‘If an artwork fails to make people feel its dissent, it is essentially lifeless’: Chinese artist and activist on the importance of confrontation

In an email interview ahead of his India visit, he reflects on the burden of history, living “nowhere”, his recent visit to Ukraine, and why confrontation remains central to creating meaningful artwork.

This is your first solo exhibition in India. How do you hope Indian audiences will engage with your work — emotionally, politically and critically?

Doing a first solo exhibition in a relatively unfamiliar country is, in fact, very challenging. First of all, I need to tell the audience who I am and introduce my own history. At the same time, I must create a connection between myself and Indian life and culture, bringing people into a context that feels familiar to them. For both of these aims, a language of art is necessary, a way for art to enter. That is the most important part of the exhibition: how to use a new language to reflect the era we live in and to offer an individual contemporary perspective through which people from different cultural backgrounds can reflect on reality.

Surya Namaskar (Sun Salutation) (Courtesy: Ai Wei Wei Studio, Nature Morte and Galleria Continua)

You have been exploring ancient artefacts for over three decades now. Is this an act of preservation or re-authorship of history for you?

We all face a deep history that is often narrated in a fixed way and covered in dust. This conventional mode of storytelling gradually causes history to lose its meaning. Much of what I do stems from an interest in history but even more from an interest in how history is explained. My approach may be described as deconstructive. History is what we see on the surface; the task is to excavate what lies beneath that apparent existence.

You have spoken about how your 81-day detention in 2011 made you re-evaluate your situation. Can you talk about that experience and how that reshaped your understanding of freedom and your art?

For an artist to be “kidnapped” and secretly detained is both absurd and tragic. No matter what, I am an artist — someone whose role is to freely express opinions as part of their identity. All my views, whether right or wrong, are simply an individual’s sincere expressions. Yet on this basis, I was subjected to the most severe treatment and the resulting conflicts for a prolonged period. What began as an ideological issue extended into real politics and social reality, becoming not only alarming but actively destructive. This ideological mechanism exists not only in China but, in different forms, everywhere.

Images for international works: Han Dynasty urn with Coca-cola logo, 1993 (Wikimedia Commons)

How important is confrontation in your practice?

Confrontation is everywhere. If an artwork does not contain confrontation, there are few reasons for it to exist. That confrontation is not only directed at power or politics, but also at aesthetics, ethics and moral questions. These elements form the baseline of any meaningful artwork. If a work fails to make people feel its dissent or its questioning of existing reality, it is essentially lifeless.

You recently visited Ukraine, where you interacted with the troops. If you could tell us about that visit, and also the installation Three Perfectly Proportioned Spheres and Camouflage Uniforms Painted, which responded to the conflicts threatening the world today and in particular the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Directly interpreting artworks is difficult, because artworks are themselves explanations. People inevitably approach them from different perspectives shaped by their own experiences. What mattered most to me about the works related to Ukraine was that they brought me into the lived reality of the country. Within the framework of globalisation, its discourse and international politics, this regional conflict reveals an unimaginable world order. At its core lies a simple form of justice: Ukrainians are using their own flesh and blood to defend their land and national dignity. At the same time, the involvement of NATO, the EU and the US, alongside Russia’s aggressive ambitions, makes the situation increasingly complex and its resolution difficult to foresee.

The three spheres are covered in whitewashed camouflage designed by me, featuring cat patterns, as I dislike traditional war camouflage. My basic intention is to support peace, to advocate dialogue rather than the use of human lives as currency for political demands.

S.A.C.R E D. , 2011 (Wikimedia Commons)

Several of your works, such as Safe Passage (2016), Law of the Journey (2017) and the film Human Flow (2017) engage deeply with the global refugee crisis. Can you tell us about your childhood as a refugee in China, where your father, poet Ai Qing, was labelled a “rightist” by the government and was forced to live in camps.

I am Chinese, and I still hold a Chinese passport. I have not changed my identity or its original meaning. That identity reflects how fragile any individual political position can be. In the year I was born, my father was declared an enemy of the State and of the Revolution. He endured 20 years of exile, and I grew up within that exiled life. For me, global refugee and migration crises are what runs in my blood. I feel deeply for those people leaving their homelands, because no one willingly abandons the place of their birth. Under conditions of war, poverty and conflict, the choices people make often exact a price paid across generations.

Still a Chinese passport holder, in recent years you have made several countries your home, yet you have often stated how you live —“nowhere”. Do you imagine living in China again?

People often ask me where I live, which is an embarrassing question. My usual answer is that I live in hotels. Hotels offer convenience, but they are not home; they are only places to sleep. Each night when I wake up, I must re-orient myself: where I am, where the light switches are, how the shower works. Living as a traveller means constantly inhabiting unfamiliarity.

You have also previously stated how your art has had this element of psychological therapy for you. Could you elaborate? Also, is there a work that you feel best represents who you are today as an artist?

Art-making is what I know best. It is what I can call home, or my luggage, because I am someone without a home. Wherever you come from, whether you are homeless or constantly travelling, luggage is essential. I remain sceptical about my own identity as an artist.

Porcelain Pillar with Refugee Motif (Courtesy: Ai Wei Wei Studio, Nature Morte and Galleria Continua)

You were an early adopter of social media as an artistic and political tool. Has the digital space become more liberating or more controlling?

I once compared social media in China to lighting a candle in a dark room. Today, however, it resembles a modernist building with glass walls everywhere. Social media has become noise: it does not expand the space of free expression but instead restricts independent thinking and judgment. To a great extent, both AI and social media are controlled by powerful corporations that embody mainstream ideologies. For individuals seeking genuine freedom of expression, the present moment is more difficult than ever.

In an era of AI-generated imagery, what new dangers or possibilities do you see for artists? You, too, have used AI for your 2024 work Ai vs AI.

I recognised the impact of AI on real life at a very early stage, including its positive potential. But its latent danger lies in replacing human thinking with ready-made answers. Even an imperfect answer has value if it is reached through effort. AI aims to provide standardised or supposedly correct answers, which fundamentally contradicts the nature of humanity.

Ai Weiwei’s International Work