Why Hong Kong (English version)

Why Hong Kong

Why Hong Kong Claudio Bucher Brandon Farnsworth Patrick Kull Michael Schindhelm

Connecting Spaces Hong Kong â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Zurich

Why Hong Kong

Why Hong Kong Connecting Spaces Hong Kong â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Zurich

Contents/Inhalt

Preface/Vorwort 5 by Michael Schindhelm Travelogue 9 by Claudio Bucher Stadt ohne Grund We need a Riot Disappearing Besuch bei Jaffa Connecting Space

13 19 27 31 35

41 Portraits by Patrick Kull

Jaffa Lam Chow Chun Fai Morgan Wong Ko Sin Tung Lai Cheuk Wah Sarah Kwan Sheung Chi Kong Chun Hei Lam Tung Pang Tang Kwok Hin

43 49 55 61 65 69 73 77 83

89 Interviews by Brandon Farnsworth 91 Kurt Chan 101 Connie Lam, Teresa Kwong, Ian Leung Tina Pang, Pi Li 107 115 Leung Po-ÂShan Tobias Berger 121

Preface/Vorwort Michel Foucault introduced the concept of heterotopia into the theory of space. Heterotopia is a counter-place, which both depicts and questions the real world. Foucault’s counter-places include cemeteries and theatres. Whereas today the real world appears to be vanishing behind its digital reproduction, whereas the utopias of modernity are now exhausted, whereas the future of the past seems to be more congenial than the lived present, whereas optimistic future prospects are suspected of neoliberalism, and whereas a yearning to return to the past is becoming overwhelming, heterotopia seems to be an experimental arrangement for understanding our times. It neither demands the unattainable (unlike utopia) nor relishes the apocalytic (unlike dystopia), but rather asks what is possible. Hong Kong is a heterotopia. The city mirrors and questions the paradigmatic phenomena of our times. Thus, Hong Kong is an almost unprecedented manifestation of urbanism. Whereas other cities are growing at breathtaking speed, Hong Kong’s population has been stagnating for twenty years. Whereas the city is an outstanding example of how the colonial past was successfully overcome, it is an unstable amalgamation of Anglo-Saxon and Asian cultures. And whereas reunification in 1997 returned Hong Kong to the People’s Republic of China, the city nevertheless represents an attempt at social autonomy (and an alternative to Chinese society). Following Milton Friedman’s dictum, Hong Kong embodies an ideal form of capitalism. Its liberalist economy seems to prove Friedman right. Since 2009, we have been observing how the centres of the capitalist system – Wall Street, the City of London, etc. – are becoming global platforms of protest. OCCUPY is a heterotopia of present-day capitalism that not only reflects but also questions our world. OCCUPY discovered Hong Kong for itself at an early stage and through various movements. The occupation of Hong Kong’s financial district this autumn plainly reveals that the sheer number of demonstrators and law enforcement officers have turned the city into a centre of the worldwide movement for a politics of participation. Art is an intangible heterotopia of our times. Its most successful expressions both reflect and contradict the demon of an apodictic, unloved reality. Hong Kong is on the complex way to becoming an art metropolis. Its exceptional status, however, will ensure that also this development will unfold differently than in Shanghai, Tokyo, or Singapore, for example. From February to September 2014, Claudio Bucher, Patrick Kull, and Brandon Farnsworth, Master’s students at Zurich University of the Arts (ZHdK), and I explored how Hong Kong’s cultural situation is changing under the influence of various large-scale projects, such as the development of the M+ Museum (West Kowloon Cultural District) and Art Basel’s taking over of Hong Kong’s art fair. This publication offers 5

readers insights into our research, which included a stay in Hong Kong during Art Basel | Hong Kong in May 2014. Those seeking to understand this city like ourselves (albeit only one of its many aspects) will soon realise that any such understanding has narrow bounds. They will also recognise, however, that there is something far more important than understanding, namely, experiencing the city as a counter-place to its environs, its history, its (decreed) future. For Hong Kong is a city without any certainties, in which nothing is determined, which is constantly devising counter-concepts to itself, and which is destroying, in a stirring manner, the (postmodern, Western) doubt that the future is (still) possible.

Michel Foucault hat den Begriff der Heterotopie in die Raumtheorie eingeführt. Die Heterotopie ist ein Gegenort, der die reale Welt zugleich abbildet als auch infrage stellt. Foucaultsche Gegenorte sind etwa Friedhöfe oder Theater. Während heute die reale Welt hinter ihrer digitalen Vervielfältigung zu verschwinden scheint, die Utopien der Moderne erschöpft sind, die Zukunft der Vergangenheit wohnlicher anmutet als die gelebte Gegenwart, optimistische Zukunftsaussichten unter dem Verdacht des Neoliberalismus stehen und die Sehnsucht nach Rückbesinnung übermächtig wird, scheint die Heterotopie eine Versuchsanordnung zu sein, unsere Zeit zu verstehen. Sie verlangt nicht nach dem Unerreichbaren (wie die Utopie), sie geniesst nicht die Apokalypse (wie die Dystopie), sie fragt vielmehr nach dem, was möglich ist. Hong Kong ist eine Heterotopie. Diese Stadt spiegelt paradigmatische Phänomene unserer Zeit und stellt sie infrage. So ist Hong Kong ein fast nirgendwo erreichter Ausdruck von Urbanität, aber während andere Städte atemberaubend schnell wachsen, stagniert die Bevölkerungsentwicklung von Hong Kong seit zwanzig Jahren. Die Stadt gilt als Paradebeispiel einer gelungen Überwindung kolonialer Vergangenheit und ist doch ein instabiles Amalgam angelsächsischer und asiatischer Kultur. Seit der Wiedervereinigung 1997 gehört Hong Kong zu VR China und stellt dennoch den Versuch einer gesellschaftlichen Autonomie (Alternative) dar. Milton Friedmans Diktum zufolge verkörpert Hong Kong eine Idealform des Kapitalismus. Die liberalistische Ökonomie der Stadt scheint ihm Recht zu geben. Seit 2009 beobachten wir, wie gerade die Zentren des Systems – Wallstreet, die City of London – zu globalen Plattformen des Protests werden. OCCUPY ist eine Heterotopie des heutigen Kapitalismus, die unsere Welt widerspiegelt und infrage stellt. OCCUPY hat Hong Kong frühzeitig und in verschiedenen Bewegungen für sich entdeckt. Mit der Besetzung des Finanzzentrums von Hong Kong im Herbst dieses Jahres wurde jedoch plötzlich evident, dass allein angesichts der Zahl der Demonstranten und Ordnungskräfte Hong Kong offenkundig ein Zentrum der weltweiten Bewegung für eine Politik der Partizipation geworden ist. Die Kunst ist eine immaterielle Heterotopie unserer Zeit. In ihren gelungensten Ausdrucksformen widerspiegelt sie den und widerspricht sie dem Dämon einer apodiktischen, ungeliebten Realität. Hong Kong ist auf einem unübersichtlichen Weg, eine Kunstmetropole zu werden. 6

Dank dem Ausnahmestatus der Stadt wird auch diese Entwicklung anders verlaufen als etwa in Schanghai, Tokio oder Singapur. Die Masterstudierenden der Zürcher Hochschule der Künste Claudio Bucher, Patrick Kull und Brandon Farnsworth haben gemeinsam mit mir im Zeitraum zwischen Februar und September 2014 eine Untersuchung darüber angestellt, wie sich die kulturelle Situation der Stadt Hong Kong unter dem Einfluss diverser Grossprojekte wie der Entwicklung des M+Museums (West Kowloon Cultural District) und der Übernahme der Kunstmesse Hong Kong durch die Art Basel verändert. Die vorliegende Publikation gibt Aufschluss über unsere Recherche, die u.a. einen Besuch in Hong Kong im Mai 2014 während der Art Basel umfasste. Wer wie wir (wenn auch auf einem Teilgebiet) diese Stadt zu verstehen versucht, wird rasch einsehen müssen, dass dieses Verstehen seine engen Grenzen hat. Er wird aber auch erkennen, dass es etwas gibt, das wichtiger ist, als das Verstehen selbst. Dies ist das Erfahren einer Stadt als Gegenort zu ihrer Umgebung, ihrer Geschichte, ihrer (verordneten) Zukunft. Einer Stadt, in der es keine Gewissheiten gibt, in der nichts feststeht, die unaufhörlich Alternativen zu sich selbst entwirft und auf ergreifende Weise den (postmodernen, westlichen) Zweifel daran zerstört, dass Zukunft (noch) möglich ist. Michael Schindhelm

