PATRICK LIN/AFP/GETTY IMAGES
this so-called political trouble,” he
says). An installation inspired by
the deaths came later.
Then came his condemnation of
the 2008 Beijing Olympics (after
co-designing the Bird’s Nest stadium), when all eyes were on China.
If nothing else before it did, Ai’s
detention inextricably fused his
political and artistic personas, placing him in a sharply high-risk, highreward corner of the market: with
every dig he makes, his brand rises
among the Western art elite, and
sinks among the Chinese.
‘THEY ALL DIDN’T COME’
Sometime in May, Ai received a
call from the Central Academy of
Fine Art, China’s leading (and like
many institutions, state-run) art
school. His name had appeared on
the guestlist for a lecture revisiting the art scene in Beijing from
1979-1989 — led by Chinese art
historian Joan Cohen — prompting a double-take from the event
organizers.
“Can you not come,” Ai imitates the voice on the other end,
“because that will be a big problem for us.”
Had CAFA not made the call,
it’s likely he would not have even
bothered to show up that morning. “Normally I don’t go to this
kind of event, but that made me
curious to go,” Ai says.
When he arrived, Ai was surprised by what he didn’t see — a
panel of name plaques resting in
front of many an empty seat. “Xu
Bing [vice-president of CAFA], all
those people, just decided not to
go, and they had a big list of who
was going to be there,” Ai said.
“They all didn’t come.”
“What’s so
shocking about
raising your
hand to take a
photo [in front
of] Tiananmen
or the White
House?” Ai
asks. “People
take photos all
the time. It’s
in your private
home, and then
one day you
become famous
and people start
to use these
photos and
think they’re
symbolic.
But it’s only
symbolic to
people who
are timid.”