GF

b. 1965, Chengdu, Sichuan

The Tiger’s Butt Cannot be Touched, 2023
acrylic on linen

Yu Ji’s painting draws on the Chinese idiom lǎohǔ pìgu mō bù dé (老虎屁股摸不得), which translates as “don’t touch the tiger’s butt”—a widely used saying that warns against provoking those in authority. In Chinese culture, the tiger—traditionally regarded as the king of beasts—symbolises strength, masculinity, dominance, and protection. Yu Ji portrays the tiger as a mighty yet untouchable force, highlighting both the literal and metaphorical meanings of the idiom. Just as a tiger’s hindquarters are highly sensitive, those in positions of authority can react fiercely when challenged.

b. 1981, Shandong

A… O!, 2014-15
fur, leather, fibreglass, metal

“We live in an ecosystem where the strong prey on the weak,” says Tian Longyu. His sculpture depicts a surreal hybrid—an elephant swallowed whole by a tiger. Crafted from metal, fiberglass, and fur gathered from pet salons over two years, the work explores themes of greed and power. Inspired by the proverb “The human heart is never satisfied, like a snake swallowing an elephant,” Tian replaces the snake with a tiger, suggesting that even the mighty can be consumed by their own excess and corruption.

b. 1988, Shaoyang, Hunan

Future Land of Happiness, 2023
oil on canvas

With candy-like colours, Meng Site’s fantastical scene dismembers reality. His painting melts, “just like ice cream cakes,” he says. Like a live sketch, Meng paints with a brilliant, realistic technique. Yet, his subject is far from traditional. He depicts animals with supernatural elements, a subject he has favoured since childhood. Alongside human figures, at the centre stands a transparent man, a nod to his early exposure to medical specimens in the office of his father, who was a doctor. Set against a backdrop of Soviet architecture, Meng’s work blends dreams and memories into a carnival of strangeness.

b. 1976, Tonglu, Zhejiang

Untitled — Animals Attack Humans, 2013
video (colour, silent)
3 min 15 sec

“From the moment you are born, you must fight to survive,” says Jin Shan. The artist confounds censors with a montage of found footage—news clips, wildlife documentaries, surveillance recordings, and phone videos—showing blurry animal attacks. “We often view animals as passive, hunted objects,” he reflects. “But when they fight back, humans become the prey.” The violent imagery led Jin to reconsider power dynamics between humans and animals, turning his work into a metaphor for the brutality of everyday existence.

1F

b. 1981, Beijing

Once Upon a Time, 2019
silicone, metal, 3D printed plastic, paint, clothing, human hair

At first glance, we see an innocent scene of children at play. Look closer, and Li Wei’s eerily lifelike silicone figures—complete with real human hair and jointed limbs—reveal the faces of Obama, Bush, Merkel, Putin, Assad, and bin Laden. “Those kids are now the politicians we know,” says Li. “Yet I want to imagine a moment when they were still raw potential.” His visually striking work prompts reflection: were these leaders once blank slates, or were the seeds of power already sown? The unsettling scene suggests that global consequences may begin with innocent games.

b. 1962, Qingdao, Shandong

Old Spies and Evil Henchmen, 2011
Scummy Dregs of the Old Society, 2011
oil on canvas

Liu Dahong considers artists to be “egg breakers”, actively subverting the status quo. But he grew up during a time when artists had to do the Party’s bidding. To reflect the crassness of propaganda works, Liu uses a deliberately crude style, mixing charcoal with oil paint for a dirty effect, and adding labels like “vultures, hounds and spies” and “Mafia boss Rotten Eggplant”. “During the Cultural Revolution there was no justice or truth,” he says. That period is over now, but “we are still living under its shadow”.

b. 1962, Qingdao, Shandong

The Great World, Shanghai, 2021
oil on canvas

As a child, Liu Dahong often roamed Shanghai’s Great World, a vibrant entertainment complex famed for its distinctive architecture and unique performances. “You could spend the whole day inside,” he recalls, “watching acrobatics, films, folk art.” In this Bosch-inspired painting, Liu reimagines the building as a vertical allegory of 20th-century China. From colonial protests and red-light districts to Cultural Revolution struggle sessions, revolutionary operas, and post-Mao cartoons, it becomes a stage for social transformation. Blending humour and critique, Liu presents China’s turbulent modern history as a richly layered spectacle.