Travelogue by Claudio Bucher City Without Ground We Need a Riot Disappearing Visiting Jaffa Connecting Space

In his travelogue, Claudio Bucher investigates the precarious state of independent cultural production in Hong Kong, a megacity flooded by streams of immigrants and money, deforming the fast-changing metropolis already under a tightening political corset. During a five-day journey in the former British colony, the author unfolds a net of reflections oscillating between Hong Kong’s past history, present developments, and future projects, using capitalistic excesses as the backdrop. Between historical, economical, and political macro-perspectives, we are guided through Hong Kong’s streets, shopping malls, and finally land in art studios, exhibition halls, and cafés, where artists, neo-bohemians, journalists, and entrepreneurs speak on behalf of a community that is not willing to compromise its ideals. In his interactions with the city’s protagonists, the author intertwines his own experience as an artist, prompting heartfelt, sincere descriptions. The reflections and personal views on a decade as a composer and musicproducer enable the reader to follow the author’s version of stories, along with his changing perception of the city. Through this lens, a rather critical picture of the creative industry is constructed, where market forces and alignment with state-funded initiatives do not leave much room for autonomous development. The interviewees reveal a pessimistic and tough impression of life as an independent artist in the city. A tsunami of economico-political constraints dissolves ideals, strengthens the disconnection between art and the general population, and undermines the protagonists’ aspirations for the city. There is a sense of desperation and frustration in the air, but also glimpses of success and solidarity in a fight against the disappearance of Hong Kong core values that will peak several months later in the umbrella movement.

Asking about the societal value and function of art and culture in the beginning of the text, an answer is offered a few pages later. Where neoliberal capitalism and concentrated political power enforce conformism, autonomous art and culture can only be political, and can only be implicit or explicit resistance. “Art is a steel construction” when institutional foundations on which art should grow are repeatedly sabotaged by all-encompassing commercialization. But art is much more. It is respect, social inclusion, service to society, and it is beauty. However, independent art seems to walk on shaky legs, always stumbling along. Initiatives like the Zurich University of the Arts’ Connecting Space can support this kind of art, but also need to find their own pace in this vibrating city. In a final reflection on the simplified portrayal of Hong Kong in western media, the text advocates for a finegrained view that transgresses binary perspectives, suggesting that an in-depth analysis of Hong Kong as a future version of mainland China is inevitable; China will unavoidably find its way to the west. Until that time, the travelogue takes us directly into the 20-square-meter apartments, where culture is produced independently, against all odds. With a detailed and lively description, the travelogue can be seen as a contribution to a better understanding of the cultural scene in Hong Kong, and a reflection about the interplay between the roles of government and market forces in creating culture in this “borderline city”. Michael Etter

If the neon-lit skyscrapers were frozen music, then probably Ravel’s “Ondine” from Gaspard de la Nuit, polyrhythmically interwoven arpeggios, an anorganic, chromatic crackling at thirty millisecond intervals. Sclerotic glissandos on black keys. Frozen music in a disenchanted world. Ravel’s “Ondine” is a mermaid, a hybrid creature, half sea, half land. Ravel’s rendition blends magic, elegance, and abhorrence, based on the millenia-old myth of mermaids that drown their beloved; it is a myth about temptation, about Lorelei, and about figures perishing in the spray. In October 1993, 2,000 Hong Kong Chinese gathered on the Aberdeen shore of Hong Kong Island after a rumour had spread that a fisherman had pulled a mermaid aboard his vessel. The police had to establish order, since this was already the third time that month that a mermaid had been sighted.²

1 – Ravel’s adaptation is based on the poem “Ondine” from Aloysius Bertrand’s Gaspard de la Nuit, 1842 (Éditions Gallimard). 2 – South China Morning Post, “2,000 hooked by a classic mermaid tale,” 13 October 1993. One eye witness said: “Every time a fishing boat appeared at the entrance of the harbour gasps of anticipation and cries of ‘here she comes’ and ‘this is it’ echoed around the waterfront.”

City Without Ground Day 1

On the first evening after my arrival a Red Rainstorm Warning was issued. It was the heaviest rainfall recorded on the border for six years. Shenzhen is completely submerged, 150 streets are flooded. We hasten through shopping malls in Central, darting across smoothly polished marble floors, to reach a rooftop bar in Asia’s World City. The waiter tells us that the terrace, which is completely empty, is reserved. No Access. When we ask a second time, he shows us into the lounge, with a view of the LED skyscapers included. The highrisers’ Symphony of Lights, the world’s largest permanent light display, is already over. Some lights are still blinking. Red. White. Blue. The spectacle includes a beer for eight Swiss francs. Behind the glass panel an acoustic guitar is playing for the quiet guests. Anonymous music, barely audible, vibrates on the membranes of small loudspeakers. Rain is louder here than back in Switzerland. The contorted, densely built highrisers seemingly multiply the sound on its way to our ears on the 25th floor. We have to raise our voices. One can walk for miles on Hong Kong Island without ever setting foot on the ground. Bridges guide pedestrians across streets while air-conditioned skyways connect shopping malls. The city is tightly knit. Half of its population lives less than 500 metres from an underground station, mostly in star-shaped housing projects that could easily accommodate entire small- to medium-sized Swiss towns. Access is via doorcodes, elevators serve as village squares. Living spaces here are three times smaller than in Switzerland. The apartment as a refuge, as a place of isolation (in the French meaning of “to create an island”), means less here than it does for us. Mind you, this restriction, indeed confinement, prevents people from drifting apart, from silently going their separate ways. Here loneliness is different. We are not scientists. We have come from an arts university to explore the city. Some acquaintances are speaking of a Swiss invasion, and ask me: Are you a kind of Ambassador for your School? I’m not really sure. This journey is a first landing. Talking to artists and creative professionals during these five days, partly in studios, partly in bars, is about making initial contact. These conversations are more like narratives situated on the periphery of a stringent scientific case study. Why Hong Kong? The number of publications dedicated to Hong Kong Identity soared after 1984 and around 1997: after the signing of the Joint Declaration and after the date for the return of the British colony to China was set for 30 June 1997. Hong Kong cultural studies professor Ackbar Abbas speaks of love at last sight and refers to Walter Benjamin’s interpretation of a Baudelaire poem: it captures the lover at that moment when he falls in love, when the longhaired beauty is already disappearing around the street corner. “The enchantment of the city dweller is not love at first but rather at last sight.” Déja disparu, fascinatingly observing how something glides through one’s fingers, a change of culture based on impending disappearance. Recognising identity as soon as its existence is threatened. Abbas’ Culture and the Politics of Disappearance was published in 1997, amid much upheaval. The approaching handover to China wasfraught with anxiety: the loss of freedoms, of a diversity of opinions, of 14

