What made me determined to find and interview Liu Shiming was not just because he was on the Son of the East programme of China Central Television (CCTV). There are many “Sons of the East”, but only Liu gave me an irresistible desire to interview him, so I had to find him.
Perhaps it was because I also liked to play with mud since being a child. I was deeply attracted by Liu’s muddy sculptures including Measuring the Land, Farmhouse, Ansai Waist Drummer and more. The rural air that perpetuates humanity were heart-quaking. They gave me an impulse to see it with my own eyes and touch it with my own hands. As these extraordinary works originated from Liu’s rough life, I was more eager to decipher the “code” and find out how exactly they are related.
Liu lives in a high-rise near the Asian Games Village in Beijing. His “studio” is located in a corner of his balcony. My arrival startled the birds who were having an intimate moment with him on the balcony. A host of sparrows had become good friends with Liu, and they flew to him every day for food and water. They hopped about and chatted away, as if they never ran out of things to share with him. As for Liu, he was as happy as a child when he saw the birds, and exactly how they moved and flew about was deeply imprinted on him.
No wonder birds are present in many of his works, and the animals appear so intimate and congruous with the people!
Liu explained, “I adore the character of sparrows. Once targeted in the Four Pests Campaign, they do not hold grudges but remain attached to this land. The sparrows used to build a nest in the crevice under the tiles of a house. Now that high-rises have replaced the courtyards, they accommodate themselves in the new circumstances, so that we the city people can hear birdsong. Their songs are not the most beautiful, but their unreasoning passion for life moves me.”
In 1926, Liu was born in a family of intellectuals in Tianjin. His hometown created many fond memories for him. His cultural enlightenment started at the privately-run Tianjin First Primary School behind the Confucian Temple, and the archway at the front of the school inscribed with “Le Shan Hao Shi” (be happy in doing good) remain memorable. Later, he went to Bohai Middle School in the Italian Concession. During this time, Liu frequented the book stand upstairs in Quanyechang the most, and he often lingered there. His aunt loved operas, so he was taken to Tianxiang Theatre, Tianhuajing, Zhonghua Tea Garden, etc. to appreciate operas a lot. The fertile cultural soil in Tianjin has nourished Liu’s vigorous life in art.
In 1946, Liu was admitted to the Sculpture Department of the National Art School in Beiping as one of the first group of students personally recruited by President Xu Beihong. In 1951, he completed the postgraduate study in the Sculpture Department of the Central Academy of Fine Arts. All the hard work resulted in an emerging talent. In his youth, Liu had splendid prospects. His graduation work in 1949, Measuring the Land, depicted the joy of the farmers in the suburbs of Beijing when land was allocated to them in the land reform. It not only won an award in the creation competition of the Academy, but it was also collected by the Czechoslovakia National Museum (now The Czech National Museum). In 1953, he took part in the creation of the relief sculpture Monument to the People’s Heroes in Tiananmen Square.
In 1958, he created Splitting the Mountains to Let the Water Flow, which was a portrait of the high-spirited and aspiring Chinese people of that era. Erected at the entrance of Zhongshan Park on Chang’an Avenue, this magnificent sculpture was also published in newspapers, journals and colour catalogues across the country, thus becoming Liu’s representative work that everyone knew. It was praised by Zhou Yang as “an eternal and immortal work”, and Mr. Qian Shaowu predicted that “it will be one of the few works that will remain in the history of Chinese sculpture.” Later, the sculpture was purchased by Baoding City for 4,000 yuan for their collection. It was replicated in a larger size with cement as a symbol of Taihang people. Amazingly, the replica intact still stands in Dongfeng Park in Baoding City.
Liu is among the first generation of graduate students in sculpture trained in New China. At the Central Academy of Fine Arts, He received a solid Western art education delivered by the sculptors who had studied in France. As per the normal course for this career, he should have become a mainstream academic artist.
However, fate plays tricks on people, and fate may also bring people success!
