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Active for the past two decades， Zhong Biao has had 23 solo exhibitions in 12 countries and regions， contemplating the relationship between reality and its hidden motives. Mainly focusing oil painting and installation art， his surreal expressions represent a distinctive view of time and space.
Why do you concentrate so strongly on your understanding of time and space？
For my college graduation internship project， I did an investigation of ancient cultural sites across northwestern China. It was quite intense and I would go through three counties per day and felt like I was completely wrapped up in antiquity. An illusion started to grow that I was a man walking through history. Twenty-two years old at the time， I felt like I had existed for far longer. It’s like a piece of a jade artifact from the Qing Dynasty; though the carving was done in the Qing era， the jade itself takes hundreds of millions of years to form. So I started to look for antiquity in the modern metropolis I lived in. This particular idea about time and space drove me start on my journey.
Where do you get your inspiration from？
As far as I’m concerned， the present is a temporary product of the universe. So I propose the concept that we are all brought into the present by the universe， by the merging on us of everything that has occurred. The present， past， and even the future are one. Every individual is connected with history and with the future. If you can embed yourself into this consciousness， you’ll have joined with the whole and the other no longer exists. My inspiration comes from my unexpected meetings with this whole.
Are you expressing an opinion on international politics in your work “All in Vain”？
Though cosmic forces have generally fostered the rapid progress of humankind， it doesn’t make any difference; disasters have still intensified. Great opportunity and crisis always go hand in hand. I wouldn’t call it an opinion on international politics; rather， it’s putting the reality of the world on a cosmic scale to make sense of it.
How does the political climate in China and the world impact your artistic expression？
The impact is not significant. The latent forces behind these political issues and the political climate are what really influence my creation， though they are often invisible.
Why put the specific images among the abstract strokes？
If abstract strokes are like electricity in the power grid， the images are the light bulbs they’ve lit. Abstraction is the hidden connection; they express the visible objects they link. Expression， on the other hand， is the intervention of subjectivity. Therefore， abstraction， expression， and representation， in essence， are a single entity， a visual integration of the subject and object. - Liu Jue （劉珏） Alternative Dreams
Stepping from the scorching Los Angles sun into the cool， austere Resnick Pavilion in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art （LACMA）， you find yourself transported back to 17th-century China， experiencing a historical vertigo induced by the finest collection of Chinese paintings in the United States.
On view from August 7 to December 4， 2016， “Alternative Dreams： 17th-Century Chinese Paintings from the Tsao Family Collection”， is curated by Stephen Little in memory of Bay Area collector and dealer Jung Ying Tsao （曹仲英）. The exhibit presents over 120 paintings from 80 artists， scholars， and Buddhist monks of the late Ming and early Qing dynasties. Among them are 15 pieces from Dong Qichang （董其昌）， perhaps the most dynamic painter in Chinese art history.
The Manchu invasion and the overthrow of the Ming Dynasty made the 17th century one of the most turbulent periods in Chinese history. The inevitable retreat from politics and the longing to commune with nature had been a shared language among Chinese literati for centuries; the urge to abandon political turmoil for individual subjectivity was especially acute during this time. An expat himself， Tsao’s personal history was entangled with the Chinese Communist Revolution， an experience that shaped Tsao as an artistic connoisseur who was more concerned with artworks in times of artistic change than with history itself.
On closer examination， the large body of works on display are emulating earlier artists. Dong was renowned for his reinterpretation of the earlier Chinese paintings. Amid the disorientation and misery of losing his country and family members， Dong retraced existing forms of classical paintings. And as a remarkably innovative artist， he carried on the lineage of literati art that would fundamentally influence Chinese art over the coming five centuries.
One artist whose work shows little resemblance to Dong’s is Su Shi （蘇轼）， a great poet and calligrapher in the 11th century. Su’s work reflects a lost artistic tradition where painters and calligraphers humbly admired their favorite artists of the past and engaged in an aesthetic tête-à-tête across time and space—a conversation that is profoundly touching.
As Tsao diligently built up his encyclopedic 17th century collection， history folds back to the point where he and Dong stand parallel， combating their collective fate of displacement by simultaneously looking back and forward. They are both grounded in history.
