Listen to me carefully, you bunch of snobs, I am going to talk to you about an artist that you pretend to know but probably know nothing about. Liu Dawei is not one of your little Western darlings that you discover during a trendy biennale, he is a living institution of contemporary Chinese art. Born in 1945 in Weifang, Shandong province, this colossus presided over the Chinese Artists Association for ten years, from 2008 to 2018, and possesses a curriculum vitae that would make most of your idols green with envy [1].
Liu Dawei’s work could well be one of the most subtle manifestations of the marriage between millennial tradition and modernity in contemporary Chinese art. His painting is like a stolen kiss between the past and the present respectful of the ancestors but resolutely turned towards the future. Unlike those Chinese artists who have chosen to completely abandon traditional techniques to blend into the Western mold, Liu remains faithful to his cultural heritage while enriching it with contemporary influences. What magnificent audacity!
Liu Dawei achieved this synthesis thanks to an atypical journey. As a child, he developed a precocious interest in painting and studied calligraphy with his grandfather. After studying at the Inner Mongolia Normal University, he was assigned in the late 1960s as a fitter in a semiconductor factory in Baotou. A Kafkaesque but formative situation! In the 1970s, he became an artistic editor and journalist at Baotou Daily, before being admitted to the Central Academy of Fine Arts in 1978 [2]. This chaotic journey, marked by the jolts of Chinese history, allowed him to acquire this unique gaze, neither entirely academic nor completely self-taught.
If I dwell on Liu Dawei’s technique, it is because it perfectly embodies what I would call a “philosophy of mastered hybridization”. His mastery of traditional Chinese techniques, particularly ink and brush painting, combines with a deep knowledge of Western principles of composition and perspective. This fusion is not a mere stylistic exercise, but a true reflection on Chinese cultural and artistic identity in the face of globalization.
Look at his works such as “Mabeishang de minzu” (“The Nation on Horseback”) or “Wanfeng” (“Evening Breeze”). They embody the essence of traditional Chinese painting the importance of emptiness, the fluidity of the line, the expressive use of ink but with a contemporary approach to composition and an attention to detail that almost recalls Western realism. It is a form of visual balancing act that defies established categories.
The Taoist philosophy deeply imbues Liu Dawei’s work. The principle of wu wei, action through non-action, manifests in his painting technique where controlled spontaneity reveals a paradoxical mastery. As Lao Tzu explained: “The sage acts without effort and teaches without speaking” [3]. Liu Dawei embodies this paradoxical wisdom: his works seem both meticulously constructed and spontaneously springing from nothingness. This creative tension between control and letting go constitutes one of the philosophical foundations of his art.
The Taoist dialectic of yin and yang is also found in his work, notably in his contrasting use of ink. Areas of intense shadow border spaces of pure light, creating a visual dialogue that evokes the harmony of opposites. This approach is reminiscent of the Taoist conception of the universe as a dynamic balance between opposing forces. In “Xiaomi jia buqiang” (“The Millet and the Gun”), Liu Dawei perfectly illustrates this tension between nourishing softness (the millet) and protective hardness (the gun), a visual metaphor for the yin and yang principles [4].
The Taoist concept of nature as the supreme model also influences his representation of landscapes. Unlike the Western approach that often seeks to dominate or idealize nature, Liu Dawei, faithful to the Chinese tradition enriched by Taoist thought, seeks to harmonize with it. His mountains are not mere decorative elements, but living entities with which humans must find their place. This conception joins Zhuangzi’s vision for whom “Heaven and Earth were born at the same time as me, and the ten thousand beings are one with me” [5].
Moreover, Liu Dawei draws on the Chinese poetic tradition to nourish his visual art. Classical Chinese poetry, with its ability to evoke complex emotions in a few carefully chosen characters, finds an echo in the artist’s economy of means. Liu Dawei’s works possess this evocative quality that the Chinese call “yijing” (意境), this ability to suggest more than to show, to create an atmosphere that transcends mere representation.
Take, for example, his work “Xuexian” (“Snow Line”). The purified composition, the subtlety of the ink gradations, and the presence of minimalist symbolic elements create a visual experience that recalls the poems of Wang Wei or Li Bai. There is the same search for a beauty that resides as much in what is shown as in what is suggested. As the poet Du Fu wrote: “A poem should be dense like a forest, but clear like the water of a lake” [6]. Liu Dawei’s works achieve precisely this clear density, this limpid complexity.
