Letters and Paintings
Peng Wei
I like reading letters, but not letters from the present day; I only read the correspondence of past artists and authors.
“Distant Letters” happened when I was reading a book of Paul Gauguin’s letters. Initially, I only wanted to make a handmade book of album leaves and scrolls, but in order to fill the void in the composition, I copied two partial letters from that book, which had been close to hand. Unfortunately, I’ve already lost that book of Gauguin’s letters; I only hastily noted down that they came from that volume.
Letters are like semi-public diaries, directly revealing the people of the past, reflecting the artists in ways that their works do not. Reading and copying the letters reflect who I was at the time of selection. In both text and painting, I am seeking a kind of resonance, or the self I hope to become.
Yes, I can always find the present in the objects of the past, even after seeing them.
Sometimes, I snicker as I write, knowing that this artist had once been so cowardly, so full of anxiety, or so worried. Other times, I feel sad as I write, knowing that this writer asked for help like this, that he didn’t understand the ways of the world, or that he was alive in the spirit despite the hardships of life… In this way, these gods of art become real people, but this does not change my love for them; I may even like them and their work better because of it.
Most of the letters I have chosen randomly, determined by the number of characters and the void in the painting, but my choices are also determined by what I like. I read a lot of love letters, but those are a bit dull; I really like to read about the titans of culture discussing domestic affairs: Beethoven was angry because a friend had taken a spoon. Dostoyevsky discussed always needing to borrow money after writing. Manet spent his entire life defending himself, and his friends Mallarmé and Monet fought for him after his death. Mozart was always his father’s child, wanting to ask his advice about everything. Most talented artists are somewhat silly and stubborn, but Picasso was particularly clever and unequivocal in discussing the prices of his paintings… Sometimes, when I read a particularly moving letter, I can’t use it for a while, but I mark the page. One day, it may become the prologue or the introduction to my next work.
Perfect Journey was inspired by the letters exchanged by Rainer Maria Rilke, Marina Tsvetaeva, and Boris Pasternak. I Remembered You comes from the letter Dostoyevsky wrote to his brother after escaping death. In A Place I Want To Go, I discovered the story behind Manet’s painting Olympia from the letters of the Impressionist painters.
I have read letters and painted scrolls for four years. Increasingly, I can’t remember whether the letters came first or the paintings came first. However, these letters provide an atmosphere for my paintings and my painting process. Yes, these letters contain the atmosphere of their times, but they also tell us something about the present, just like the ancient paintings that I love so much.
In all of these works, I have painstakingly avoided using correspondence from ancient China, because once the words become ancient inscriptions, my paintings become something of the past. Looking at it today, I think it would be awkward. My paintings are not imitations or retellings of ancient paintings; they are my own response to seeing them again.
These letters were originally written due to the distance and relationships between people, and as a result, they pass through time and space. I read Western letters, occasionally from the present, from my own lifetime. In my eyes, they are like ancient paintings, distant yet near.
November 13, 2016
Beijing