Since the 1960s, major events took place in Liu’s life. He bid farewell to his beloved wife and children, left Beijing, and began a long “secondment” that almost felt like displacement. He had stayed in Henan, Hebei and other areas. He ate, lodged and laboured together with the farmers in cave dwellings. He associated with the boatmen and fisherfolk on the banks of the Yellow River. He guarded crops from a shed with old farmers. Every detail of the bitter hardships, the tenacity and optimism, and the joys and sorrows experienced by people at the bottom of society tugged at his heartstrings, and called on the artist’s conscience and duty. Thereby, Liu “rebelled” against himself and began to use the clay in his hands to make sculptures of the people at the lower levels, or all the trivial characters. He embarked on a boundless journey of quest in solitude, and achieved outstanding artistic results.
Now, when I approach this senior sculptor, hold his rough and strong hand, and face the works that he moulded with painstaking effort, sweat and mud, I am not only intrigued by his legendary life, but also enchanted by his unique artistic charisma. In Little Pack Basket (1981), a lovely farm girl with a sickle in her hand sits in the basket. In A Farmer on His Way to Market (1985), a man pushes the bicycle forward with difficulty, but perhaps the piglets and lambs in the baskets transmit strength to him. Performer Backstage (1983) shows us the tough life of a performer in a rural opera troupe and her love of her infant. Mother Returns (1990) illustrates the human nature of craving for maternal love. Both Boat on the Yellow River (aka. Boatmen on the Yellow River) and Wooden Raft on the Yangtze River (1997) recount the countless life stories of boatmen on their mother rivers. Farmhouse (1997) presents a strong rural atmosphere and the leisure of rural life that are enviable. Together with all other diverse and dazzling works, they are grouped into fascinating series of Boat, Farm Cave Dwelling and Farmhouse, Loess Style, Urban Style, among others.
Liu stated that “What I have created are scenes of life I witnessed, experienced, and sympathised with. Only after you are moved can you move others.”
He referred to his creative activities as keeping a diary with clay. He explained that a diary was a record of the life today, and today shall be a history tomorrow. Works that could truly be called “art” are those that could withstand the test of history by faithfully recording a certain moment or a certain period of time.
Introduction to Liu Shiming
Liu is a sculpture artist and an expert that receives an honorary allowance granted by the State Council for special contributions. Born in Tianjin in 1926, he was admitted to the National Art School in Beiping in 1946. In 1951, he completed the postgraduate programme in the Sculpture Department of the Central Academy of Fine Arts. His work in 1949, Measuring the Land, was collected by the Czechoslovakia National Museum (now The Czech National Museum). In 1953, he took part in the creation of the relief sculpture Monument to the People’s Heroes in Tiananmen Square. In 1958, he created Splitting the Mountains to Let the Water Flow, which portrayed the high-spirited and aspiring Chinese people in that era. It became Liu’s representative work that everyone knew. His Boat on the Yellow River (aka. Boatmen on the Yellow River) created in 1997 was selected for the “National Ceramic Art Touring Exhibition” and “European Touring Exhibition”, and was collected by China’s Ministry of Culture. Publications include Chinese Contemporary Sculptor Liu Shiming, Catalogue of Liu Shiming’s Works and others.
Obstinacy: Returning to the Chinese Way
Reporter: You are among the first generation of sculpture graduates trained in New China. At the Central Academy of Fine Arts, you received a solid Western art education delivered by sculptors who studied in France. Yet, you have not become a mainstream academic artist. Was it fate that altered the course of your career? Do you have no regrets or complaints about life?
Liu: I stumbled into the embrace of life inadvertently. At first, I just wanted to experience life in Henan, but I ended up in displacement for a long time. It was life that chose my path, and it was life that changed me. I have suffered a lot which ordinary people could hardly imagine, but the gifts and rewards life has given me count more! I have no regrets or complaints about life, only pious gratitude.
Reporter: What is the immediate reason for your artistic “rebellion”?