- Li Yanting （李妍婷）
Why do you concentrate so strongly on your understanding of time and space？
For my college graduation internship project， I did an investigation of ancient cultural sites across northwestern China. It was quite intense and I would go through three counties per day and felt like I was completely wrapped up in antiquity. An illusion started to grow that I was a man walking through history. Twenty-two years old at the time， I felt like I had existed for far longer. It’s like a piece of a jade artifact from the Qing Dynasty; though the carving was done in the Qing era， the jade itself takes hundreds of millions of years to form. So I started to look for antiquity in the modern metropolis I lived in. This particular idea about time and space drove me start on my journey.
Where do you get your inspiration from？
As far as I’m concerned， the present is a temporary product of the universe. So I propose the concept that we are all brought into the present by the universe， by the merging on us of everything that has occurred. The present， past， and even the future are one. Every individual is connected with history and with the future. If you can embed yourself into this consciousness， you’ll have joined with the whole and the other no longer exists. My inspiration comes from my unexpected meetings with this whole.
Are you expressing an opinion on international politics in your work “All in Vain”？
Though cosmic forces have generally fostered the rapid progress of humankind， it doesn’t make any difference; disasters have still intensified. Great opportunity and crisis always go hand in hand. I wouldn’t call it an opinion on international politics; rather， it’s putting the reality of the world on a cosmic scale to make sense of it.
How does the political climate in China and the world impact your artistic expression？
The impact is not significant. The latent forces behind these political issues and the political climate are what really influence my creation， though they are often invisible.
Why put the specific images among the abstract strokes？
If abstract strokes are like electricity in the power grid， the images are the light bulbs they’ve lit. Abstraction is the hidden connection; they express the visible objects they link. Expression， on the other hand， is the intervention of subjectivity. Therefore， abstraction， expression， and representation， in essence， are a single entity， a visual integration of the subject and object. - Liu Jue （劉珏） Alternative Dreams
Stepping from the scorching Los Angles sun into the cool， austere Resnick Pavilion in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art （LACMA）， you find yourself transported back to 17th-century China， experiencing a historical vertigo induced by the finest collection of Chinese paintings in the United States.
On view from August 7 to December 4， 2016， “Alternative Dreams： 17th-Century Chinese Paintings from the Tsao Family Collection”， is curated by Stephen Little in memory of Bay Area collector and dealer Jung Ying Tsao （曹仲英）. The exhibit presents over 120 paintings from 80 artists， scholars， and Buddhist monks of the late Ming and early Qing dynasties. Among them are 15 pieces from Dong Qichang （董其昌）， perhaps the most dynamic painter in Chinese art history.
The Manchu invasion and the overthrow of the Ming Dynasty made the 17th century one of the most turbulent periods in Chinese history. The inevitable retreat from politics and the longing to commune with nature had been a shared language among Chinese literati for centuries; the urge to abandon political turmoil for individual subjectivity was especially acute during this time. An expat himself， Tsao’s personal history was entangled with the Chinese Communist Revolution， an experience that shaped Tsao as an artistic connoisseur who was more concerned with artworks in times of artistic change than with history itself.
On closer examination， the large body of works on display are emulating earlier artists. Dong was renowned for his reinterpretation of the earlier Chinese paintings. Amid the disorientation and misery of losing his country and family members， Dong retraced existing forms of classical paintings. And as a remarkably innovative artist， he carried on the lineage of literati art that would fundamentally influence Chinese art over the coming five centuries.
One artist whose work shows little resemblance to Dong’s is Su Shi （蘇轼）， a great poet and calligrapher in the 11th century. Su’s work reflects a lost artistic tradition where painters and calligraphers humbly admired their favorite artists of the past and engaged in an aesthetic tête-à-tête across time and space—a conversation that is profoundly touching.
As Tsao diligently built up his encyclopedic 17th century collection， history folds back to the point where he and Dong stand parallel， combating their collective fate of displacement by simultaneously looking back and forward. They are both grounded in history.
- Li Yanting （李妍婷）