media pluralism. The events on Tiananmen Square in 1989 still sat deep in people’s minds, as a sombre foreboding and as a warning about a possible future: of a city recolonised, and of a nation with an expiry date. 300,000 left the city that year. In 2014, two decades later, opinion polls reveal that for the first time the population considers political problems to be more serious than economic ones. Trust in the press is shattered, and the Hong Kong association of journalists speaks of “the darkest year in decades.” In 2014, Hong Kong’s relationship with China is marked by a demand for autonomy, a right to shape one’s own future amid economic dependency. The rise of Shanghai, but also of Wuhan and Chonqcing, two super-cities in mainland China, evokes Hong Kong’s fear of losing its status as Asia’s World City, of vanishing in China as one city among many. But Hong Kong isn’t China. Hong Kong is borderline China. Hong Kong isn’t undergoing change, but is a city in a slipstream, in the space of flow; this is a city of migration, a globally networked site of transition: in 1996, 40 % of its population were born outside the city. Hong Kong is borderline China: in the 1960s, satellites brought American films to Hong Kong’s living rooms, jukeboxes played Western pop music in cafés while its mother country, China, remained behind closed doors until 1978. Hong Kong, meanwhile, was a patchwork of silk, neon lights, and dollars. While San Francisco celebrated the Summer of Love in 1969, the Cultural Revolution washed ashore dead bodies and sparked the bloodiest riots in the history of Hong Kong. At times anti-colonialist, at others definitely non-Chinese; at times falling prey to colonial nostalgia, but forever tinged by Cantonese solidarity. Hong Kong is a success story, one of the great urban sensations of the 20th century, having evolved from a small fishing village into China’s most dynamic city. 150 years ago, little else than a few villages and a mermaid-fearing fishing population existed here; in a few years, highspeed trains will be linking the city to the world’s largest railway network. Hong Kong will become a think tank, the front office and front end of South Asia’s economic octopus. The designs for the Pearl River Delta Megalopolis are already filling the PDFs of Western urban studies institutes. Borders are disappearing: roughly 40,000 people are emigrating to mainland China every year, a few thousand less than the number of children born here. Hong Kong’s birth rate is lower than China’s, although no one-child policy is in force (in 2014, the Wall Street Journal estimated that the costs of raising a child in Hong Kong, and getting it through college, run to 600,000 Swiss francs.) The knowledge of English has dwindled, with Mandarin now being spoken better. Pork, fish, and vegetables are imported from China at a rate of almost 100%. Half the city’s students are from mainland China. One seldom mixes: on the one side, swots who forgo tea breaks; on the other, locals who take to the streets to protest against restaurants using simplified instead of traditional characters on their menus. Videoclips showing the inappropriate eating habits of Chinese tourists have gone viral on MTR. One is proud of one’s own culture, but caught between xenophobia and a fear of intrusion: is this simply a media bias, comparable to the “unloved Germans” in Switzerland? “Hong Kong is disappearing,” local artist Kwan Sheung Chi tells me at Art Basel. “It’s the plan of the Chinese government.” I’m meeting artists, young entrepreneurs, and neo-bohemians to diagnose Hong Kong society a few days after my first landing. 15

In a city whose neoliberalism Milton Friedman hailed as exemplary, where laissez faire is practised, and can do a credo, business encounters culture and art in diametrical fashion. The creative industries are the fastest growing economic sector in the past 7 years. The city is investing in education and in its attractiveness as a cultural metropolis to draw educated, talented creative professionals and to prevent a brain drain. Hong Kong is an economocracy, governed by the primacy of usefulness and profit: it’s a planned, top-down creative city in borderline China. The city as a mirror and screen: how do economic conditions and initiatives affect local creative professionals? Where and how does culture emerge independently of the market? Last but not least, and right from the beginning, urban research always involves us in self-exploration. Our first encounter reflects our values, and becomes a bearer of our desires and fears. So urban analysis is also self-analysis: we get to know our own patterns of perception. Recognising these patterns also means developing an awareness of how collective images of ourselves and others arise. The blindspots of our first landing serve as a mirror, facilitating our understanding of our own cultural, historical, and personal background, of our own social sphere. Urban research means to work both on the questions conceived and on one’s identity. We ask questions about what and who we are not. Or, as HansGeorg Gadamer observed, “The other is the path toward self-recognition.” So who am I in Hong Kong ?

I enrolled at arts university to give myself a footing at 40. I’ve been a freelance creative industry professional since 2004. I’m self-taught: my computer is my tool. In the 1990s, the personal computer allowed the ordinary person to reproduce a composition with over 30 audio tracks for the first time. Ten years earlier, this technology was accessible only to studios having the necessary start-up venture capital. So along came 16

the first generation of bedroom producers, and in their wake the democratisation of music production. I got into the creative industry by chance. The ingredients were Zeitgeist, a mass-impact video clip launched before the days of YouTube, and good management. This was my basic capital. After that, I didn’t need to be a struggling artist, nor scrape together the rent, nor do things that didn’t further my development or entertainment. I was fortunate. I seldom rested on my laurels, and my output was high. Those days also included concerts and DJ gigs, from S-Chanf to Chonqcing. Seven years ago, I decided that I’d never claim the status of the struggling artist or neo-bohemian. I put aside funds for the mid-term, when competition and my skills, plus my network, would no longer make ends meet. The greatest share of my income depends on success. It’s scalable. Fees make up 30–40%. Airplay, royalties, licensing revenue vary strongly, depending on the Zeitgeist, demand, and the music market. I’m a self-employed, audience-dependent enterpreneur. From time to time, Swiss musicians spring huge surprises, enabling them to keep pace, in the short- to mid-term, with executive salaries. On balance, though, budgets and sales in the music industry have decreased in the last seven years. Media use has changed, sound carriers are disappearing, recorded music is becoming common property, streamable for five dollars via Cloud. I’d be the last person to lament this structural change, whether in the music business or in journalism (my second, although weaker, source of income: I began doing media studies before launching my music career). Imagining myself on a basic artist’s income of roughly 2,000 francs a month, as in Belgium, would obviously give me peace of mind, and get me through phases of development, so as not to depend entirely on the market while remaining competitive at the same time. But that’s utopian in a country that flatly rejects more holidays for everyone. And I quite understand those who oppose such proposals at the ballot box: after all, it isn’t easy to think one’s way into a creative professional, an artist, a musician — to make one’s passion one’s profession. Work more, get up earlier (although one is already working nights): things will work out, and if they don’t, well, then learn a normal profession and stop dreaming. It’s idiotic anyway. There’s no room for idling. Which cultural products serve society? No matter whether they consolidate values, question or subversively provoke society, spark and animate debates, ease or tighten tensions: quality in culture constantly needs new criteria, better measurability, or social diagnoses by respected guides, who remain clear-sighted amid the frentically circulating oversupply of data and information in the media-dominated knowledge society. Does anyone still have any clue what exactly is going on? Does anyone still see through things and is able to look ahead? Obviously, culture, the market, and quality are not joining invisible hands to magically preserve harmony. At least the market — if we subtract the effects of marketing — is democratic. Public funding lies in the hands of some few, which makes it more random than the dynamic chaos of the market. This works, and yet it doesn’t. For enthusiastic creative professionals aged 25 and 39 and inclined to self-exploitation it’s both fate and thrill. But as the basis for starting a family, with a guarantee of the same freedoms, mobility, and education for one’s children, it spells a struggle certain to hollow out one’s quality of life. 17

I’d love to work again. Even if I tried imagining boredom, I’d fail. It’s been too long. I yearn for potentially boring work and well-deserved after hours. I want to make my passion my hobby.