Liu: Some people refer to the alteration in my creative style and theme as a “rebellion”. I don’t think it is appropriate. I prefer “obstinacy”. I was obstinate to return to the “Chinese way”. I was once “seconded” to the National Museum of Chinese History (now the National Museum of China) for seven years of cultural relic restoration. During those years, I “dated” ancient pottery figurines, I learned and experienced traditional Chinese sculptural art, and I was enlightened by the “Chinese way”. Chinese Way is different from the Western Way that is highly realistic with relies on models, real people posing, and meticulously copying. The Chinese Way also requires careful observation, but then what is observed is memorised, so the actual creation is not restrained but enjoys more freedom. Take the Qin Terracotta Warriors for example, they may have a unified style, but their demeanour varies as a result of unrestrained creation. A seated figurine is particularly expressive, which indicates that the sculptor had observed life very carefully and applied a technique that was unbridled. The Chinese Way goes for the essence and something that is rhythmic. For example, to depict the clothing of a Buddha in a statue, the focus is on the folds and falling lines.
Reporter: In my impression, ancient Chinese sculpture disregards the scientific nature of human anatomy. Is it true?
Liu: This is a misunderstanding. The Chinese Way also understands anatomy, including the relationship between bones and muscles. I met some folk sculpture artists in Henan. They followed many formulas, such as “three noses and five eyes”, which was about the proportion of the head. Generally, a face looked better in the length of three noses and the width of five eyes. “Seven for standing and five for sitting” was about head and body. The height of a standing person normally equalled the length of seven heads, and for a seated figure, five. Another rule was “Large hands and feet are no worries but a large head is a problem.” Also, in the imperial mausoleum of Song Dynasty, the stone generals should resemble a bow, with a bending body, and the civil officials should be like a nail with the body straight up, so as to demonstrate their bravery and dignity respectively. These rules that have been passed down for thousands of years are lessons learned in sculpture, and they conform to human anatomy and the laws of sculpture. What does the unity of Heaven and man mean? Our ancient sculpture exemplified that. Dunhuang art is a model of the Chinese Way. Renowned Western sculptors also admire Dunhuang art. It was traditional sculptures such as Han figurines that altered my mentality and style in art creation; they made me return to the Chinese way without hesitation.
Duty: Keep a Diary on Clay for the People
Reporter: The protagonists of your works are all ordinary people, the nobodies. Your love for them is effusive in those sculptures. How come?
Liu: Living at the underprivileged end of society allowed me to share their destiny. I felt the authentic joy, anger, laughter and curse of the labourers who expressed their feelings and love without reservation. Amidst wind and sand, the men and women in rural villages rushed from one place to another to make a living. The women had big and beautiful eyes, a sturdy body, and a slender waist. They walked like wind. Sometimes I saw them reveal their heavy breast to nurse an infant, or willingly exhaust their arms to make noodles and flatbread standing in the courtyard with sweat streaming down their back, whereas their men squatting nearby waved a palm fan and ate and drank with a sense of entitlement. There was also a hustle and bustle with screaming children, clucking chickens, and barking dogs. The life on the banks of the Yellow River was so beautiful! Of course, there were also the men’s protruding muscles and unbending spine, which manifested the beauty of indomitable masculinity that fought against fate!
I was deeply moved by the beauty of these working people, and I fell in love with them from the bottom of my heart. As a matter of fact, this love dates back to my childhood. When I was a bit older than one, my mother had to take care of her sick father-in-law, so she entrusted me to her mother’s maid surnamed Yan. Yan was a rural woman, simple and kind, with big kind and beautiful eyes. The first memory of my life is of being held by Yan in her arms and smelling the fragrance of her body as she walked down a long alley. When I was drowsy, I fell asleep in her arms. When I was hungry, she bought steamed buns for me. She also bought clay figurines, clay trolleys, and clay drums to spoil me. In my memory, Yan was always walking with me in her arms. Swaying, she walked and walked in the long alley. Perhaps, it was Yan who sowed the seeds of love in my heart. Perhaps, that determined my fate.
