| China is experiencing a new revolution as of late. This one however, doesn’t involve guns and tanks. Instead its weapons of attack are everything from bronze to fiberglass to stainless steel. There are many new voices emerging in Chinese contemporary sculpture, with Qu Guangci sitting at the forefront—and he doesn’t seem to care whether the art world is comfortable or not. Qu’s sculptures use simple materials juxtaposed with complex subject matter. Each piece challenges the evolving faces of Chinese contemporary art with thoughtful perspectives that mesh pseudo-patriotic homage with near-insurgent ideologies. | 
|
By Adam Sherrett
China is experiencing a new revolution as of late. This one however, doesn’t involve guns and tanks. Instead its weapons of attack are everything from bronze to fiberglass to stainless steel. There are many new voices emerging in Chinese contemporary sculpture, with Qu Guangci sitting at the forefront—and he doesn’t seem to care whether the art world is comfortable or not.
Qu’s sculptures use simple materials juxtaposed with complex subject matter. Each piece challenges the evolving faces of Chinese contemporary art with thoughtful perspectives that mesh pseudo-patriotic homage with near-insurgent ideologies. Qu’s works carefully question the images and realities of the past while remaining firmly planted in the present. No subject is too controversial, and no voice is too loud. Whether it’s a group of heavy-headed butchers chasing a rat in Knife Gang (2007) or the faceless masses frozen in civil unrest in No Labor Dumb Million (2003), the work of Qu expresses an edgy dynamic with a comforting familiarity.
Past exhibitions from Qu have seen the artist question the importance of revolutionary icons like Mao Zedong and his infamous Red Guards. In New Mao (2003), Qu jabs at China’s past with five life-size statues of Mao coated in stainless steel. The figures not only exude the cold reality of the Cultural Revolution, but they also turn the revolutionary leader into a neo-political toy. The same goes for Qu’s No Soldier (2003), a display of three faceless soldiers walking in stride. At one point these soldiers may have had individual voices, but in the eyes of a country on the brink of civil war, they walk, talk, and appear in a muted unison.
Each of Qu’s political sculptures questions the importance of China’s past by walking a fine line between social commentary and iconographic drollery. The works objectify China’s past revolutions, morphing past and present voices with recognizable scenes, mildly controversial subject matter, and subversively witty undertones.
Qu’s latest work has seen him move from the political to social with a cartoonish irony that involves fantastical characters stuck in scenes of distress. What’s interesting is that none appear to have any urgency. Instead, they almost seem comfortable with their inability to escape their dire pasts. Last Supper—Who Moved My Sofa (2007) involves six oversize characters dressed in Red Army attire. All seem more concerned with their own situations instead of what might be going on outside. It’s would be almost tragic if it weren’t for the stubby figures, dramatic expressions, and uncomfortably form-fitting outfits.
The work of Qu may seem a bit too ironic for some; however, it’s his steady realism and pop commodification that helps the viewer confront revolutionary ideas while questioning a country often stuck in its controversial past.
