Duan Jianyu: After graduation, I thought Expressionism was overly Western, so I started to make images that utilized a conventional narrative approach or were relatively realist in style. The limitations of this approach meant that the narratives in my paintings were always linear, or perhaps quite literary. This was because I took a lot of inspiration from literature.

Since 2016, I’ve focused more on using series as a way to construct a cohesive structure through painting. Take for example my series “Sharp, Sharp, Smart,” which includes around twenty pieces. In this series, I am reflecting on the fusion of Chinese and Western culture, their continued evolution, and the collisions between them. This also touches upon discussions about rural life that I’ve been following. All these cultural and social phenomena come together in this series; the series is my attempt to synthesize this subject matter with the power of imagination. Moving from a linear narrative to a structured, complex narrative, my aim was to use this structure to bring together images that otherwise would never cross paths; to see whether it was possible to use my imagination to create some new encounters, generating new perspectives on the issues I explore.

Duan Jianyu: This work is called A Room of One’s Own, which, as you might guess, is reference to the seminal piece of writing by Virginia Woolf, often used a metaphor for a woman’s psychological space. Of course, in Woolf’s essay this is predicated on two conditions: physical space and financial independence. I believe that this psychological space is extremely important for women today. Giving the immense pressure we face in contemporary society, the question of how women can claim a space for themselves is one that everyone returns to again and again. If I compare life to the depths of the ocean, we are actually all in the same space, navigating forward in the darkness. In fact, each of us is alone, trying to figure out how to live within this space.

The daisy is a very common, unassuming flower, yet to me it represents the epitome of simplicity and purity. When I try to describe the relationship between mothers and daughters, it is the only thing that comes to mind. My mother is now in her 80s, and lives in a nursing home in Guangzhou. I frequently visit her, and our relationship is closer than it was over the past two decades, because we were living in different cities before. This recent time spent together has added layers of complexity to my feelings towards her. So, I wanted to make a painting like this. I think everyone’s relationship with their mother is simple and pure, yet can also give rise to the full spectrum of human emotions—happiness, anger, sorrow, and joy. It is actually the most complex relationship in the world.

Duan Jianyu: Through social media, I heard about a group of middle-aged women, age 40 or older, who like to wear “facekinis” when swimming at the seaside. At first I found this pretty funny, but gradually my reaction evolved into a sense of respect and admiration for them. I envied their boldness. From a young age, women are haunted by self-doubt, insecurity, and self-negation.

Why did I feel that images of these women were not particularly graceful or good-looking? And why did their eyes reveal such formidable strength? They seemed to not care one bit about the mockery, critical gazes, or gawking of onlookers. For me, their audacity is a type of female strength. I wondered if, after reaching 40, 50, or 60, having gone through so much already, women’s worldviews change. They put greater trust in their own power, and take ownership of their lives. So, I felt that images of this group of women were worth capturing, and I created this series. Of course, now—seven or eight years later—everyone is more open-minded about fashion. People are more curious about the facekini, and many young people have started wearing them too.

Duan Jianyu: I once had a pet rabbit, which lived for a bit more than three years. To tell the truth, the rabbit caused some friction within our family, but it brought with it the whole range of emotions, from joy to sorrow. So I decided to paint a portrait. Here, I’ve painted myself with extremely long fingernails. This was inspired by something I read on social media about growing out your fingernails. It made me think about the claws of a vampire or ancient demon. I thought that juxtaposing the imagery of the fingernails with that of the rabbit could evoke fables and legends, or create a visual tension between naivety and mysticism.

I’m one of those people who is totally captivated by social media. Even though it’s full of so much useless information that can completely overwhelm you, it nevertheless has had a major influence on my practice. From subject matter and imagery, to absurd events from everyday life, social media brings me a lot of inspiration.

Duan Jianyu: These two paintings, Dining Table (Front) and (Back) stem largely from my admiration for the work of Li Tiefu. While I was in college, some of his paintings were at the Guangzhou Museum of Art. At the time, I didn’t really like them. When I was young, I was rebellious by nature—I automatically didn’t like anything traditional or by painters recognized as “great.” However, after seeing a solo exhibition of his at the Beijing Fine Art Academy a few years ago, I began to re-think how I observed things and how I studied painting. I discovered that the work of those old-school painters, which I had previously found clichéd, was in fact down-to-earth and deeply moving. This shift in perspective is connected to how, after making my own art for 10, 20 years, I began to look back at the history of Chinese painting, part of our own artistic heritage. This involves reflecting on my own identity, including artistic direction, thinking about what it means to study Western painting, and considering how, as painters, we can create our own kind of painting. And so, I returned to Li’s work and began to seriously study it.