Reporter: Your experience and narrative sounded like a prose poem. Because of love, you “record” the history of people’s lives with clay?
Liu: Yes. There’s a quote of the Russian sculptor Vera Mukhina, “Sculpture is a stone book of history.” Nonetheless, for a rather long period of history, both at home and abroad, sculpture served emperors, gods, heroes, and other dignitaries. In the early days, when slave owners or emperors died, other human beings were brutally buried alive with them. Later, live human beings were replaced with pottery figurines, stone figures, stone horses, etc. These sculptures inadvertently recorded the historical features of the time. For example, Han figurines tell us what kind of clothes people in Han Dynasty wore, what kind of musical instruments they played, what kind of utensils they had, and so on. The sculptures became precious cultural relics for verification and research in society, politics, economy, culture, and customs in history. But in the next period of time, such figurines of people and horses alike were made of paper, and they were burned at the burial, leaving no trace at all.
While I live in the current era, my role is to record the changes of life, and with clay instead of words, keep a diary of ordinary people, thus recording history. I started this recording with Measuring the Land and Splitting the Mountains to Let the Water Flow in the 1940s and 1950s. I did it more consciously later, with a sense of mission. No matter what others did, this shall be the mission of my lifetime! My works shall show the people of the present and future generations what joy the land allocation had brought to farmers (Measuring the Land, 1949), what kind of joint boats the fisherfolk on the banks of the Yellow River rowed to fish (Cormorants on the Yellow River, 1982), how coal was once hauled in the city of Beijing (Woman Pulling Coal, 1982), and so forth. The sculptures are a record of the times, same as the ancient rock paintings. They are worthy of the future generations’ attention, and they can stand the test of time of history.
Reporter: As the market economy surges, a sense of fickle prevails. People are desperately chasing after “fashion”, “trend” and “economic benefits”. Artists like you who are fine in solitude and do not seek fame and fortune are admirable.
Liu: I don’t think I’m anything admirable. I just feel more comfortable living like this. Some are keen to make odd stuff and that is their freedom. As an experienced person, I only wish to share some of my humble opinion. If they create something that’s like industrial waste, it will decay quickly, because odd stuff doesn’t explain anything, or embody anything. The works that can really be called “art” must be able to stand the test of time.
Reporter: Yes. Nowadays, some urban sculptures are so “avant-garde” and “bizarre” that people cannot figure out what they mean.
Liu: As I understand it, sculptures should be people-oriented. The focus should be on highlighting the people, because people are the main component in a society and they are the master of art. Without people and humanity, there would be no soul in art.
Supplement: An autobiographic poem, Self Portrait, and a new sculpture
Reporter: Could you please tell the readers in your hometown briefly about your autobiographical poem, Self Portrait and the latest work?
Liu: Let’s just call it my self-deprecating poem. The verse reads: “Is it sculpture or not? There goes my passion in the fire. / In the twists and turns, and ups and downs, there goes my love for the loess. / Through all the rights and wrongs in the worldly affairs, / my tricycle passes among the people.” The first half is about my lifelong aspiration, and the second, my state of life. In my rubber and cloth shoes, I go out by tricycle. The security guard of the compound once mistook me for an old farmer and refused to let me in. Some say it’s embarrassing, but I don’t feel embarrassed, because I’m just the same, an ordinary old man appearing like an old farmer.
Some people consider my Self Portrait desolate. The master sitting upright is like a statue of Buddha, only accompanied by a stove and a bird. In one’s life, contemplation is the most important thing. Especially when it comes to creative work, it is necessary to think hard. I am very comfortable with tea and birds as my companions.
This is my first sculpture in 2007. Let’s call it Northeast Errenzhuan. I memorised it when I watched it on TV. It gave me an urge to create, so I sculpted it. Yes, my creation continues. It is rare for one to be born as a human being. The probability of having a chance of life is the same as that of a thread in the air passing through the eye of a needle also in the air, so you see how low the probability is. Therefore, I cherish my very own time alive and in art.