We Need a Riot Day 2

We are sitting in a circle, on yellow plastic stools, in the middle of the street. It’s just after 9.30 pm. The street is brightly lit, and another restaurant’s outdoor floodlight is blinding us. We’re on Tang Lung Street in Causeway Bay, a narrow street just behind Hennessy Road, one of Hong Kong Island’s busiest roads. The street names reflect Hong Kong’s colonial history: around 1880, Governor John Pope Hennessy decisively influenced the burgeoning young city when he lifted the ban on Chinese residents purchasing land, building houses, and conducting business of any sort. Today, Hong Kong’s land is owned chiefly by a handful of local tycoons, essentially four large families, who made their fortunes in the 1950s selling plastic flowers and importing zippers. Today, they run grocery stores and hotel chains and own the city’s most valuable asset: land. Only these few big players can compete against each other because of the exorbitant lease premiums: unlike in New York, London, or Paris, these capital contributions must be paid when obtaining a land use approval. The city auctions these leases for a period of fifty years. The basic rent totals a mere 3% during this time, but the remaining 97 % (for sums over 300 million Swiss francs) must be paid at purchase. Shifting the principal costs onto the rent would increase competition. The government could influence non-monetary aspects like the cityscape and sustainability by requiring real estate developers to submit plans. In the 1970s, the area around Tang Lung Street was run-down and shabby. Triads controlled brothels, casinos, and opium bars while lanterns were sold on the streets and pans mended. Since the erection of the 16-floor Times Square in 1994, the first vertical shopping centre, two streets away, the neighbourhood has undergone constant change: 24/7 shopping, Dai Pai Dongs, traditional mobile restaurants with folding chairs and plastic stools out on the street, the nightclubs for the poor, have disappeared. These days, Jamie Oliver cooks expensive Italian food on Tang Lung Street. In 2010, the world’s highest monthly rent for a street-level retail outlet was forked out on Causeway Bay (110,000 Swiss francs for 80 m²). Compared to Hong Kong, gentrification and displacement in Switzerland occur in slow motion. Hong Kong is undergoing constant renewal. “Each city is a beginning and a conclusion, only Hong Kong is forever a beginning,” says director Flora Lau, the darling of Hong Kong’s film industry, in her documentary Start from Zero (2013). The government calls the renewal of industrial zones revitalisation. Originally conceived as affordable production sites for the creative industries, for instance, as postproduction suites and music studios in Kwun Tong and as artist studios in Fo Tan, the mounting, uncontrolled rents have become unaffordable for most small businesses. It’s a mere five years since the government lifted the expensive lease modification charges, which are levied for changes of use. That industrial buildings aren’t being transformed into apartments, hotels, and offices at Hong Kong’s usual frentic pace has to do with obsolete regulations from the 1970s: because buildings were fitted with gas at the time, they must now have windows for safety reasons. Many industrial firms forsook the opportunity. There’s a whiff of soy-marinated duck and oyster omelettes in Tang Lung Street. No flowers adorn our plastic table. Small ceramic bowls 20

are filled with broccoli, pan-fried specialties, fried chicken; iced bottles of Tsingtao beer aplenty (the most popular Chinese beer is actually a German brew, I’m told later; it was first brewed in 1903 in the German model colony Jiaozhou in southeastern China). Our waiter speaks no English. More than half of our group speaks Cantonese, the rest are Australians, Norwegians, and Swiss. A joint order is placed. Eating in Hong Kong is a collective affair. The city has as many restaurant seats as inhabitants. Flats are small, and only the wealthy can afford private accommodation with a separate dining room. Dining rooms, here, are moved onto the streets. Half our group has read Ackbar Abbas’ Culture and the Politics of Disappearance. Mandy, a local photographer, is in a bad mood: word is out that PMQ, the former police headquarters, which were supposed to be converted into a creative hub, are now going to be rented to upmarket brands, big players like fashion giant Giordano International, whose annual turnover tops 700 million Swiss francs. PMQ was billed as a venture designed to promote the local creative industry, fitted with 130 shops for select Hong Kong design, fashion, and art talents. Government plans have earmarked Hollywood Road in Sheung Wan to become a world famous creative street. After the opening a few months ago a more differentiated picture has meanwhile emerged: located on the groundfloor and the first floor, the shops of well-established brands are funding the low rents (20–30% of the market value) of the shops and offices of a hundred design talents. The creative economy is an economy, not a government-funded cultural programme. Sheung Wan’s central location means the young entrepreneurs benefit from passing trade. They sell limited niche products as an alternative, as edgy urban coolness (a jute bag sporting the slogan Louis Vuitton just doesn’t look good on me), and develop new ideas in a creative mall. So is this a place of lively exchange, with innovation potential, or just another supermarket? A large M, unplussed, suggests where this evening will end: the letter belongs to the future luxury supermall Soundwill Midtown Plaza II located at the other end of Tang Lung Street. Here, on the 17th floor, the Absolut Art Bar is opening its doors, exclusively during Art Basel. It’s the eve of the art fair, admission is by invitation only. There won’t be long queues, up to an hour or longer, extending beyond the red carpet out into Tang Lung Street, until a few days from now. Tonight, the space is filling up late, when the DJs, and their reduced LA beats, have ousted the customised soundtrack, synthetic carpets of emulated sound producers from the 1970s. The crowd, somehow associated with art, consists of just a handful of creative professionals, artists, and well-networked neo-bohemians. People know each other. Nadim Abbas, who has designed this year’s space, came on the recommendation of Adrian Wong, last year’s artist. Hong Kong’s Absolut Art Bar is funded by French-Swedish vodka manufacturer Absolut Vodka. It’s said to have cost half a million Swiss francs. The rent alone would normally cost 40,000 to 60,000 francs. Soundwill Holdings Limited, the real estate developer, wants to make the space available to the local art and creative scene in future, in association 21

with private industry sponsors, to promote art and creativity beyond boundaries. Art-and-advertising joint ventures aren’t new. As early as 1985, Absolut Art ran one of the first successful art-based advertising campaigns — Warhol’s portrait of a bottle of vodka — a decade after media theorist Marshall McLuhan had elevated advertising to the “most significant art form of the twentieth century.” Nadim Abbas has transformed the chaste space into a bunker, darkened and cluttered with rice bags. Pomegrate-vodka cocktails are being served in vacuum bags. Blood bags, a hit. Apocalyse Postponed. Drink as much as you can, like at the original event in Basel. But there’s no bunker atmosphere after a nuclear strike. The space isn’t oppressive. The sight of the sea of neon lights out on Causeway Bay extending behind the bar doesn’t stir many apocalyptic thoughts. We’re in a luxury bunker. It’s between these rice bags that over the next few days I’ll be gaining most insights into the lifeworlds of those flocking between Kowloon and Chai Wan. For instance, Joyce, 28. Joyce lives in North Point, on an estate for senior citizens. The name on the doorbell is her grandmother’s, who doesn’t live here. It’s a pensioner’s flat, at 100 Swiss francs rent a month. One room, measuring 20 m² at most, and a kitchen. Although she’s allergic, Joyce keeps the cat. Her breathing is heavy; the city makes people sick, she says. Her favourite breakfast is eggs on white toast, served at a small restaurant down by the harbour, just around the corner. She likes Björk and David Bowie — The Man who fell to Earth. She wanted to emigrate to Italy, to learn how to design hats. Her Milanese boyfriend left her. Italy’s nothing but fog, its lights extinguished in Joyce’s mind, a collection of repressed memories of happy fantasies, a dream-like relic pulverised amid these 20 m². Her bedroom doubles as a living room and studio. She won a final-year award on her Fashion Design course, and has been self-employed since, producing custom-made clothes for commercials. She makes ends meet with small styling commissions. When a deadline’s looming, she sources fabrics in Sham Shui Po over in Kowloon. On some streets there, they only sell cuffs; temporary tents beneath highway bridges, stacked with textiles from India, Bangladesh, China. Shops with a small selection of high-quality fabrics from Japan. She usually takes a taxi home, two large rolls of cloth sitting next to her on the backseat. Back to the island through the underground tunnel. Her Indian tailor is over in Jordan. She gets there just ahead of the deadline. She’ll be flying to the Paris and Milan Fashion Weeks on an assignment for a lifestyle magazine. Her grandmother has advised her to always smile. She’s worried about Joyce’s future; she works hard, but earns little. Her mother speaks loudly on the phone, talking about little else than work. She rarely sees her father. He’s in real estate in Shanghai. Everyday, she leans out of the window, smoking hand-rolled spliffs; they’re not strong, she says. She gets red eyes. She dances like a child, uncontrolled, perhaps a little impetuous. She’d like to move to an island, to one of the forty islands surrounding Hong Kong. Lantau or Lamma Island, where there are no cars.

