Soliloquy

Sitting at a desk with a stack of paper and a handful of color pens in front of me, I stare blankly into thin air, waiting for my heart to sink. Then the familiar scenarios start to appear once again. Like clouds forming in my fading memories, objects weaved together by messy lines; lights and colors gather and then scatter. Armed with my pens, I begin to chase their ambiguous expressions: looking for traces of clues and anticipating what the real colors are beneath the surface. The mysterious shapes keep appearing and disappearing: rejected and then covered. Through the movements of my pens, they became certain characters of their own drama and the whole picture turns into a stage. After the initial messiness is cleaned up, the relevant scenes emerge – we have a painting.

It’s a world of illusion and imagination, and it’s not always noticed. It’s small and yet big enough to hold the universe of a person: the chaos and entanglements, the blindness and the pursuit. Just like scenes between heaven and earth, it exists and happens. Just like dreams, they occur without much reasoning. Then on a piece of paper, the ultimate image suddenly comes to life.

I try to describe the process of consciousness when I create these pastel paintings. It’s vague and abstract – not easily conveyed through word. Above all, what I want to say is this: they have been created with no particular purpose in mind. They defy labels of being art. They don’t claim to define the human nature. Like private dreams, these paintings represent the consciousness of one person and one person alone.

Xia Xiaowan
Wang Jing, August 3, 2011