Perhaps it was because I also liked to play with mud since being a child. I was deeply attracted by Liu’s muddy sculptures including Measuring the Land, Farmhouse, Ansai Waist Drummer and more. The rural air that perpetuates humanity were heart-quaking. They gave me an impulse to see it with my own eyes and touch it with my own hands. As these extraordinary works originated from Liu’s rough life, I was more eager to decipher the “code” and find out how exactly they are related.
Liu lives in a high-rise near the Asian Games Village in Beijing. His “studio” is located in a corner of his balcony. My arrival startled the birds who were having an intimate moment with him on the balcony. A host of sparrows had become good friends with Liu, and they flew to him every day for food and water. They hopped about and chatted away, as if they never ran out of things to share with him. As for Liu, he was as happy as a child when he saw the birds, and exactly how they moved and flew about was deeply imprinted on him.
No wonder birds are present in many of his works, and the animals appear so intimate and congruous with the people!
Liu explained, “I adore the character of sparrows. Once targeted in the Four Pests Campaign, they do not hold grudges but remain attached to this land. The sparrows used to build a nest in the crevice under the tiles of a house. Now that high-rises have replaced the courtyards, they accommodate themselves in the new circumstances, so that we the city people can hear birdsong. Their songs are not the most beautiful, but their unreasoning passion for life moves me.”
In 1926, Liu was born in a family of intellectuals in Tianjin. His hometown created many fond memories for him. His cultural enlightenment started at the privately-run Tianjin First Primary School behind the Confucian Temple, and the archway at the front of the school inscribed with “Le Shan Hao Shi” (be happy in doing good) remain memorable. Later, he went to Bohai Middle School in the Italian Concession. During this time, Liu frequented the book stand upstairs in Quanyechang the most, and he often lingered there. His aunt loved operas, so he was taken to Tianxiang Theatre, Tianhuajing, Zhonghua Tea Garden, etc. to appreciate operas a lot. The fertile cultural soil in Tianjin has nourished Liu’s vigorous life in art.
In 1946, Liu was admitted to the Sculpture Department of the National Art School in Beiping as one of the first group of students personally recruited by President Xu Beihong. In 1951, he completed the postgraduate study in the Sculpture Department of the Central Academy of Fine Arts. All the hard work resulted in an emerging talent. In his youth, Liu had splendid prospects. His graduation work in 1949, Measuring the Land, depicted the joy of the farmers in the suburbs of Beijing when land was allocated to them in the land reform. It not only won an award in the creation competition of the Academy, but it was also collected by the Czechoslovakia National Museum (now The Czech National Museum). In 1953, he took part in the creation of the relief sculpture Monument to the People’s Heroes in Tiananmen Square.
In 1958, he created Splitting the Mountains to Let the Water Flow, which was a portrait of the high-spirited and aspiring Chinese people of that era. Erected at the entrance of Zhongshan Park on Chang’an Avenue, this magnificent sculpture was also published in newspapers, journals and colour catalogues across the country, thus becoming Liu’s representative work that everyone knew. It was praised by Zhou Yang as “an eternal and immortal work”, and Mr. Qian Shaowu predicted that “it will be one of the few works that will remain in the history of Chinese sculpture.” Later, the sculpture was purchased by Baoding City for 4,000 yuan for their collection. It was replicated in a larger size with cement as a symbol of Taihang people. Amazingly, the replica intact still stands in Dongfeng Park in Baoding City.
Liu is among the first generation of graduate students in sculpture trained in New China. At the Central Academy of Fine Arts, He received a solid Western art education delivered by the sculptors who had studied in France. As per the normal course for this career, he should have become a mainstream academic artist.
However, fate plays tricks on people, and fate may also bring people success!
