Once I saw this video on YouTube, a compilation of moments of capture in
animal hunts from the North American Hunting Association. With the hunter’s gun locked in place, the animals were cursed and unable to escape. The second before being shot, their eyes look confused and fearful, stared straight in the direction of humans, and then all fell to the ground with a thud. I felt confused and vulnerable by this violent energy, as a user commented under the video: The most dangerous animal in the world.
Although hunting is ancient and primitive, I felt uncomfortable revisiting a killing “spree” in such an intense and unequal way. In another sense, it resonates with the human pleasure of pursuing absolute power. Therefore, I took this video of the hunt and juxtaposed it with another
video. I banged out some negative words on a brass plate and tuned up the metal clanging sound to echo the sound of the gunshots in the former video. On the screen, a blinking of huge eyes shows startling unease from hearing loud noises. It looks directly into the camera lens, making it impossible to avoid, with which to provoke the viewer’s fearful association
with other related matters.
In Shouting, the artist films crowds as they move through busy public spaces. He then lets out a scream and laughs, gauging people’s reactions as they turn in surprise or ignore his provocation. For the artist, the scream is a way of asserting his individuality in a society that prioritizes community and conformity.
Ma Qiusha’s From No.4 Pingyuanli to No.4 Tianqiaobeili and Tao Hui’s The Dusk of Teheran are both performances captured by a single camera lens, and both of which have strung together the stories of a lifetime through a single-channel video. Among the younger generation of contemporary Chinese artists, video art has become the mainstream, but those who have adopted this medium to manifest their personal perspectives are still few. “Art for the sake of life” is another classic expression for this kind of personal expression, not only is it part of the modern Chinese art, but also a core component in ancient art and literature, that the concerns of life of an individual as an “analogy” for society and history, this is how new artistic medium or genre grow their roots in existing Chinese experiences.
The location is the underground passage of the Fuxingmen subway in Beijing, a public space from one platform to another.I ran through the crowd and shouted my name and answered. It was as if I were calling myself and answering myself; It’s like I’m imitating others calling myself or I’m imitating myself in answering. I’m interested that when the spatial relationship between the caller and the responder becomes blurred, the form and result of being recognized by oneself or by others. What I shouted was “Kan Xuan! Ai!”
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