Warm and Deranged Vacillation

By Hong Lei

Clearly, Chunmu’s paintings originate from the secret depth of his heart. And I happen to have a desire to make conjectures of the origin of these bizarre images, the formation of these floating phantoms, the corner that encourages the wanton growth of mould, as well as that frenzied soul, the frenzied swinging of frenzied states of mind…

When Baudelaire was writing his Le Spleen de Paris he was “constantly in discussion with his own heart and soul”. Perhaps Chunmu is also discussing with his heart on a daily basis? But the result of the discussions is a Dalian surmise, “nothing more than tender, extravagant, solitary and paranoid-critical Camembert of time and space.” Could it be that the subjects of Chunmu’s paintings are time and space? Or are they merely the paranoiac criticisms of a solitary man?

Firstly, Chunmu’s “Mildew-Flowers” series is both realistic, insofar as it relates to his existence, and surrealistic, insofar as it is a portrait of his soul. We may imagine a damp village in northern Fujian, a dampness that twines around Chunmu and will forever linger on, as well as an idyllic childhood full of spotted traces of mold? This soft and sweet childhood dream, mixed with the extravagant fantasies Chunmu constructed in his childhood, became, after he matured in adulthood, a way to rationally examine life. As if he were a microscope, he has magnified for us to see the prelude to decay after life withers. This requires him to confront it with composure and courage, and to construct with reason and rationality. We may also imagine every sunset hour, Chunmu sitting in his dimly-lit studio, drinking intensely aromatic wulong tea from his hometown, Anxi, holding his painting brushes and creating for us dreams and fantasies with trembling fear as well as delight and agitation. And yet he does not at all care for how others perceive his work. The nauseating but extravagant and splendid smell of death it emits often compels people to reflect and introspect in suffocation. As for aesthetics, it becomes something like deranged catharsis.

We can also read from Chunmu’s “Growing on Foreign Land” series the same attachment to and nostalgia of his damp, mould-spotted, idyllic childhood. The warm, spineless molluscs from the “Mildew-Flowers” series disappeared. In their place several tree branches were painted with rapid brushstrokes, dried and wizened, lacking in passion. Could it be that Chunmu was really so fearful of foreign land? Danger, fear and barrenness are the themes of the “Growing on Foreign Land” series. It is hard for us to imagine the moment when a country youth, full of extravagant fantasies, leaves home. What fear must he have in his heart? Danger and barrenness were what Chunmu guessed foreign land to be like, and they were soon proved to be true in his mind. Those unhealthy woods are nowhere near as warm as the “mildew flowers” of childhood – the tense red and the sharp black tree trunks narrate the anxiety in Chunmu’s heart. Those trees rarely have roots. They stand in solitude and helplessness… I can feel Chunmu projecting his own suffering, helplessness and embarrassment while growing in foreign land. There is an indescribable sense of fear and despair. This is one of Chunmu’s virtues, the virtue of a strong will that tenacious holds onto one’s home.

However, I cannot understand why Chunmu painted the “Genetic Mutation” series in a pseudo- cientific fashion. He tells the endless anxieties and anxiousness in his heart through doomsday-like simulated illusions. This is an even more rational fear after experiencing the fear and aranoia of “foreign lands”. It in fact is a metaphor for an inner fear universal to modern man. We can see, against the dark red coloured background, like an abyss of fire, plants growing in melancholy? in hesitation? I am moved by classical melancholy such as this.

In this world of modern civilisation – the rampancy of diseases, cloning – the destiny of mankind seems to be reaching its edge. We can surely believe the painful conjectures of Chunmu who had sweet childhood dreams. How will we prepare ourselves for terrible crises?

I like Chunmu’s paintings, because of his uncertainty and indecisiveness, indecisive about his subject, or it is the subject’s uncertainty, because what he narrates is a mood, a contemporary postmodern mood. Because of his indecisiveness, also because his painting techniques are not confined to oil painting, at times Expressionist and other times Surrealist, when we look at Chunmu’s paintings we are always bewildered by his multifarious symbolic messages. His narratives, his mood, choke me.

This kind of trance and vacillating indecisiveness, is what I like.