Since the 1960s, major events took place in Liu’s life. He bid farewell to his beloved wife and children, left Beijing, and began a long “secondment” that almost felt like displacement. He had stayed in Henan, Hebei and other areas. He ate, lodged and laboured together with the farmers in cave dwellings. He associated with the boatmen and fisherfolk on the banks of the Yellow River. He guarded crops from a shed with old farmers. Every detail of the bitter hardships, the tenacity and optimism, and the joys and sorrows experienced by people at the bottom of society tugged at his heartstrings, and called on the artist’s conscience and duty. Thereby, Liu “rebelled” against himself and began to use the clay in his hands to make sculptures of the people at the lower levels, or all the trivial characters. He embarked on a boundless journey of quest in solitude, and achieved outstanding artistic results.
Now, when I approach this senior sculptor, hold his rough and strong hand, and face the works that he moulded with painstaking effort, sweat and mud, I am not only intrigued by his legendary life, but also enchanted by his unique artistic charisma. In Little Pack Basket (1981), a lovely farm girl with a sickle in her hand sits in the basket. In A Farmer on His Way to Market (1985), a man pushes the bicycle forward with difficulty, but perhaps the piglets and lambs in the baskets transmit strength to him. Performer Backstage (1983) shows us the tough life of a performer in a rural opera troupe and her love of her infant. Mother Returns (1990) illustrates the human nature of craving for maternal love. Both Boat on the Yellow River (aka. Boatmen on the Yellow River) and Wooden Raft on the Yangtze River (1997) recount the countless life stories of boatmen on their mother rivers. Farmhouse (1997) presents a strong rural atmosphere and the leisure of rural life that are enviable. Together with all other diverse and dazzling works, they are grouped into fascinating series of Boat, Farm Cave Dwelling and Farmhouse, Loess Style, Urban Style, among others.
Liu stated that “What I have created are scenes of life I witnessed, experienced, and sympathised with. Only after you are moved can you move others.”
He referred to his creative activities as keeping a diary with clay. He explained that a diary was a record of the life today, and today shall be a history tomorrow. Works that could truly be called “art” are those that could withstand the test of history by faithfully recording a certain moment or a certain period of time.
Introduction to Liu Shiming
Liu is a sculpture artist and an expert that receives an honorary allowance granted by the State Council for special contributions. Born in Tianjin in 1926, he was admitted to the National Art School in Beiping in 1946. In 1951, he completed the postgraduate programme in the Sculpture Department of the Central Academy of Fine Arts. His work in 1949, Measuring the Land, was collected by the Czechoslovakia National Museum (now The Czech National Museum). In 1953, he took part in the creation of the relief sculpture Monument to the People’s Heroes in Tiananmen Square. In 1958, he created Splitting the Mountains to Let the Water Flow, which portrayed the high-spirited and aspiring Chinese people in that era. It became Liu’s representative work that everyone knew. His Boat on the Yellow River (aka. Boatmen on the Yellow River) created in 1997 was selected for the “National Ceramic Art Touring Exhibition” and “European Touring Exhibition”, and was collected by China’s Ministry of Culture. Publications include Chinese Contemporary Sculptor Liu Shiming, Catalogue of Liu Shiming’s Works and others.
Obstinacy: Returning to the Chinese Way
Reporter: You are among the first generation of sculpture graduates trained in New China. At the Central Academy of Fine Arts, you received a solid Western art education delivered by sculptors who studied in France. Yet, you have not become a mainstream academic artist. Was it fate that altered the course of your career? Do you have no regrets or complaints about life?
Liu: I stumbled into the embrace of life inadvertently. At first, I just wanted to experience life in Henan, but I ended up in displacement for a long time. It was life that chose my path, and it was life that changed me. I have suffered a lot which ordinary people could hardly imagine, but the gifts and rewards life has given me count more! I have no regrets or complaints about life, only pious gratitude.
Reporter: What is the immediate reason for your artistic “rebellion”?
