An Artist Who Loves Flowers
by Lostalley
I met Ai Li in summer of 2003 in Shanghai through a prominent art and literature critic, when I embraced Chinese Contemporary Art wholeheartedly. I am not particularly fond of flowers on canvas, even those by Vincent Van Gogh (sorry for the blasphemy). This proclivity may be rooted in the subconscious——worshiping masculinity and grandeur, for flowers hint fragility and femininity. My friend insisted on visiting Ai Li, “a unique woman and true artist” , he winked.
Ai Li’ studio was in the suburbs of Shanghai. I remembered criss crossing semi-constructed buildings, old houses before finding it. Thin, shy and quiet, she struck me as a recovered patient from some ailment , physical or mental. I was led into her small and scant studio, without the usual formalities. Paintings, large or small, framed or unframed, were lined up on the floor against the walls. Nothing was hung on the walls. They were all about flowers, nothing else. And the flowers varied in size, color, shape, but shared a consistent style——artist’s own personality and inner world was on display. Normally, I would not hang around in artists’ studios long, for fear of intrusion and boredom. On that day, I stayed on from early afternoon to dusk, and left with a dozen paintings purchased. “You became a flower lover”, my critic friend joked upon leaving her studio. He also confided in me that she just came out of depression after her husband disappeared without a trace suddenly.
Years passed. I didn’t keep in touch with her. I still have her paintings, some hung on the wall, and some stored in the basement, and her Artist Statement I translated as collection provenance, and a memory of a unique artist and woman.
Last night, I sent a note to my critic friend inquiring about Ai Li. He replied that she went to India a long time ago.
Artist Statement
I was born in 1967 in a resort town near the capital Beijing. It is a beautiful and tranquil place where the emperors of Ming and Qing Dynasties used to spend summers in their magnificent palaces to escape the heat and dryness of the capital. In spring, the entire town is covered with flowers in blossom. The fragrance fills houses, streets and the market square with a cool breeze and birds' singing. Then, summer arrives with all different kinds of flowers, followed by autumn flowers. The town is isolated and melancholy. It is this early memory, as I realize later, that made flowers an inspiration and obsession for my artistic career.
After I graduated from The Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing in 1990, I started to travel. I had no formal job and very little money, but I was free and happy. I knew I was searching for a sanctuary where I could paint what I liked. In 1994, I found a small village outside Beijing near a ruined ancient royal garden called “Yuan Ming Yuan”. The village is an enclave for artists, writers, musicians, and of course, hippies in China after the Cultural Revolution ended. This small community was filled with a spirit of freedom and a sense of common purposes. Everyone was idealistic and enthusiastic. The life was hard but fulfilling. From then, I fell in love with flowers. I often walked in the forest near the village and smelled the fragrance of earth and trees. I named my own flowers. I planted them in my soul, and I knew in time they would grow out of my soul, beautifully.
Years later, I met my ex-husband, who was an artist himself, while traveling in India. I followed him to his native Shanghai, where flowers can only be found in floral shops. Because of this detachment from flowers, I paint them more passionately, with fantasy and despair, as if I were dating a far-away lover. I often go on without food and sleep for an entire day, yet hunger and fatigue miraculously disappear.
Sometimes, at dawn or dusk, in my mind, the world becomes a single flower, so gigantic yet so tiny. Other times, sleeping or awake, in my hallucination, flowers are what I want to be; simplicity, fragility and purity. To me, flowers become an embodiment of life; short but beautiful. They nourish my soul and my soul cherishes them. I have been painting flowers consistently and exclusively for the last fourteen years. Yet, I still feel that I have just started.
Ai Li, June, 2003, Shanghai
I saw this painting at my critic friend's study years later. He told me it was the only non-flower work Ai Li painted after her husband disappeared.
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