b. 1979, Hong Kong
D. 2019, Paris, France

Stanley, 2014
c-type print, neon, sand

Hong Kong’s Stanley Beach is famed for its sunlit beauty, but its past as a World War II battleground and internment camp is often overlooked. In his multimedia installation, Samson Young unearths this hidden history. Stock images of blue skies are overlaid with script drawn from internee Daisy Mary (Day) Joyce’s embroidered “Day Joyce Sheet,” a secret record of life in the camp. A glowing neon sign quotes her haunting words: “Nothing we did could have saved Hong Kong it was all wasted.” Young revives buried narratives, transforming a picturesque beach into a memory-charged landscape.

b. 1954, Xiamen, Fujian
D. 2019, Paris, France

Les Consoles de Jeu Souveraines, 2017
steel, aluminium, bronze, wood, plastic, fibreglass, paper, straw and taxidermied horse

Inspired by a decaying carousel outside his Paris studio, Huang Yongping’s installation is a haunting meditation on power, conquest, and sovereignty. The French word souveraines— “sovereign”—entered the Chinese language only after the 1840 Opium War, marking China’s subjection to Western imperialism. Rich in symbolism, the carousel’s two rotating sections spin in opposite directions, signifying opposing forces. Seven sculptural figures circle its rim: a headless white horse recalls Napoleon’s Le Vizir, a deer alludes to deception, a paper tiger mocks hollow power, and a cricket connotes “yellow peril.” Additional figures extend the critique—an aircraft carrier turned tourist attraction, a tiger mauling a soldier referencing Tipu’s Tiger, and a frog punning on souveraines through the archaic French raine. At its centre, a cast-iron map of Hong Kong—ceded to Britain after the Opium Wars—hangs in fragile balance, like counterweights, forming an allegory of contested rule and shifting power.

b. 1954, Xiamen, Fujian
D. 2019, Paris, France

Wax Seal, 2017
ink and sealing wax on rice paper

Measuring nearly seven metres long, Huang Yongping’s scroll parodies a legal document, blending ink drawings of 38 Hong Kong islands with symbolic animals, calligraphy, imperial stamps, and red seals. Alluding to the power of 19th-century treaties such as the Treaty of Nanking, which ceded Hong Kong Island to Britain, Huang critiques the concept—and contradictions—of “sovereignty,” a Western term that previously didn’t exist in the Chinese language. Painted on rice paper and annotated with personal commentary, the work poses a provocative question: how does one party come to hold power over another?

b. 1963, Nantong, Jiangsu

Correspondences, 2022
acrylic, metal, electric motor

Xu Lei’s electro-mechanical installation features seven slowly moving polygons inspired by the Chinese tangram. Each painted panel depicts iconic tree motifs from global art traditions—Song dynasty painting, Renaissance art, Persian miniatures, and Japanese Ukiyo-e—bringing distant cultures into visual dialogue. As the panels shift and overlap, Eastern and Western landscapes intertwine, reflecting Xu’s ongoing exploration of “movable time.” This recurring theme draws on ideas of return and transformation. The work’s title references Baudelaire’s poem Correspondences, evoking the belief that nature, art, and time are bound by hidden, symbolic connections.

b. 1976, Changzhou, Jiangsu

Gestures, 2016
oil on canvas

Liu Ding’s painting of puffy white clouds against an improbably blue sky carries a hidden message. Tiny Chinese characters read 《所有的艺术家都希望您有健康的身体》— “All artists wish you good health.” Adapted from a letter by artist Geng Jianyi to curator Lü Peng, the phrase reflects the revolutionary tone common among artists born in the 1950s. The work merges surrealist imagery with Liu’s exploration of socialist realism’s legacy, revealing how China’s post-1949 generations navigate the tension between collectivist ideals and emerging individual consciousness.

b. 1967, Shanghai

Learn from Capitalism, 2014-16
video installation (colour, sound)
25 videos, duration from 3 min 32 sec to 5 min 37 sec

“Since Chinese people reached the summit of Mount Everest in 1960,” Jin Feng reflects, “we have learned a lot from capitalism about the essence of adventure and conquest.” Using commercial footage to create 25 videos arranged in the shape of a mountain, Jin critiques the commodification of ambition. Once a symbol of human willpower, Everest has become a playground for the rich—its ascent now dependent on costly permits, oxygen tanks, helicopters, and Sherpa guides. Jin asks: What is the value of achievement when even adventure becomes a luxury?

b. 1966, Beijing

195806, 2015
video (colour, sound)
33 minutes 5 seconds

Feng Mengbo’s images are taken from an educational wall chart instructing citizens how to defend themselves against a nuclear attack. Designed in a Soviet Socialist Realist style, it was published in September 1958. China successfully developed and detonated its first atomic bomb on 16 October 1964, six years after the publication of the wall chart: the title of the work refers to those two facts. The darkening of the imagery, the slow fades and dissolves, and the rainwater running down the glass make it seem, says the artist, as if “time has been solidified.”

