied art. I’m drawn to image-making and techniques that Chinese painting tends to reject—those that break the rules. It took me many years before I was able to express the emotions truly within me.
Back when I was in the Chinese painting department at Luxun Academy, I created an experimental work titled Mother. It depicted human love—love between beings, including animals. A young mother holds her child, while in the distance an old cow gazes at her calf…
I submitted the painting to the 6th National Exhibition of Chinese Painting, but it was rejected. The reason given was: “It doesn’t look like Chinese painting.” The truth is, growing up watching my father paint landscapes, I always found the world of ink and xuan paper somewhat dull. What’s more, the brushwork and spiritual heights reached by the ancients are peaks modern people can hardly surpass.
So I stopped caring about materials and traditional techniques. I simply wanted to break the conventional image system of traditional painting.
毕业创作的时候，大部分老师都还觉得我的画太不像中国画，无法理解在国画系毕业的学生怎么会这样绘画。可是，年轻的艺术家和学生们都特别喜欢，我也很高兴自己做了一些探索性的创作。
后来，我又把这幅落选作品送去参加1985年的《国际青年》中国青年画家在中国美术馆的画展，有趣的是，它居然还获了铜奖。再后来，我慢慢意识到，所有的艺术创作，不仅仅是中国画或者油画的问题，而是艺术观念的问题。
首先，我们是一个人。我们写的、画的，都是我们自己的人文价值观。我觉得一个优秀的艺术家首先要有敏锐的视角，要触及非常宽泛的题材。他所看到的，或者说是触及到的东西，都能变成艺术品，只是选择不同的材料和语言。
我从中国画走入油画，后来又走回中国画，更确切地说是水墨画，这样地来回地比较、借鉴。直到今天，我也没法给自己下定义，自己是哪一类的艺术家，其实我也不想这样做。
For my graduation project, most of the instructors still felt that my painting didn’t resemble Chinese painting at all. They couldn’t understand how a student from the Chinese painting department could create something like that. But the younger artists and students loved it—and I was glad to have done something exploratory.
Later, I submitted that same rejected work to the 1985 International Youth Exhibition of Young Chinese Artists at the National Art Museum of China. Interestingly, it ended up winning a bronze award. That experience made me gradually realize that all artistic creation is not merely a matter of “Chinese painting” or “oil painting”—it’s ultimately a question of artistic vision.
First and foremost, we are human beings. What we write, what we paint—these are expressions of our personal values and cultural perspective. I believe a great artist must first possess a sharp eye and the ability to engage with a broad range of subjects. Whatever they see—or come into contact with—can be transformed into art. It’s just a matter of choosing different materials and languages to express it.
I moved from Chinese painting into oil painting, and later returned to ink painting—more precisely, shuimo (ink and wash). Through this back-and-forth, I’ve constantly compared and borrowed between traditions. Even now, I can’t define what kind of artist I am—and honestly, I don’t want to.
<无相风景 Formless Landscape >
“人物在风景画中既不是主角也不是配角，他自己就是风景。
艺术与美无关，它和宗教一样仅仅是艺术家个人化的精神感和体验。
面对风景，假如没有一个当代人对环境有着个人理解与忧患意识，假如看不到物象背后的世界，则没有动笔的必要。这就是‘环境意识’取代‘风景画’，这就是‘创作’取代‘摹写自然’。”
“In landscape painting, the figure is neither the protagonist nor the supporting role—he is the landscape.
Art has nothing to do with beauty. Like religion, it is simply the artist’s personal spiritual perception and experience.
When faced with a landscape, if a contemporary person lacks a personal understanding of the environment and a sense of its fragility, if they cannot perceive the world behind the visible forms, then there is no reason to lift the brush.
This is where ‘environmental awareness’ replaces ‘landscape painting’—where ‘creation’ replaces ‘copying nature.’”
——王彤 Tong Wang
我们通常认为，在镜子中看到的自己是最真实的。而实际上，所谓的真实或事实，都很难只从一个角度把握。也就是说，我不知道看到的究竟是不是我自己。这个在生活中最常见的镜子，就足以让我们想到诸多问题，因为这正是有关于这个世界最本真的问题。
其实，我们可以发问的，岂止是镜子中的自我。作为艺术家，他一定要向这世界上的任何东西提出质疑。
我觉得自己一直在变，艺术也是如此。很多人觉得我绘画的风格，变化是非常大的。实际上，绘画作品就像日记一样，它就是在记录我每天情绪上的波动。
艺术首先是一种特别强大的创造性。这种创造性，不是一个那么简单的表达和反映或者折射，它是一种创造。创造，可能是化腐朽为神奇，也有可能是无中生有；可能是延续了前人的东西，也可能是对前人东西的彻底否定和毁灭。
We often believe that the image we see in the mirror is the most truthful version of ourselves. But in reality, so-called “truth” or “fact” is rarely grasped from a single perspective. In other words, I’m never quite sure whether what I see is truly myself. That everyday object—the mirror—is enough to provoke countless questions, because it touches on something fundamental: the very nature of reality in this world.
In fact, it’s not only the self in the mirror that we can question. As an artist, one must be willing to question everything in the world.