Bryan, in his late 20s, lives on Lamma with his mother. There’s a waterfall behind the house. The ferries run daily, until three in the morning. When I ask him if he’d have time to meet in the next few days, he says no, no, no. He eyes my head. My haircut’s ok. I say it’s about my work, about his Hong Kong. His eyes brighten, and he starts talking. About the forced evictions to make way for the Rail Express Link, designed to join China and Hong Kong, and its terminus West Kowloon Cultural District. Whole villages were destroyed. Some expressed their solidarity with the families affected, some of which had lived in the area for several generations. But the majority of the population came out in support of economic growth, regardless of the sacrifices. Prosperity is the affluence calculated by the planning authorities. Everyone will benefit, say the advocates; social inequality has never been so pronounced in Hong Kong. Hong Kong’s Gini Index is approaching 0.6, a foreboding of social unrest. Although I’d travelled to Hong Kong to find out more about how art and culture are changing, and to gauge the potential consequences of a multi-billion cultural district, four words Bryan uttered have impressed themselves on me: “We need a riot.” They didn’t seem to express a youthful and shortsighted desire for rebellion against a demonised establishment. Perhaps it’s the conviction with which he spoke these words that struck me. A few months later, thousands of students took to the streets in Central and Mong Kok, blocking these neighbourhoods for weeks. Sleeping on IKEA beds, among huge mounds of cardboard, and yellow origami umbrellas. The umbrella is the movement’s symbol: it offers protection against typhoons, the sun, and pepper-spray. The Umbrella Movement is a non-violent protest, making the world’s headlines, except China’s, spreading out from the heart of Hong Kong’s business district. Protests in Hong Kong are always protests against China: no one here trusts the Beijing government. This time the protest is about the population’s right to determine its Prime Minister. Under the current system, a 1,200-member committee elects three pro-Beijing candidates, from whom the people then choose their leader. Among the protesters, automobile manufacturer Henry Ford is often paraphrased in blogs: You can have any color as long as it’s black. In an article published in the Neue Zürcher Zeitung, Markus Ackeret speaks of “a plebiscite in a tight corset.” From the outset, part of the population believed that the polite revolution would be a waste of time and bad for business. Opponents are concerned about Hong Kong’s image. Occupy, the Global Edition, is smiled at in Zürich or New York, because the protesters appearing in the many videos that have gone viral are unable to explain the reasons for their protest. In the West, the movement is under the suspicion of hippiedom. The 99% ruled by the top 1% don’t identify with the cardboard rebels picketing the major banks, say the opponents. No impending disappearance, no collective identity. The Umbrella Revolution isn’t Occupy Wall Street. In Hong Kong, the umbrella weeks have impressed themselves on the collective consciousness, especially the younger generation’s, with their rapidly circulating electronic image multipliers equipped with the Comment function. FUCK 689 (689 stands for the 689 votes cast for the current Prime Minister). FUCK 689 says one license plate in Mong Kok, where more pepper-spray was used than in Central. Mong Kok, Kowloon, one stop north of Yau Ma Tei. 23

Michael Leung lives in Yau Ma Tei, the “real Hong Kong,” as Swiss documentary filmmaker Luc Schaedler observed in Made in Hong Kong (1997). In midwest Kowloon, nothing sparkles as brightly as in Central. Anyone who has been to China will say that this (and northern Sham Shui Po) is where Hong Kong most resembles China. Yau Ma Tei is a permanent flea market for everyday objects, wooden spools, forbidden laser pointers, and bamboo steaming baskets. Yau Ma Tei is gritty; it used to be one of the epicentres of opium smuggling between Hong Kong and the mainland. Triads still operate here, in clandestine, selling obscene discs under the counter in Temple Street. Yau Ma Tei is enjoying increasing popularity among Western tourists. This tendency will continue, says Michael. The rise of the neighbouring West Kowloon Cultural District will also boost Yau Ma Tei as regards visitors and rents. Many believe that the multi-million cultural district is merely a great show put on for Westerners. That’s not Michael’s view though. He thinks the space has potential. But it’s too early to say anything about how the district will be used, and what its effects might be. The debate over the WKCD has been ongoing since 1998, moving back and forth between euphoria and scepticism. People are speculating, arguing, plugging, promising, and ignoring. There’a huge amount of uncertainty. The WKCD has seen many staff come and go: Michael Lynch, the current CEO and former director of Sydney Opera House, has already announced that he’ll no longer be aboard when the Museum for Visual 24

Culture M+, the WKCD centrepiece, opens. But uncertainties and protests have always accompanied large government projects. The district is supposed to be completed in 2030. Until then, there’s ample time and space for speculation. Meanwhile, Michael is discussing the Community Building in Yau Ma Tei with the Wooferten artist collective in its space on Shanghai Street. The collective’s space isn’t a white cube, but has developed into a multi-functional neighbourhood drop-in centre, a meeting place under the auspices of art, and in the spirit of social sculpture. Every person is an artist. Residents are invited to run workshops. Michael is a city celebrity. Eloquent in front of the camera, telegenic, British English with a pince of salt. His urban farming project HK Farm, which he runs with Glenn Ellingsen and Matt Edmondson on the rooftops of Mong Kok and Wong Chuk Hang, paints an alternative picture of Hong Kong on BBC or in ZHdK publications. Michael’s a focal point, a networking specialist. He teaches design, cultivates honey, and is Yau Ma Tei’s curator at creativecity.hk. This August he’ll be presenting his documentation on “Mango King,” a homeless guerilla farmer, at the Oi! Cultural Centre; Mango King, a self-caterer, semi-legally grows mangoes, sweet potatoes, and lychees on the site of the future WKCD.

Disappearing

Day 3

“I hate the art fair. It’s an awful place for an artist.” We meet Kwan Sheung Chi at Art Basel, straight after the VIP Brunch on the opening day. It’s a private preview, for a select international audience. A blogger in a leather skirt, made-up beauties in see-through blouses, and plenty of local-global bankers over 45. The Art Basel audience that will gather over the next few days is surprisingly young. There’s a special name for China’s urban post-80s art and culture buffs: 文藝青年, wenyi qingnian, Chinese hipsters striving for individualism. Like their Western counterparts, Chinese hipsters don’t call themselves that. That’s one of their distinguishing features.

We arrange to meet in the UBS Collector’s Lounge. The buyer is king in the deep-pocket market. Smartphone users are hanging out in easy chairs designed by Herman Miller or are huddling together in small groups of concentrated purchasing power. Audemars Pique advertisements featuring replicated Jura rocks are plugging watches worth 30,000 Swiss francs. Little attention is paid to the lavish commissioned video installation on the left, while the watches displayed in the illuminated showcases are under close scrutiny. Chi’s doing it with Mrs Kwan … making Pepper Spray is being shown in the new video section: a lighthearted cookery show features his wife making pepper spray. Elsewhere in the series, he presents his exit bag: a plastic bag as an affordable method for committing unassisted suicide. At the end of his next exhibition, the 34-year-old will auction his own blood: after eating no solids for a week, depriving himself of sleep, not smoking, and no alcohol. The gallery is open 24/7 and functions as Chi’s home during the exhibition. It’s a plea for economic uselessness, cultural production without a sellable material product. The only time money changes hands is at the closing blood auction. The struggling artist 28