Liu: Some people refer to the alteration in my creative style and theme as a “rebellion”. I don’t think it is appropriate. I prefer “obstinacy”. I was obstinate to return to the “Chinese way”. I was once “seconded” to the National Museum of Chinese History (now the National Museum of China) for seven years of cultural relic restoration. During those years, I “dated” ancient pottery figurines, I learned and experienced traditional Chinese sculptural art, and I was enlightened by the “Chinese way”. Chinese Way is different from the Western Way that is highly realistic with relies on models, real people posing, and meticulously copying. The Chinese Way also requires careful observation, but then what is observed is memorised, so the actual creation is not restrained but enjoys more freedom. Take the Qin Terracotta Warriors for example, they may have a unified style, but their demeanour varies as a result of unrestrained creation. A seated figurine is particularly expressive, which indicates that the sculptor had observed life very carefully and applied a technique that was unbridled. The Chinese Way goes for the essence and something that is rhythmic. For example, to depict the clothing of a Buddha in a statue, the focus is on the folds and falling lines.
Reporter: In my impression, ancient Chinese sculpture disregards the scientific nature of human anatomy. Is it true?
Liu: This is a misunderstanding. The Chinese Way also understands anatomy, including the relationship between bones and muscles. I met some folk sculpture artists in Henan. They followed many formulas, such as “three noses and five eyes”, which was about the proportion of the head. Generally, a face looked better in the length of three noses and the width of five eyes. “Seven for standing and five for sitting” was about head and body. The height of a standing person normally equalled the length of seven heads, and for a seated figure, five. Another rule was “Large hands and feet are no worries but a large head is a problem.” Also, in the imperial mausoleum of Song Dynasty, the stone generals should resemble a bow, with a bending body, and the civil officials should be like a nail with the body straight up, so as to demonstrate their bravery and dignity respectively. These rules that have been passed down for thousands of years are lessons learned in sculpture, and they conform to human anatomy and the laws of sculpture. What does the unity of Heaven and man mean? Our ancient sculpture exemplified that. Dunhuang art is a model of the Chinese Way. Renowned Western sculptors also admire Dunhuang art. It was traditional sculptures such as Han figurines that altered my mentality and style in art creation; they made me return to the Chinese way without hesitation.
Duty: Keep a Diary on Clay for the People
Reporter: The protagonists of your works are all ordinary people, the nobodies. Your love for them is effusive in those sculptures. How come?
Liu: Living at the underprivileged end of society allowed me to share their destiny. I felt the authentic joy, anger, laughter and curse of the labourers who expressed their feelings and love without reservation. Amidst wind and sand, the men and women in rural villages rushed from one place to another to make a living. The women had big and beautiful eyes, a sturdy body, and a slender waist. They walked like wind. Sometimes I saw them reveal their heavy breast to nurse an infant, or willingly exhaust their arms to make noodles and flatbread standing in the courtyard with sweat streaming down their back, whereas their men squatting nearby waved a palm fan and ate and drank with a sense of entitlement. There was also a hustle and bustle with screaming children, clucking chickens, and barking dogs. The life on the banks of the Yellow River was so beautiful! Of course, there were also the men’s protruding muscles and unbending spine, which manifested the beauty of indomitable masculinity that fought against fate!
I was deeply moved by the beauty of these working people, and I fell in love with them from the bottom of my heart. As a matter of fact, this love dates back to my childhood. When I was a bit older than one, my mother had to take care of her sick father-in-law, so she entrusted me to her mother’s maid surnamed Yan. Yan was a rural woman, simple and kind, with big kind and beautiful eyes. The first memory of my life is of being held by Yan in her arms and smelling the fragrance of her body as she walked down a long alley. When I was drowsy, I fell asleep in her arms. When I was hungry, she bought steamed buns for me. She also bought clay figurines, clay trolleys, and clay drums to spoil me. In my memory, Yan was always walking with me in her arms. Swaying, she walked and walked in the long alley. Perhaps, it was Yan who sowed the seeds of love in my heart. Perhaps, that determined my fate.