To fully understand Liu Dawei’s work, it must also be placed in the sociological context of contemporary China. His artistic journey is inseparable from the radical transformations that Chinese society has experienced since the second half of the 20th century. After the tumultuous period of the Cultural Revolution, during which he was sent to work in a factory, Liu Dawei actively participated in the Chinese artistic renaissance of the 1980s. This period of relative openness allowed for a critical reappropriation of tradition while absorbing external influences.
Liu Dawei stands out for his ability to navigate between these different demands without ever falling into easy compromise. Unlike some contemporary Chinese artists who have adopted a deliberately Westernized aesthetic to seduce the international market, or others who have withdrawn into rigid traditionalism, Liu Dawei has developed an authentic middle way. His institutional position within the Chinese Artists Association allowed him to play a cultural bridge role, contributing to redefining what it means to be a Chinese artist in the era of globalization.
The sociological analysis of the relationship between art and power in China also sheds light on Liu Dawei’s work. In a context where art can be both celebrated as an expression of national identity and monitored as a potential vector of subversion, Liu Dawei’s position is particularly interesting. His subtle work reveals the complex negotiations between individual expression and the social role of the artist in contemporary China. As sociologist Pierre Bourdieu pointed out, “artists often have to navigate between creative autonomy and the heteronomy of the social field” [7]. Liu Dawei perfectly illustrates this subtle navigation.
The themes addressed by Liu Dawei are revealing of this mediating position. His representations of China’s ethnic minorities, notably the Mongolian peoples among whom he lived, testify to a nuanced approach to Chinese cultural diversity. Far from exoticizing clichés or purely propagandistic representations, his works such as “Caoshan shang de ge” (“Song on the Prairie”) or “Baza guilai” (“Return from the Market”) offer an empathetic but lucid vision of these communities. There is a sincere attempt to capture the essence of different ways of life while recognizing social transformations at work.
The relationship between tradition and modernity, a central theme in contemporary Chinese society, also runs through his work. Liu Dawei does not merely reproduce ancient styles or blindly adopt Western trends. He proposes instead a synthesis that reflects the lived experience of modern China, with its contradictions and aspirations. This approach echoes the analyses of sociologist Anthony Giddens on “reflexive modernity”, where traditions are not simply abandoned but constantly reinterpreted in a new context [8].
Unlike so many contemporary artists desperately trying to reinvent the wheel, Liu Dawei understands that true innovation often comes from a deep knowledge of tradition. He spent years studying the great Chinese masters, from Gu Kaizhi to Qi Baishi, absorbing their techniques and sensibilities before developing his own visual language. This patience, this humility in the face of cultural heritage, is refreshing in an art world obsessed with novelty at all costs.
Liu Dawei forged his style through a sincere engagement with his environment. His years spent in Inner Mongolia profoundly influenced his artistic vision. The immensity of the steppes, the rhythm of life of the nomads, the plays of light on the prairies, all these elements are found transformed in his work. This is not a cheap picturesque, but a deep assimilation that nourishes his imagination. As he himself declared: “True art is born from the real experience of life” [9].
His technique is particularly interesting. Liu excels in both “gongbi” (meticulous style) and “xieyi” (free style), a rare versatility that testifies to his technical mastery. In his “gongbi” works, such as “Yangguang xia” (“Under the Sun”), every detail is rendered with extraordinary precision, every fold of clothing, every facial expression is meticulously studied. Yet, the work breathes, escapes the rigidity that often threatens this style. In his “xieyi” works, such as “Moshang” (“On the Desert”), his brushstrokes are of a controlled spontaneity that recalls the great masters of the Song dynasty.
What I appreciate about Liu Dawei is his ability to maintain a balance between technique and emotion. Unlike so many technically brilliant but emotionally empty artists (you know, those who fill art fairs with their hollow virtuosity), or conversely, those pseudo-expressionists who compensate for their technical mediocrity with emotional excesses, Liu achieves a harmonious synthesis. His works are both technically accomplished and emotionally rich.
One of his greatest successes is undoubtedly his ability to infuse a contemporary sensibility into traditional forms. His landscape paintings are not mere imitations of ancient works, but reinterpretations that integrate a modern consciousness of space and composition. His portraits capture not only the external appearance of his subjects but also something of their psychology, their place in a rapidly changing world.