who refuses to surrender to the logic of the market. The front of the gallery has been ripped out for the exhibition — All access — to encourage active audience participation. The artist hosts the roundtables and film screenings; the gallery is converted into an interactive meeting place. Chi wants to draw attention to the artist’s function as a nonentrepreneurial producer of ideas, as an independent voice in public discourse. In Hong Kong, ART is written in Caps Lock, mostly to refer to the public perception of the international art fair, the world’s third-largest after London and New York. Chi laments that in Hong Kong art still only reaches a small section of the population. “As an artist, I feel the distance between artists and Hong Kong’s poorer population.” The planned large-scale projects like the West Kowloon Cultural District will only benefit a small minority, he says. One fifth of Hong Kong’s population lives below the poverty line. Working time is unregulated, the unions weak, time-off rare. But Chi is pragmatic. He sees the long-term potential of such large cultural projects, especially if institutions engage in direct contact with the population. In 2012, he used part of the production budget for a teaser event of the emerging M+ Museum, M+ Mobile, to mint a Hong Kong Core Values coin. In the streets of Yau Ma Tei, he asked passers-by about their notions of Hong Kong’s basic values. In the end, those drawn by lot could decide between the gold coin and the collected values becoming true. The words on the winning lot read Long Hair. Leung Kwok-hung Long Hair is a Che Guevara T-shirt sporting old hand of Hong Kong’s pan democrats, who throws bananas at MPs or hell money, the banknotes burned for the dead, to protest against the lacking governmental care for the city’s older population. He’s a symbolic figure, a people’s hero, a sort of anti-Blocher of Hong Kong’s democracy. Long Hair kept the gold coin drawn from Chi’s lot for himself — or rather for his party. He sees his protests in Parliament as a means of promoting his party’s concerns, chiefly the right to vote for everyone and more social justice. This summer e-mails were leaked that Long Hair had received larger (undeclared) donations from media mogul Jimmy Lai, the publisher of Hong Kong’s largest anti-Beijing newspaper Apple Daily. Profitable trading in the name of democracy: viral videos against party sponsoring. Both figures are now under investigation. Chi is sitting on a grey sofa holding a black backpack containing photo equipment for a small magazine commission. Last year he won the well-endowed Hugo Boss Asia Art Award. At one stage he worked at McDonald’s for half a year to fund his art. He could never imagine teaching art, like many of his colleagues. I ask him about Hong Kong’s future: “Bad. Also the food’s getting worse.” And privately? “I’m pessimistic about Hong Kong’s future under the influence of the Beijing government.” I ask him if he could mention some positive changes since the handover? A long pause. “Some see changes. I don’t.”

Visiting Jaffa

Day 4

Jaffa Lam’s works are larger than herself, large enough to hide behind, large enough to be embraced by. Giant globes, painted with small pencil balls, a curved diving board made of wood, paper airplanes made of white tin. Jaffa uses grass and brick from West Kowloon; instead of glue, she uses wax melted in a rice cooker.

We visit her in her studio in Fo Tan, Sha Tin, New Territories. The streets smell of fish balls being cooked in hot pots. Oddly rubbery, nothing for tourists. Outwardly, Hong Kong’s largest artist community forms an incognito art cluster: no street-level white cube galleries, no cafés to tag oneself via WLAN in the Fo Tan Art Village. Once a year the studios open their doors to the public. 6,000 to 10,000 visitors flock into the village for two weeks. It’s difficult to imagine that number of people crowding the space: the 70 to 100 studios are spread across several warehouses; the corridors are narrow and cluttered. Over 200 artists have their studios in Fo Tan. Jaffa Lam bought hers a few years ago, before revitalisation quadrupled prices. While exchange happens, it’s infrequent. Still there’s a feeling of solidarity: knowing, at night, that a few walls away others are thinking, discarding ideas, despairing, celebrating. Working, no matter whether to reach the top, to break into the international scene, or simply to do what must be done, because one would otherwise not find or choose not to gain a footing in the city’s fabric. 70 percent of the artists here are between 18 and 40, more than half earn less than 1,800 Swiss francs a month. Most have two occupations, working as shop assistants, ice-cream sellers, or, as in Jaffa’s case, as part-time teachers, one or two days a week, to pay their way. Jaffa wants to remain independent, to be a role model for her students, to prove that one can also be an artist in Hong Kong without succumbing to the logic of the market. She dislikes competitions and self-serving networking. “I don’t know how to behave at large dinner par32

ties.” She calls her working method micro-economic. If she works with steel, she uses the groundfloor workshops rather than the cheaper outfits on mainland China. A while ago, she hired unemployed seamstresses belonging to the Hong Kong Women Worker’s Association for her parachute series. Parachutes enable gentle landings: the city spans few safety nets for low-skilled workers or for others losing out in Hong Kong’s job market. Jobs in industry have migrated to mainland China or Bangladesh; there are few opportunities for older, low-skilled workers in the competitive, knowledge-based economy and its young, well-educated workers. In the world’s freest economy free-falling also follows the principle of positive non-intervention. Jaffa’s huge parachutes are patchworks made of umbrellas found in the streets, torn to shreds by the typhoons that batter the city at regular intervals. Umbrellas no longer able to provide any protection. Care orientation pervades Jaffa Lam’s work. In Bangladesh, she exhibited portraits of local workers wearing dust-covered jackets. Gold-framed homages to the anonymous. Her principal concerns are social self-esteem and human dignity; small movements in small communities, the schooling of mindfulness and mutual respect, pleas for social inclusion, and for urban co-existence: art in the service of society. Jaffa believes she has blown her chances with many in the city. She means decision makers, people with influence, like Lars Nittve, the director of the future flagship M+ Museum. But also the organisers of her wood workshops, who’ve advised her to run more courses. The idea conflicts with her recycling approach to wood, and she publicly criticises her employer: more workshops mean more waste. If sustainability is the objective, the workshops are a contradiction in terms, despite well-intentioned art education. Jaffa, aged 40, talks a lot and quickly, but also listens attentively. She raises her voice when asked about various gallery owners: “This guy, I hate him!” Her mother has told her time and again to fit in with the locals, to avoid causing hard feelings. To be smooth. Jaffa arrived in Hong Kong from Fujin, in southeastern China, when she was twelve. Together with her mother and sister. Her mother works hard. She has three jobs, working the afternoons at a textile manufacturer’s, nights as a nurse, before buying groceries and hauling them up to the twelve floor to give them to Jaffa’s sister to cook. Jaffa’s mother praised her daughter for receiving the secondary school art prize. She doesn’t talk her daughter out of becoming an artist. Her mother’s determination and sacrifices have greatly influenced Jaffa. She works as much as she possibly can. Already five exhibitions are scheduled for May 2015. She’s also organising exchange programmes and attends the weekly meetings of the Hong Kong Women Worker’s Association: “No one wants to make mistakes if you’ve seen just how hard someone has worked for you. I want to be able to provide for my family.” She says that raising a child is like a work of art, and that she’s forsaking that opportunity to create art. She keeps receiving invitations from Western institutions. Art has taken Jaffa Lam to all parts of the world: New York, Kenya, Toronto, Hamburg. Asked about her most memorable experience, she talks about the ten days she spent in Bangladesh, where the contrast to life in Hong 33

Kong was greatest. Transcultural exchange to legitimate one’s own circumstances. Ten days to meditate on humility. She raves about the chance factor inherent in international exchanges, the dynamics from which emerges previously unimagined novelty. Chaos. We want to invite her to next day’s public talk at ZHdK’s Connecting Space in North Point, Hong Kong Island. Our place for exchange. She thanks us and in return invites us to her meeting at the Hong Kong Women Worker’s Association. The events clash. Before we say goodbye, Jaffa shows us her favourite restaurant, in a shopping centre, next to a toy shop. Curry noodles for two Swiss francs. We’re the only guests, the place is quiet. I imagine ZHdK’s future Toni Campus, the library with its upholstered chairs and the panoramic view, cafeterias selling avocado sandwiches, cafés, a bar serving basil cocktails and the sound of slightly melancholic global-urban music in the background. Very comfortable. Art is work, a struggle, a sacrifice. Steel-welding.

Connecting Space Day 5

Our urban research ends at the other end of the tunnel: at ZHdK’s Connecting Space, 18–20 Fort Street, North Point, Hong Kong Island.