I became especially interested in a number of still lifes he made while living in Hong Kong. They all depict foodstuffs, such as fish, shrimp, crabs, and chickens. So, using the motif of the dining table, I painted these foods using my own style. In the “front” piece, the “painting within a painting” is a quotation from one of Li’s paintings. In the “back” piece, the “painting within a painting” is a painting of a chicken that I purchased at a market selling commercial art; I stitched it directly onto the canvas to establish a dialogue with Li’s work.

Duan Jianyu: In the series “Spring River in the Flower Moon Night,” what I’m interested in is the interplay between time and space, as well as the people gathering under the moonlight. As we know, the moon we see today is the same one that the ancients gazed up at. Yet the people who gather underneath the moon change with every passing generation. This idea really fired up my imagination. So the scene I wanted to depict was something like a public square under the moonlight, brought into existence by the “Spring River in the Flower Moon Night” [the title of a Tang dynasty poem]. I was really drawn to this concept; it brings together the magical and the grotesque, or perhaps even mundane social life, into a single image. Because in this square, there are all kinds of people moving around and doing things. For example, there is someone playing a pipa, other people are playing around, and all kinds of animals and whimsical little monsters. Collectively, they form a public space that mirrors our contemporary society.

Duan Jianyu: The series “Automatic Writing” consists of three pieces, more or less. It’s actually my way of artistically depicting the chaos of calligraphy. I’m drawn to imagery that goes beyond conventional perception—I like to imagine and paint images like this. The title “Automatic Writing” comes, of course, from a creative technique associated with Dadaism. By applying this term to the work created by the calligrapher, I lend a sense of legitimacy to their actions, ensuring that they don’t look too absurd. Naturally, this is a bit self-deprecating. I myself practice yoga and pilates, but when I think about piano playing, calligraphy, yoga, and other activities that are seen as “mandatory” for women, I get a strange feeling. Here, I’m trying to express this sentiment through painting.

Duan Jianyu: “Michelin Seven Stars” was inspired by posts I see on my Wechat Moments feed. Many people like to show off exquisitely presented dishes they’ve eaten at Michelin-starred restaurants. My feelings about this are complicated. In this painting, I’ve depicted myself in a somewhat unattractive way. Because Michelin is a tire company, I've drawn myself into this kind of tire form, which connects with the wrinkles on my neck. The overall effect is quite funny.

I often use images of myself in paintings. It’s convenient, because I don’t need to worry about offending anyone. If you painted someone in an unflattering way, you might feel that you’ve wronged them. Painting myself, I can make myself look good, I can make myself look ugly; I can easily change things up depending on the context. This reminds me of Beckett’s views on observation. Whether you’re seeing things from the viewpoint of a plant, an animal, or even a mineral, but your perspective can easily shift, it’s quite free.

“Crazy Shopping Bag” is mainly about desire, especially how, in this age of ubiquitous online shopping, all of our phones have software that enables us to shop compulsively. This appetite has no limit. I thought that the blobfish was a perfect visual metaphor for this desire. When the blobfish is brought up towards the surface, its coloration changes, its lips droop, its “nose” gets bigger. It really has an unfortunate appearance. I find that there’s an interesting contrasting relationship between this image and the human desire to shop.

Duan Jianyu: The series “Yúqiáo (The Fisherman and The Woodcutter)” emerged out some thoughts I had after reading writings by Zhao Tingyang and Zhang Wenjiang. In Chinese culture, the fisherman and the woodcutter are lofty archetypes—we elevate them to the level of sages. However, in Zhang’s book, he says that everyone can be a fisherman or woodcutter. This gave me some ideas, presenting the opportunity to portray the contemporary incarnation of these archetypes—exploring how we live, confront adversity, and handle our desires within the context of the contemporary world.

This series is made up of 20 paintings, yet also has an overarching structure. It functions a bit like a novella; you need to set up a central narrative thread that establishes your viewpoint. This establishes a dialogue between beginning and end, which includes the collision of different imaginings across space and time, producing an intriguing dynamic. Within the series, I trace a trajectory from ancient myths to urban fairy tales. [The 1980s Chinese animated TV series] Black Cat Detective is a prime example of this kind of fairy tale about modern city life. By putting myths in conversation with these new fairy tales, we can encounter all kinds of people.