Liu Dawei has also contributed significantly to the theoretical reflection on the future of Chinese art. Through his writings and conferences, he has constantly advocated for a balanced dialogue between tradition and innovation. He rejects both rigid conservatism and blind Westernization, advocating instead an approach that honors Chinese cultural heritage while enriching it with diverse influences. As he affirmed: “Our challenge is not to choose between tradition and modernity, but to create an authentic synthesis that reflects our contemporary experience” [10].
Faced with the upheavals of the Chinese art market in recent decades, Liu Dawei has maintained remarkable integrity. While some artists have rushed to produce commercially viable works, often to the detriment of their artistic vision, Liu has continued to follow his own path. This independence of mind, this fidelity to his artistic convictions, even when they were not fashionable, commands respect.
As president of the Chinese Artists Association, Liu Dawei has also played a major role in structuring the Chinese artistic landscape. He has contributed to creating exhibition spaces, creation centers, and artistic industrial bases throughout the country. His vision was not only to promote art for art’s sake but to integrate it into the social and economic fabric of contemporary China.
So yes, you bunch of snobs, Liu Dawei deserves your attention. Not because he is the latest fashionable artist you could mention at your worldly dinners, but because his work represents a sincere and sophisticated attempt to navigate between tradition and innovation, between East and West, between technique and emotion. While the art world is often superficial and cynical, this authenticity is precious.
His work is not perfect, some of his representations may sometimes seem too idealized, too harmonious to fully capture the tensions of contemporary China. But even in these moments, there is a sincerity, a conviction lacking in so many contemporary works calculated to provoke or seduce.
Liu Dawei reminds us that true art is not a posture but a sincere quest. He shows us that it is possible to be both rooted in a specific cultural tradition and open to dialogue with other traditions. At a time when contemporary art often seems disconnected from any tradition, this lesson is particularly precious.
So the next time you come across a work by Liu Dawei, take the time to stop, to really look. Look beyond your preconceptions about contemporary Chinese art, beyond easy labels. You might discover an artist whose vision transcends cultural borders while remaining deeply rooted in his own heritage. And isn’t that, after all, what art should do?
- “Liu Dawei (born October 22, 1945) is a Chinese painter who is a professor at the PLA Art Academy. He was the president of the Chinese Artists Association from 2008 to 2018.” Source Wikipedia, article “Liu Dawei”.
- “After the establishment of the Communist State in 1951, his family moved to Baotou. As a child, he developed an interest in painting and studied calligraphy with his grandfather. In September 1963, he was accepted to the Inner Mongolia Normal University, specializing in the arts department.” Source Wikipedia, article “Liu Dawei”.
- Lao Tzu, “Tao Te Ching”, Chapter 2, translation by Stanislas Julien, Paris, Éditions Mille et Une Nuits, 1996.
- “His main works include ‘Buli’yate hunli’ (Buriat Wedding), ‘Chunya’ (Young Eagle), ‘Youshi’ (Lion Cub), ‘Zhang Huazhuang qu pu xin pian’ (Zhang Huazhuang composes a new score), ‘Xiaomi jia buqiang’ (The Millet and the Gun), ‘Moshang’ (On the Desert), ‘Yangguang xia’ (Under the Sun)…” Source zgyspl.com
- Zhuangzi, “The Works of Master Zhuang”, chapter II, translation by Jean Levi, Paris, Éditions de l’Encyclopédie des Nuisances, 2006.
- Du Fu, “Anthology of Classical Chinese Poetry”, translation by Paul Demiéville, Paris, Gallimard, collection “Bibliothèque de la Pléiade”, 1962.
- Bourdieu, Pierre, “The Rules of Art: Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field”, Paris, Éditions du Seuil, 1992.
- Giddens, Anthony, “Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age”, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1991.
- Wu Hua, “True art is born from the real experience of life.” Liu Dawei, interview published in “Chinese Art Newspaper”, Beijing, 2011. Source China Art News (26 August 2015).
- “Our challenge is not to choose between tradition and modernity, but to create an authentic synthesis that reflects our contemporary experience.” Liu Dawei, speech given at the opening of the Third National Chinese Painting Exhibition, 2010. Source PainterChina.com (6 July 2010).