Fort Street has existed since the earliest colonial times. In the 1880s, the British coastal fortifications stood here, at the northernmost point of Hong Kong Island: four canons and a munitions store, built to protect the young Victoria City against the attacks of the Chinese. Our Connecting Space is located on the land of the centuries-old village Tsat Tsz Mui, built on seven rocks. Legend has it that the rocks arose after seven sisters plunged into the depths hand in hand. The seven rocks and the land between the Connecting Space and the sea were filled up in the 1920s, reclaimed to create space for a growing industrial sector: a glassworks, a printing shop, a kerosene oil depot. In the 1950s, North Point, a recreation spot boasting bamboo pavillons and a yacht club on the shoreline, transformed into a densely populated trading district. Refugees from the Chinese civil war brought capital and dexterity, and North Point became Little Shanghai. Today, after several episodes of urban renewal, after the public housing programme undertaken to house the exploding population, precious little evidence remains of Little Shanghai’s old shops. Rising rents further squeeze small enterprises. In Fort Street, the monthly rent for a retail space with fronts measuring 5.8 metres in length is 15,000 Swiss francs. Which only few shopkeepers can afford: in a city with the lowest share of car owners of all industrial nations the local garage converts luxury automobiles, a vegetarian restaurant serves shrimps with grapefruit in large metal spoons, and a Swiss arts university provides a wide space for art, an island of anonymity, all in white. All in white, still a blank page, an unknown quantity. 36

ZHdK’s Connecting Space Hong Kong is an open space. The roll-up doors connect it with the world outside. The raw concrete used inside and outside supports the connection between a neutral art space and the bustling street. Girls wearing turquoise school uniforms peer through the windows on their way to school, a woman loaded with four white shopping bags stops outside. The space isn’t signposted yet. She doesn’t ask us what’s happening here, and we don’t go up to her to explain. Not very many locals have turned up: it’s Thursday, 6pm, our target audience is still at work. On average, the Hong Kong Chinese work an hour and a half longer than the Swiss; every tenth person here works 60 hours a week. (A change in working time regulations is under public consultation, and the first results are expected in 2016.) For most locals, little time remains to attend panel discussions about art. After the public talk, we gather outside in the forecourt. The interior isn’t air-conditioned. It’s too hot, but also too cold for those sitting in front of one of the ventilators rented at short notice. Hong Kong is permanently undercooled. In summer,cold air machines account for 60% of the city’s power consumption. Outside it’s pleasantly warm, as it has been all week: 25 degrees Celsius, 60% humidity. Erwin, Switzerland’s moustached deputy consul general, with a camera round his neck, a buddy-type (a friend of mine says he looks like a typical Swiss tourist), has sponsored the wine. I already know Erwin: back in March, he took pictures on my band’s tour of China and led the applause at Wan Chai’s Academy for Performing Arts. Afterwards he threw a party for everyone in the basement, treating us to tacos and G & T’s. The Connecting Space interior isn’t made for rhythmic live music. The band invited by Erwin — Europa: Neue Leichtigkeit — is performing its decadent, new-ease rumba before an absent audience. The White Cube blurs the accentuated beats; neither the band’s message nor its wit comes across. The space is louder than the sound source. The atmosphere outside is upbeat. I meet local artist Lee Kit (36), who is holding a cigarette and a glass of red wine filled to the brim. He represented Hong Kong on his own at the 2013 Venice Biennale. The centrepieces of his exhibition were two Hong Kong security booths, which he had shipped to Venice. One had a parasole on its roof: a theme that Lee had long wanted to realise. In terms of the media response, his show was Hong Kong’ most successful presentation ever in Venice. The Summary of the Evaluation Report on the Venice Art Biennale 2013, published by the Hong Kong Arts Development Council (HKADC), listed a total of 109 media reports; more than ever before. It was HKADC’s first-ever collaboration with an external institution, in this case the M+. For the opening, head curator and museum director Lars Nittve hosted a gala dinner at Venice’s fish market in honour of Lee, with over 200 guest from Nittve’s extended network in attendance: curators, art critics, museum directors, and international art collectors like Uli Sigg. The exhibition, and its charismatic outreach, served both institutions: on the one hand, it showcased Hong Kong’s art scene to the international art world; on the other, it functioned as the international debut of the M+, the world’s largest collection of contemporary Chinese art, due to open in 2018. The costs, 10 million HK$, a record-breaking sum for Hong Kong at the Bien37

nale, were shared. The joint HKADC/M+ exhibition was badly received by Hong Kong’s art scene. Not because well-respected Lee Kit was nominated, but because of HKADC’s decision not to announce a public tender. The curators were selected in advance, based on previously submitted proposals. At a panel discussion at the crowded Fringe Club, ADC and M+ representatives faced the audience’s questions and accusations. No greater rapprochement was achieved, because the uncertainty and mistrust among the local art scene were too profound. Nittve stated in the South China Morning Post: “We shouldn’t confuse our longing for political democracy with artistic democracy.” His words sparked even greater controversy. Lee Kit remained on the sidelines, but regretted that the M+ was accused of wrongdoing, since it was an internal HKADC decision. The constellation definitely helped spotlight his international career, attracting even greater attention. But we don’t discuss this issue at the Space. He talks about the language differences that he experienced in Beijing. Cantonese “to catch a cab” means “to hit a cab” in Mandarin. He likes the ambiguities of foreign languages; up until a few years ago, he thought entirely in English. The Chinese government doesn’t like ambiguities: since the introduction of the Guangdong National Language Restrictions in 2012, government broadcasters, teaching, and conferences in the neighbouring province are being de-Cantonized. Hong Kong itself isn’t directly affected: one country, two systems. Hong Kong was a controversial choice as the site of ZHdK’s Connecting Space and its Study Centre, whose opening is planned for autumn 2015. Hong Kong, the critics argued, was too expensive and above all too Western. The criticism is feasible. Hong Kong doesn’t match Western notions of China; it corresponds neither to the images of the desperately impoverished rice farmers seen in quiet documentaries, nor to the migrant rice farmers aspiring to enter the middle classes in the new urban centres to fund their daughters’ education and to ensure they climb the knowledge-based labour market of the future. In the southern special economic sectors created in the 1980s (true to Deng Xiaoping’s motto to “build more Hong Kongs”), the capitalist transformation already began shortly after the opening up of China. Hong Kong took the step to becoming an industrial society long ago. Hong Kong suggests what China might look like tomorrow. To call Hong Kong a melting pot between East and West is travel industry jargon. Binary attributions fail already at second glance, and become frayed at each closer view; this image proliferates, and new entanglements become evident. A city in the space of flow. It’s difficult to elude media images: this task begins with skyscapers, and peaks in protests. How strongly did Wong Kar-Wai shape my Hong Kong forever, years before my first landing? As Oscar Wilde wrote in 1889: “Things are because we see them, and what we see, and how we see it, depends on the arts that influenced us.” The world looks different when seen through the arts. The Western mass-media narrative about Hong Kong is mostly reduced to its relationship with China, David versus Goliath, good versus evil, democracy versus a dictatorship that imprisons Nobel laureates. Chinese censorship and the banning of film performances make our head38

lines, not the performances behind closed doors, tolerated by the police. The media’s thoroughly necessary reduction of complexity assumes a cartoon-like character in China’s case, whose population exceeds that of the US and Europe taken together. But China’s diversity will doubtless reach us in the shape of high-quality cultural goods over the next few years. China will tell urban stories, far removed from orientalisms or Gangnam styles. At first sight, our Space in North Point seems a bit offside. It’s located neither in hyped Sheung Wan, nor amid Chai Wan’s collective offices and studios. But consulting the city’s history proves that we’re spot-on here: Hong Kong’s first organically grown creative cluster, the Oil Street Artist Village, emerged a mere five minutes on foot from the Space, symbolically during a phase of restrictive economic policy: to calm the overheated real estate market amid the 1997 Asia crisis, the government stopped real estate sales and rented out the unused buildings on Oil Street at rock-bottom prices on a short-term basis to artists, art organisations, and photographers. After the forced eviction of the area, clusters of artist studios began emerging in peripheral industrial zones, for instance, in Fo Tan. The government is now trying to revitalise the Oil Street neighbourhood: the former Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club (1869) has been operating since 2013 as the Oi! art centre. As a local-local connecting space, this centre may take on particular importance for our Connecting Space: on the one hand, due to its close (geographical) proximity; on the other, due its close (social) proximity to the local population. Lee Kit prefers to view Hong Kong from a distance. Since moving from the Incognito Art Cluster Fo Tan to Taipeh two years ago, his perspective on the city has become clearer. A nearby exile, close enough to be able to fly back anytime to see family and friends. His Biennale exhibition will be on display for the Hong Kong audience at the M+ this year. The original installation now also includes a video work, which he devised in 2014 in response to Hong Kong’s Zeitgeist: close-ups of sausages bursting on a grill. Before he gets up to leave, I ask Lee Kit which sound of Hong Kong he misses most in Taipeh. He replies: I miss the noise. And points to the building site opposite the Connecting Space.