Reporter: Your experience and narrative sounded like a prose poem. Because of love, you “record” the history of people’s lives with clay?
Liu: Yes. There’s a quote of the Russian sculptor Vera Mukhina, “Sculpture is a stone book of history.” Nonetheless, for a rather long period of history, both at home and abroad, sculpture served emperors, gods, heroes, and other dignitaries. In the early days, when slave owners or emperors died, other human beings were brutally buried alive with them. Later, live human beings were replaced with pottery figurines, stone figures, stone horses, etc. These sculptures inadvertently recorded the historical features of the time. For example, Han figurines tell us what kind of clothes people in Han Dynasty wore, what kind of musical instruments they played, what kind of utensils they had, and so on. The sculptures became precious cultural relics for verification and research in society, politics, economy, culture, and customs in history. But in the next period of time, such figurines of people and horses alike were made of paper, and they were burned at the burial, leaving no trace at all.
While I live in the current era, my role is to record the changes of life, and with clay instead of words, keep a diary of ordinary people, thus recording history. I started this recording with Measuring the Land and Splitting the Mountains to Let the Water Flow in the 1940s and 1950s. I did it more consciously later, with a sense of mission. No matter what others did, this shall be the mission of my lifetime! My works shall show the people of the present and future generations what joy the land allocation had brought to farmers (Measuring the Land, 1949), what kind of joint boats the fisherfolk on the banks of the Yellow River rowed to fish (Cormorants on the Yellow River, 1982), how coal was once hauled in the city of Beijing (Woman Pulling Coal, 1982), and so forth. The sculptures are a record of the times, same as the ancient rock paintings. They are worthy of the future generations’ attention, and they can stand the test of time of history.
Reporter: As the market economy surges, a sense of fickle prevails. People are desperately chasing after “fashion”, “trend” and “economic benefits”. Artists like you who are fine in solitude and do not seek fame and fortune are admirable.
Liu: I don’t think I’m anything admirable. I just feel more comfortable living like this. Some are keen to make odd stuff and that is their freedom. As an experienced person, I only wish to share some of my humble opinion. If they create something that’s like industrial waste, it will decay quickly, because odd stuff doesn’t explain anything, or embody anything. The works that can really be called “art” must be able to stand the test of time.
Reporter: Yes. Nowadays, some urban sculptures are so “avant-garde” and “bizarre” that people cannot figure out what they mean.
Liu: As I understand it, sculptures should be people-oriented. The focus should be on highlighting the people, because people are the main component in a society and they are the master of art. Without people and humanity, there would be no soul in art.
Supplement: An autobiographic poem, Self Portrait, and a new sculpture
Reporter: Could you please tell the readers in your hometown briefly about your autobiographical poem, Self Portrait and the latest work?
Liu: Let’s just call it my self-deprecating poem. The verse reads: “Is it sculpture or not? There goes my passion in the fire. / In the twists and turns, and ups and downs, there goes my love for the loess. / Through all the rights and wrongs in the worldly affairs, / my tricycle passes among the people.” The first half is about my lifelong aspiration, and the second, my state of life. In my rubber and cloth shoes, I go out by tricycle. The security guard of the compound once mistook me for an old farmer and refused to let me in. Some say it’s embarrassing, but I don’t feel embarrassed, because I’m just the same, an ordinary old man appearing like an old farmer.
Some people consider my Self Portrait desolate. The master sitting upright is like a statue of Buddha, only accompanied by a stove and a bird. In one’s life, contemplation is the most important thing. Especially when it comes to creative work, it is necessary to think hard. I am very comfortable with tea and birds as my companions.
This is my first sculpture in 2007. Let’s call it Northeast Errenzhuan. I memorised it when I watched it on TV. It gave me an urge to create, so I sculpted it. Yes, my creation continues. It is rare for one to be born as a human being. The probability of having a chance of life is the same as that of a thread in the air passing through the eye of a needle also in the air, so you see how low the probability is. Therefore, I cherish my very own time alive and in art.