2F

b. 1962, Hangzhou, Zhejiang

Dialogue, 1989; 2006
c-type print

Widely regarded as one of China’s most provocative female artists, Xiao Lu shot to fame with her artwork Dialogue. Originally a graduation project, the installation featured two phone booths with a disconnected receiver, symbolising fractured communication between men and women. At the opening of the China/Avant-Garde exhibition, Xiao fired two gunshots into the piece, turning the installation into a live performance. The act was both personal and political, interpreted by many as “the first gunshots” of the Tiananmen Square protests. Immortalised by a chance photograph, the piece has a permanent place in the history of Chinese contemporary art.

b. 1989, Beijing

The Bearable, 2007-2010
inkjet prints

Chen Zhe’s raw and deeply personal photographic series documents her experiences with self-harm—a subject rarely addressed in Chinese contemporary art. Originally private, the project began at college when Chen, faced with an unfinished assignment, printed two images from a hidden “trash folder” on her laptop. Encouraged by her lecturer, she gradually shared the work. With a calm, almost still-life aesthetic, the photographs capture blood, bruises, and gauze. Both intimate and unsettling, Chen explains, “I often use photography to preserve that silently forgotten, indescribable, internal pain.”

b.1989, Beijing

Bees, 2010–2012
inkjet prints

Bees, said the Roman poet Virgil, must destroy themselves in order to defend themselves. Chen Zhe used online chat rooms and social media to connect with others who shared her compulsive desire to self-harm as a release from psychic pain – they became her subjects, her ‘bees’. Chen’s photographs, together with an archive of text fragments, document this sub-culture. When the project ended, Chen discovered that she no longer wanted to harm herself and she threw away a blade she had kept in her wallet for years.

b. 1991, Taiyuan, Shanxi

Patching Practice: Trifoliate Orange, 2022
underwear (bras), silicone, steel wire, stainless steel, wood, acrylic paint

Drawing on the Japanese pattern-making technique otoshiana, or “drop hole,” Wang Yuyu crafts tunnel-like forms in skin-toned hues. Stitching together fabric, bras, silicone, and wire, she creates a corporeal structure that blurs body and object. The trifoliate orange—bitter, thorny, and resilient—symbolises strength and hybridity, mirroring the reconstructed nature of her work. Circular motifs and flesh-like textures evoke bodily cycles, turning her sculpture into a delicate yet defensive “nest” where material, process, and pain converge.

b. 1982, Langzhong, Sichuan

Miss Melissa and Mr Fish at 2:31pm, 2013
video (colour, sound)
7 min 49 sec

“This work is one step of my self-healing process from the hardship in my life.” In her video piece, Peng Yun explores the pain of unreturned affection and emotional silence in relationships. A woman’s hand tenderly strokes a dead fish—an unsettling metaphor for the struggle to reach someone who never responds. Gradually, these gestures become more intense, invasive, and violent. Combining the sensuality of lush, Western still-life imagery with raw destruction, the work mirrors Peng’s inner turmoil and search for release.

b. 1975, Yiwu, Zhejiang

Twelve Flower Months, 1999-2000
c-type prints

In 1999, while unemployed and spending long periods alone, Chen Lingyang became acutely aware of her body—“hunger, cold, menstruation, and the pains that accompany it.” She began contemplating the relationship between bodily cycles and nature, a recurring motif in Chinese culture. “I found myself nagged by the subject of menstruation,” she recalls. This reflection inspired a photographic series documenting her menstrual blood alongside flowers traditionally associated with each month, framed in the shapes of antique windows and doorways. Initially met with outrage in China, the work has been hailed as a landmark of feminist art.

