The 1990s is undoubtedly a watershed period for video art. Since its inception, the close relationship between video and “television”was beginning to collapse at this moment, increasingly replaced by the rise and widespread use of projected images. Since the ninth edition of Documenta in 1992, projection works began to appear on a large scale at international exhibitions. The more “cinematic” experience they offered presented a challenge to earlier modes of video art, and forced art critics, curators, and institutions to re-consider the future of moving image art. However, the sudden rise of the projected image also caused a lot of controversy, especially with its “advantages”—flexibility of scale, ability to fit with architectural space and unparalleled immersive viewing conditions—projection created new aspects of “public-ness” and “entertainment” going far beyond the exhibition experience that could be provided by monitor-based single-channel videos or video installations. On the other hand, the “tradition” of video had also encountered enormous challenges. The radical “utopian dimension” that it had long represented, with its use of the unique “feedback” mechanism, its “anti-media” and anti-hegemonic ideological practice, and self referential explorations of the subjective were gradually replaced by the fictional and illusory character of the projected image. Behind the “hard” of the monitor and the “soft” light of the projection, there are many contradictions between concept and narrative, materiality and demateriality, the “white cube” and the “black box”.

From the perspective of the medium of film, the debut of projection in contemporary art is undoubtedly a “good thing,” with the museum becoming a new base for film to trace back its own history and explore possibilities for the future. “Gallery-based cinema” preserves the legacy of film through projection while stripping off the outer shell of its “media specificity,” bringing it into dialogue and collision with other media in the field of the exhibition, and thus creating a more “hybrid” contemporary film form. But from another perspective, the powerful deployment of film is bound to cast some kind of “shadow.” In a round-table discussion entitled The Projected Image in Contemporary Art, Hal Foster proposed that the popularity of films in contemporary art led to the “reformat” 1 of various other practices. This provides a “reverse” focus for the exhibition Anti-Projection: returning to a time before the dominance of projection, and tracing key features of “classic” video aesthetics.

This exhibition focuses on the material and spatial aspects of early Chinese video art. The video installations and sculptures presented are based on the basic form of everyday objects such as the TV/monitor, but they attempt to block the image machine aspect of these “ready made products” by combining them in new physical modes (“video wall”, “video relief”, “kinesthetic painting”, etc.) to form a strong “presence” in three-dimensional space. This kind of presence invites viewers to enter a field that emphasizes the “here” and “now,” where the audiovisual is only used as a surface or “passageway” to bring the body into a kinesthetic system composed of different ontological levels: space, time and matter. In fact, video installation underwent the same process as the “expanded field of sculpture” of the same period, the pursuit of which causes the subject to be swept in to a “performance” mechanism. Under this mechanism, televisions or other objects in the works are transformed into plastic elements, and attached to some material texture of “imagination” or “replacement” or “concept”. This texture has a clear “manifesto”: not only to resist the pictorialism of two-dimensional vision, but also to reflect on the popular image culture of mass communication.

Chinese video art of the 1990s was still in its early stage. Although limited in the number of participants and of works produced, it still concentrated a variety of artistic endeavors, both experimental and adventurous in nature. The twenty-year lag behind the West did not constrict artists; instead this framework encouraged their attempts to surpass what had gone before. Despite having extremely limited resources—lack of equipment, shortage of funds, and backward technology—artists working with video art rapidly completed the transition from single-channel to installation, and set out to build relatively complex systems to reflect the media and social environment they faced. In the exhibition Anti-Projection, different works respond to this theme. In Zhang Peili’s Assignment No.1 (1992) and Focal Distance (1996), a large number of TVs are arranged to form a linear structure possessing a certain “rational” order. The superposition, gradient and progressive relationship between the pictures is like a deduction and analysis of reality, while the industrialized appearance of the TV monitors (uniformity of line and color) also gives strong support to this “sense of order.”

Unlike Zhang Peili, Chen Shaoxiong’s Seesaw (1994) deliberately carries out a critical “mixed assemblage” of reality. Here, three television sets and a gun are allegorically combined, releasing signals of anxiety, alertness and instability behind a seemingly integrated state. The gesture is provocative, and this method was also implemented in the artist’s subsequent Sight Adjuster series, a similar “dystopian” reminder, hinting at the unspeakable secrets of vision subjected to daily discipline.