Duan Jianyu: I consider “Ethnological Patterns” to be quite an ambitious series. It poses questions of how you interpret patterns, and what constitutes a pattern. My intention is to, through careful observation, bring together various historical events and phenomena that have taken place in China—especially those that made a deep impression on me or hold special significance—and weave them together into a pattern. This touches upon how you understand this world, how you present it visually by transforming it into a pattern and weaving it into the endless river of history. This is not simply a matter of sketching superficial visual symbols or adding a surface-level motif to create a decorative, aesthetically pleasing painting. I think it’s possible that I’ll continue working on this series for many years to come, precisely because it challenges my understanding of life.

In the second work from this series, I introduced a stylized variation of a figure originally painted by Sun Zongwei. He also depicted women carrying water, and women as representatives of different local cultures. Sun is a really interesting artist for me, as I’m very interested in painters who are part of mainstream narratives, yet also have their own distinct style. So, I’m trying to reach across time and space to have a spiritual dialogue with interesting artists like this.

I became more interested in painting from China’s Republican era after I turned 40 and slowly began to realize that there was a gap in my artistic knowledge that needed to be filled. Furthermore, after reaching my 40s, I became more concerned with questions about my artistic identity. In a world dominated by Western culture, as a 40-, 50-something painter, how do you establish your own artistic voice? Certainly, you should be familiar with your own artistic heritage, tracing its development from ancient times to the present day—this includes the work of painters during the Republican era and afterwards. These painters are a fascinating case study: they went to Japan and Europe to study, then returned home to face an environment far more intense than our own. How did they attempt to fuse Chinese and Western culture? How did they deal with the resistance and rejection they encountered? Any contribution—no matter how small—that they managed to make under these difficult circumstances should be recognized as a major accomplishment.

Duan Jianyu: For a long time, I’ve been interested in painting Xu Beihong’s horses, or Qi Baishi’s shrimps. I’m really interested in forms of culture that are widely popular. What does everyone like, and why do they like it? I take a lot of pleasure in observing this and thinking about it. For example, in the 1990s, when real estate development was just starting to take off in China, you would often find horse sculptures by the entrances of resident compounds. If you visit a newly developed city today, you’re still likely to find a horse statue in the city center. Furthermore, many regular people also enjoy painting horses, practicing calligraphy with a brush, or painting peonies. So I’m quite interested in the horse as an image. Through this motif, I position myself as no different from any other amateur artist who likes to paint horses. I aim to evoke their sentiments towards art, summoning the whimsical, idiosyncratic horses painted by countless hobbyists and incorporating them into my canvases.

Duan Jianyu: When I was working on my series “Sharp, Sharp, Smart,” I encountered some ethical dilemmas. I also painted a lot of self-portraits, which were actually intended to create a sense of equality, that I was putting myself on the same level as the other people I painted. But a decade later, I still sometimes face the same ethical questions. How do you avoid projecting a condescending “top-down” gaze? What gives one the right to presumptuously offer sympathy to others?

Take for example, the lives of food delivery workers, which we are all familiar with. They work long hours every day, and ride their scooters at breakneck speeds, which is quite dangerous. But how should we go about depicting them? Based on conventional ways of viewing the world, delivery workers would generally be categorized as belonging to the lower strata of society. However, when one attempts to paint someone “lower class” through a realist framework, a top-down paternalism seeps in. To me, this is completely inappropriate.

So, I had to think of a workaround, like fabricating a completely absurd scenario. In newspapers, we can frequently find stories about more ruins being discovered in Pompeii, or a millennia-old tomb being unearthed in a Chinese city. These news stories often mention the discovery of ancient foodstuffs, like two- or three-thousand-year-old dumplings, or melon seeds, or some other food that miraculously maintained its shape. Incorporating these dumplings—just excavated from an archaeological site—into my artworks somehow made a certain kind of sense to me. A delivery worker carrying dumplings that were just removed from ancient ruins is extremely absurd. Yet, by employing various rhetorical devices, for example depicting the rider’s speed, the customer’s yearning for the food—which grows larger and larger as the moment of delivery nears—and the scene of the archaeological dig, I believe the narrative turns into something that seems surprisingly plausible. Through this absurd dynamic, I reframe the relationship between delivery workers and customers.