I feel that I am constantly changing—and so is art. Many people think that the style of my painting changes drastically over time. But in truth, my work is like a diary, recording the emotional shifts I experience each day.
Art, first and foremost, is a powerful act of creation. And this creativity isn’t merely about expressing, reflecting, or mirroring something—it’s about creating. Creation can mean transforming the decayed into something magical, or bringing something into existence from nothing. It may involve continuing what has come before, or it may mean completely negating and destroying the past.
我试图使我的艺术不要承载太多的包袱。艺术总要表达点什么，也不能纯粹是为艺术而艺术。艺术和真实、现实和美没有直接关系，我们每天面对的日常生活，之于我没有太大的意义。我觉得更重要的是什么呢？是通过我的画，来创造另外的一种真实。
现在，我根本不必刻意想着去创新，我会听从人性本身的要求。你要是太热的话就想冷一些，你要太寂寞的话就想热闹一点。人的生命本身，在不断要求你变换，更何况世界是这么丰富，变换的条件和素材到处都是，太多了，顺应就好。
我真正给大家展示的那种神秘，也不是神秘。真正的神秘和秘密，那是人类永远不要知道的。因为我们人啊，首先，要知道我们人是一个什么样的存在？人是非常可怜的。我们既不伟大，也不渺小，我们是非常非常脆弱的一种生命，似乎任何东西都能伤害到我们。
I try not to let my art carry too much burden. Art must express something—but it can’t be purely art for art’s sake. Art has no direct relationship with truth, reality, or beauty. The everyday life we face doesn’t hold much meaning for me. What’s more important, I think, is to use my painting to create another kind of reality.
These days, I no longer feel the need to deliberately pursue innovation. I simply respond to the natural impulses of being human. If you’re too hot, you crave coolness; if you’re too lonely, you seek company. Life itself keeps urging you to change. And considering how rich and ever-changing the world is—with inspiration and material everywhere—it’s more than enough to simply go with the flow.
What I reveal to people as “mystery” in my work isn’t really mystery. True mystery—true secrets—are those that humanity should never uncover. Because before anything else, we must ask: what kind of beings are we, really? Humans are, in fact, pitiable. We are neither truly great nor truly small—we are fragile. So fragile that almost anything in the world can hurt us.
所以，我觉得这种生命呢，大家只要把握住自己就好了。我们也不必想太多，觉得有多神秘啊，我能理解啊。不必由于圣人的言行，就觉得人性如何光辉起来；或者由于有恶人的品格，就会让人觉得人性是不可挽救的。这些，实际上都与自己无关，没有太多的关联。
有时候，艺术会出现很多似乎没有关联的东西，这也是在我艺术里面经常遇见的，我的艺术里也有很多批判。但是，我这种批判，不是针对时政，也不是针对我们当下生活的世界，而是对日常生活的一种反叛，是对自己的日常生活说一个很大的“不”字。因为，我没去反映这个世界，也不想表现这个世界，我的艺术本身，就是个世界。
对于艺术家来说，我并不想通过艺术给观众一种解答，因为这并不是一个结果。就像世界本身一样，有很多没法解释的问题，它仅仅是一个提问。以我的作品《思想者胖达》为例，实际上很少人知道它是一只熊猫，但是熊猫作为我们的国宝，大家太喜爱它了，在很多公共场合或者日常用品都会有熊猫的形象。因此，我想把“熊猫”做成一个思想者，做成像罗丹一样的思想者，左手托着腮，右手拿着一支笔，面前放着两桶颜料，在思考“我该怎么办？”它在思考给自己画什么颜色？它可能在想，也许我就满足自己做了这样一只白熊，或者我要做一个彩色的熊猫。
就像人一样，我们永远面临着这样的人生抉择，也就是“be or not to be ”。
So, I feel that as living beings, the most important thing is simply to hold onto ourselves. There’s no need to overthink things or obsess over what’s mysterious. I understand the impulse—but we don’t need to assume that humanity shines just because a sage once said something noble, nor do we need to believe that human nature is beyond redemption because of the actions of some villain. In truth, these things have little to do with us personally. They’re not directly connected to who we are.
Sometimes, art presents elements that seem unrelated—this often happens in my work. There’s a lot of critique in my art, but not of politics or of the world we live in today. Rather, it’s a rebellion against the routines of everyday life—a way of saying a bold “No” to my own daily existence. Because I don’t aim to reflect the world or portray it—my art is a world.
As an artist, I don’t intend to offer viewers answers through my work, because art isn’t about giving conclusions. Much like the world itself, it contains countless unexplainable questions. Art is, fundamentally, a way of asking.
Take my piece Thinking Panda as an example. Few people realize it’s a panda. But pandas, as China’s national treasure, are beloved by everyone. We see them everywhere—in public spaces, on daily products. So, I wanted to turn this panda into a “thinker,” like Rodin’s The Thinker—resting its left hand on its cheek, holding a pen in its right, with two buckets of paint in front of it, pondering: “What should I do?” It’s thinking about what color it should paint itself. Maybe it’s wondering, “Am I content being a plain white bear? Or should I become a colorful panda?”
Just like humans—we are always facing such life choices. It’s the eternal question:
“To be or not to be.”
——王彤 Tong Wang