b. 1977, Lanzhou, Gansu
GUO CHUNNING 郭春宁
b. 1978, Harbin, Heilongjiang

Ketchup, 2009
digital animation (colour, sound)
6 minutes, 28 seconds

Yan Baishen grew up in a secret military factory compound on China’s remote Loess Plateau—yet much of his childhood seemed lost to memory. His wife and collaborator, Guo Chunning, was puzzled, wondering how he could forget such pivotal moments. A later conversation sparked the return of fragments—stories of childhood, trauma, and forgotten faces. Together, they began piecing these memories into a personal yet historically resonant narrative in their work Ketchup. “These crucial things should not be neglected,” says Guo, who was determined to uncover “how our memories are shaped.”

b. 1975, Urumqi, Xinjiang

A Missing Policeman, 2016
video (colour, sound)
50 min 2 sec

Set during the Anti-Spiritualist campaign of 1983, Ju Anqi tells the fictitious tale of a policeman held captive by a group of fugitive artists for 33 years. With only art texts for company and a disgraced curator to care for him, the policeman transforms into a Zen art protégé over the course of his imprisonment. But outside his prison walls, China is changing too. Part historical account, part absurdist narrative, A Missing Policeman uses the turbulent history of contemporary art in China to reflect upon the broader social and economic changes that transformed the nation.

b. 1983, Zhengzhou, Henan

A Group of Artists, 2009
acrylic on canvas

Frenzied, smoking, drinking, fornicating—Wu Chen’s large triptych teems with masked, naked figures. Painted in a deliberately crude style, they wield paintbrushes like weapons, while stars, flowers, and dildo-like planes float above their heads. “To me, artists were a group of destroyers… romantic, passionate, and capable of anything,” Wu explains. Drawing on Dutch and Flemish masters and laced with absurdist humour, the work blends satire with symbolism. Wu describes it as a blood oath— “through which I may eventually become one of them.”

b. 1983, Luzhou, Sichuan

Apology Letter — Don’t Want to Apologize, 2022
copper, gold leaf

Hand Basin #2, 2022
copper, silver, resin

Foot Basin #1, 2022
copper, silver, resin

Hu Yinping’s The Moon Rises from Within… series envisions an entirely different civilisation—one ruled by feminine power. Born from a period of personal difficulty, the series critiques the ritual act of apology as a gesture that produces both order and alienation. In this world, where social values are inverted, Hu reimagines the ancient Chinese ritual vessel Ding—historically the highest symbol of sacrificial power—as perhaps just a simple basin for washing hands or feet. Through this reinterpretation, she questions the authenticity of historical “truth,” suggesting that power is neither eternal nor inherited, but constructed.

b. 1983, Luzhou, Sichuan

Potatoes, Potatoes, 2024
wool, cotton, hemp fibre, plastic coated steel wire

Wheat, Wheat, 2024
wool, cotton, hemp fibre, plastic coated steel wire

Three Three Sister, 2020-21
wool, cotton, natural fibre, plastic chair

Hu Yinping’s works blur the boundaries between art, social practice, and daily life. In 2015, she invented the persona “Hu Xiaofang” after discovering her mother and other women knitting hats for minimal pay. By creating a fictional buyer who paid fair prices, Hu’s gesture evolved into a long-term social project. From this grew Three Three Sister, in which women knitted in response to the violent destruction of Hu’s studio. In Potatoes, Potatoes and Wheat, Wheat, rural women knitted crops familiar to them, reflecting on contemporary society’s alienation from the land.

b. 1983, Luzhou, Sichuan

Qiao Xiaohuan, 2007
performance event, UV resin, acrylic glazing

Hu Yinping’s miniature display window from her Qiao Xiaohuan series introduces another fictional persona—her “shadow identity”—through whom she examines survival within China’s contemporary art system. Carefully constructed as a successful, market-friendly sculptor, Qiao Xiaohuan embodies public taste and industry expectations. Qiao’s apparent commercial success exposes the tension between authenticity and performance in the art world. By creating, exhibiting, and selling works through this persona, Hu reflects on how artists navigate capitalism’s pressures while sustaining independent thought.

b. 1967, Kunming, Yunnan

Swimsuits, 2011
inkjet print

Known for pushing boundaries in Chinese avant-garde performance art, He Yunchang turns to photography to explore the complex terrain of politics and censorship. In response to Ai Weiwei’s 2011 detention on “pornography” charges, He appears nude alongside dozens of women, their breasts and genitals covered with cut-outs of Ai’s face—worn like absurd bikinis. With biting humour and irreverent flair, he mocks the state’s attempt to criminalise artistic expression. Turning repression into satire, He lays bare the surreal lengths authoritarian power will go to in its effort to silence dissent.