Both Hu Jieming’s Home? (1998) and Yang Zhenzhong’s Fish Bowl (1996) contain close-up images of people. Generally speaking, early video works portraying the body and face have been given the psychoanalytic label of “narcissistic”2, but this aspect of narcissistic performativity is partly resolved through the process of combining a work into installation, and the communication mode shifts from closed to open. The material parts of the two works—a door and fish tanks—both possess metaphorical possibilities, constituting a “screen” in front of the body being filmed. The body displays itself through these materials, and is also shaped by them, as if it has undergone a second process of “sculpture” in addition to “representation.” The images can only be seen through a tiny keyhole or rising bubbles; thus vision is put through a doubly physical and semantic “dilution,” where the physical materials become the intermediary between the viewer and the monitor. Rubbing against the image on one side, and causing the viewer’s gaze to become opaque on the other, the materials bring the position of the viewer into the process of production of the work’s meaning.

The only projection in the exhibition, Wang Gongxin’s Baby Talk (1996) is similar. The vertically projected light is no longer cinematic, but creates a fragile, ephemeral screen. The “milk” flowing in the crib disturbs the stability of the image, and the resulting vortex and noise also cause a “disorder” of the entire audiovisual experience – this disorder is due to the constantly changing meaning of viewing as it moves through the mediums of light, liquid, and the bed in the process of arriving at the screen. In other words, the existence of the material part of the work is the “mechanism” set in place by the artist to express the concept. Conceptual meaning occurs precisely because the viewer’s gaze is “moving through” different materials. In contrast, the material parts of Zhu Jia’s two works are “hidden” inside single-channel video images. Whether it’s the camera’s probing into the closet or “looking out” from within the refrigerator, both force us to have repeated encounters with everyday objects that are blocked between our line of sight and the picture, our gaze seeming to intimately “caress” them.

Anti-Projection does not aim to be a completely historical retrospective exhibition. Rather it focuses on exploring the creative logic and specific strategies of artists in early video practice, such as how the ratio of visuality to materiality was allocated within complex processes of meaning production, or how effective connections between images, installation design, and viewing were established. Admittedly, the “tradition” of video art before projection has gradually been forgotten. However, as an important stage of media art, it still has some archaeological value – just as how in the exhibition one can instantly get a sense from that era, which although materially lacking was full of creative intensity, up until our current overly-mediated era, why the moving image has always been the most important channel for us to establish connections with the world.



  1. Hal Foster, “Round Table: The Projected Image in Contemporary Art”, October, no.104(spring 2003), p.93.
  2. References: Rosalind Krauss, “Video: The Aesthetics of Narcissism”, October, no.1(spring 1976), pp.50-64.



Zhang Peili, Assignment No.1


Zhang Peili, Focal Distance

被“翻拍”的十字路口车流的影像:用单机拍摄实景(马路上的车流)15分钟;将拍好的影像通过25英寸电视机播放,并对电视屏幕中的街景(的一个局部)进行“翻拍”;以后按上述方式重复“翻拍”7次,每次“翻拍”的焦距与第一次“翻拍”相同;由此得到8个不同画面效果的影像 — 街景中车流的图像(和声音)变得越来越抽象。用录像装置的形式将这些“翻拍”出来的影像按“翻拍”顺序排列出渐变的效果。

拍摄器材:松下 M8000摄像机,VHS录像带
剪辑设备:VHS录像机;Betacam SP剪辑机;

《焦距》由排成一条直线的八个显示器构成。排最后的显示器播放实景拍摄、长达十五分钟的马路车流影像;艺术家将拍好的影像通过显示器播放,并对显示器中的街景进行“翻拍”, 然后在第二个显示器中播放;以此类推,每次“翻拍”的焦距与第一次“翻拍”相同;作品中的图像和声音因而变得越来越抽象、模糊、甚至带有绘画的质感。艺术家用录像装置的形式将这些“翻拍”影像按“翻拍”顺序排列出渐变效果。虽然所有影像均描述相同的内容,但随著翻拍次数增加,原初记录的真实性也变得不稳定。声音在如此创作过程中同样变得抽象,在视听感知失效中衍生具有时间性的雕塑。

Zhu Jia, Repeat On Purpose

将一台超级 8 毫米摄影机放置在冰箱最里端的角落里,镜头朝向冰箱门,开启摄录键,将摄影机处在自动录影的状态下,关上冰箱门。再打开冰箱门,随意的拿取一件东西;关上冰箱门。再次打开冰箱门随意的放置一件东西;关上冰箱门。反反复复重复这组动作。冰箱门打开时冰箱的照明灯被开启,录影机自动记录下有光照状态下的影像,冰箱门关闭时,录影机则记录下没有图像的图像。作品既是在这两种交替的状态下将时间延续着。将声音部分主动的去除,是强调图像本身存在的主观性。






Please scan the QR code to follow us on WeChat :新世纪当代艺术基金会