b. 1957, Beijing

Sunflower Seeds, 2009
porcelain

“Porcelain holds a special fascination for me,” says Ai Weiwei. “In the classical sense, porcelain in China is the highest art form.” Ai transforms this revered material into a powerful meditation on individuality, memory, and mass production. Comprising 500 kilograms of hand-painted porcelain seeds made by over 160 artisans in Jingdezhen, the work celebrates traditional craftsmanship at an overwhelming scale. What appears uniform reveals subtle uniqueness upon closer inspection. For Ai, sunflower seeds recall childhood hunger and comfort during political exile. Fragile yet vast, the work blurs boundaries between the personal and political, the industrial and the handmade.

b. 1970, Chengdu, Sichuan

2015–2020 04, 2019
oil on canvas

Zhu Yu is notorious for his transgressive performance work of the early 2000s, most notably his infamous Dinner – Eating People, which allegedly documented the artist consuming a stillborn human foetus. The piece provoked global outrage and cemented Zhu as one of contemporary art’s most controversial figures. Since 2004, however, he has turned to painting, bringing the same existential concerns—life, death, consumption, and decay—into a quieter, more contemplative form. His still-life paintings of moon-like, ash-streaked plates evoke both the aftermath of a meal and the residue of ritual.

b. 1977, Shanghai

The Venus of Willendorf, 2024
resin, mineral pigments

Standing over two meters tall, Xu Zhen’s resin sculpture reimagines the ancient Venus of Willendorf—a prehistoric symbol of fertility—pierced by bent Corinthian columns resembling giant drinking straws. Part of his Beverage series, Xu explores how cultures don’t just mix—they misinterpret, reshape, and parody each other. The coiled columns transform from rigid supports into organic, unstable forms, subverting tradition. The “straw” metaphor highlights how civilisations “suck” meaning, power, and identity from their histories, critiquing how the past is consumed to shape the future in a globalised world.

b. 1977, Shanghai

Small Change (One-Renminbi Tank), 2014
one-yuan banknotes

Xu Zhen’s miniature tank is made entirely from rolled one-yuan banknotes. Inspired by political cartoons, the artist transforms money into a literal weapon. “My role as an artist is to take something light and literal in a cartoon and make it real,” Xu explains. The tank’s complex structure uses rolled notes, PVA glue, and foam board, requiring many failed attempts. Though the green notes resemble US dollars, the piece contains almost eight thousand yuan. Subtly critiquing China’s global ambitions, Xu says, “It may look expensive, but it’s made from cheap notes.”

b. 1970, Yangjiang, Guangdong

2000 AD and Rust Another 2000 Years, 2000-05
mild steel, brass

Rust Another 2000 Years – Shanghai Products, 2014
copper

Zheng Guogu transforms everyday objects—cans, jars, bottles—into priceless relics arranged like archaeological artefacts. Made of steel, brass, and copper, they are left to rust for the next 2,000 years. Rust symbolises time, decay, and cultural memory, while Coca-Cola cans critique the “colonising” influence of American consumer culture. Together, the works suggest today’s trash could become tomorrow’s treasure—traces of a globalised age.

3F

b. 1961, Taiyuan, Shanxi

Long Live Chairman Mao, 2012
With You in Charge, My Heart is at Ease, 2016
Story of Spring, 2014
State Secrets, 2014
1989, 2016
Enter the New Age, 2015
Utopia, 2012
Hitting Tigers and Flies Alike, 2015
oil on canvas

Song Yongping’s large-scale oil paintings critically examine the contradictions of China’s modern history. Shaped by Deng Xiaoping’s market reforms and post-Mao ideological shifts, his History series intertwines personal and collective memory. Drawing on propaganda, media, and lived experience, Song constructs densely layered compositions that satirise political power and social transformation.

His works include unheroic depictions of the Gang of Four at Mao’s death, surreal visions of Mao’s short-lived successor Hua Guofeng, and grotesque portrayals of Deng Xiaoping as a Buddha-like figure symbolising hollow prosperity. Through ironic depictions of post-reform leaders, Song exposes the dissonance between official narratives and lived experience.

The final painting of the series was completed in Sydney, confronting the sensitive subject of the 1989 Tiananmen crackdown. “In China, I had never tried to paint this period,” he says, “because I thought it would bring me trouble.” His richly detailed canvases mirror China’s complex history, revealing how memory, ideology, and myth continue to shape the nation’s political imagination.