Translated by Mark Kyburz

Portraits by Patrick Kull Jaffa Lam Chow Chun Fai Morgan Wong Ko Sin Tung Lai Cheuk Wah Sarah Kwan Sheung Chi Kong Chun Hei Lam Tung Pang Tang Kwok Hin

In early 2014, I was asked if I would be interested in participating in a project looking at the developments in the Hong Kong arts scene taking place in the context of the of the M+ Museum, a part of the future West Kowloon Cultural District project. Upon immersing myself in the material, I soon realized that my interests lay in discovering the positions and opinions of Hong Kong artists on these developments. Through researching, I built up a list of Hong Kong-based artists who I then contacted to ask if I could visit them in person in early May in Hong Kong. In the end, I managed to get a list of nine artists who I would meet during the week I was there. I tried as much as possible to visit them in their studios, so as also to get a feeling for how they work and under what sorts of conditions. The short conversations I then conducted are an attempt to paint a picture of the working situations, ideas, current works, and thoughts on the future that the artists have. In the following pages, I have included pictures from both myself (distinguishable by the square white frame around each of them), as well as the artists themselves, who were generous enough to send me photos of their works and ateliers. The different sources produce a heterogeneous mix of both my and the artistsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; view of their works and studios. These short interviews should not be seen as representative of the extensive creative output of any of the artists featured. If the reader wishes to have more information about any given artist, I recommend they consult the artistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s website, listed in the short biographies, for more about their works and their contact details. Lastly, I would like to thank all the artists I met with for their warm welcome, their patience, and their pictures. Patrick Kull 42

Jaffa Lam

Jaffa Lam Laam Born in Fujian (China) in 1973 Artistic Medium(s) mixed-media sculptures, objects and installations Studio Fo Tan, Sha Tin, New Territories, Hong Kong Education Master of Fine Arts, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 1999. Postgraduate Diploma in Education, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2000. www.jaffalam.net

What are some typical problems of a Hong Kong artist? As in other cities in Asia, people typically don’t understand what an artist actually does. They often think that being an artist means that you can’t make a living. Personally, I solve that problem by teaching at the university; I also see it as a responsibility of the artist to give something back to society. The cost of renting space here is extremely high, it’s a luxury for a Hong Kong artist to be able to rent a space. We always need to consider how to store stuff after the shows are over. This is especially true for me, as I’m not a commercial artist and the work won’t be sold. I therefore often have to think about mobility and foldability without affecting the scale I have in mind.

Hong Kong is a place packed with exhibitions. We have to choose which shows we will participate in and which not, so as to avoid getting too sidetracked or loosing focus on our own research. As an artist, what institutions are most important to you? In my opinion, professional researchers, art writers, critics, art administrators, and good dealers are all very important to artists. They can help to spread artists’ ideas throughout the public, as well as to link them with other professions, such as artists working in other mediums, or even social workers, local craftsmen, activists, educators, etc. I think that NGOs, archives, universities, alternative exhibition spaces, museums, art foundations, and residency programs are also very important. In short, there should be a wide diversity of institutions helping artists that are linked into and help one another. What would you say to a young artist just starting arts school in Hong Kong? That’s a difficult question to answer. I’d prefer to be a role model and show them with my actions. I would probably tell them to control and practice their artistic technique, as this is basic to development. Keep your eyes as well as your mind open, learn new things on your own or by listening to different people, have a sense of social responsibility. Everyone is equal, no matter if they are rich or poor. Keep reminding yourself what your first urge was to become an artist, no matter if you’re doing very well or very badly. To be a good human being is more important than just being a good artist, art is just a medium to help you cultivate the meaning of life. Also, don’t get depressed if you have to work in a field that isn’t art or art related; art is supposed to be a tattoo which follows you around even if it goes unnoticed. 44

← Jaffa Lam’s studio, Fo Tan, Hong Kong. JL

Jaffa Lam with part of her Pencil Ball series from 2002–2010. PK → Parachute in Melbourne

at School of Art Gallery, RMIT Building, Australia, 2011. JL

Hong Kong inVisible â&#x20AC;&#x201C; My Chairlady II, 2012. PK

Chow Chun Fai

Chow Chun Fai Born in Hong Kong in 1980 Artistic Medium(s) painting, photography, video Studio Fo Tan, Sha Tin, New Territories, Hong Kong Education Master in Fine Arts, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2006. www.chowchunfai.com

What is your favorite film? A Chinese Odyssey – Part 1 Pandora’s Box and Part 2 Cinderella. If people of Hong Kong were to elect you as Chief Executive of Hong Kong, what would be the first thing you would change? Hong Kong deserves to have a Bureau for Culture. It wouldn’t just be about having a better cultural policy with a wider vision; I think that with something like the Bureau for Culture, the whole government structure could learn something from the arts. Are you positive about what the future holds for Hong Kong in the coming years? Yes. Even though there are more challenges to come, there are also more changes. What are you working on right now? I am working with a new material. Specifically, I’m trying to paint with water-based enamel paint. How would you describe the political situation in Hong Kong? All of a sudden, many locals have woken up to the political situation here. At the same time, someone who pretends to be asleep can never be awoken.

← Chow Chun Fai’s open

studio event. CCF

Chow Chun Fai at his studio, Fo Tan, Hong Kong. PK → Legend of the Fist: The Return of Chen Zhen, enamel paint on canvas. CCF

Chow Chun Faiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s paint brushes. PK

Morgan Wong

Morgan Wong Born in Hong Kong in 1984 Artistic Medium(s) performance, video, installation Studio Kwai Hing, Hong Kong / Tai O, Hong Kong Education Bachelor in Creative Media, School of Creative Media, The City University of Hong Kong. Master of Fine Arts, Slade School of Fine Art, University College London. www.morgan.wongwingfat.com

Why did you move from Hong Kong to an island near Hong Kong? I am now sometimes on the island and sometimes in town. When I moved back to Hong Kong after four years in Beijing and London, I wanted to get away from the city and have more time to focus on my own projects. My whole family comes from that fishing village, Tai O, so it makes a lot of sense for me to move back there, as it’s very quiet and has a much slower pace than life in Hong Kong itself. My studio is in a industrial area of Hong Kong and I enjoy to seek for peace on Tai O. Does Hong Kong need the M+, or is it just another arts institution? M+ has already shown its multidisciplinary strength and focus in their Mobile M+ projects such as the Neon Signs exhibition and Inflation! Personally, I think M+ is taking a different path towards building its audience than other museums in Hong Kong. It’s also helping the public feel a sense of belonging towards not just contemporary art, but also design, architecture, and their other focuses as well. How do you imagine the life of an artist living in Switzerland or Europe? I have different degrees of understanding of Swiss artists: those I know personally, artists I like and research, and artists whose work can be seen all over the world. My first personal encounter with a Swiss artist was when I took part in an artistic residency program in Sapporo, Japan in 2010. A fellow artist in the program, Isamu Krieger, is from Switzerland. I got a chance to visit his exhibition in Geneva after my show during “Liste Art Fair” in Basel in 2012. Roman Signer is one of my favourite artists, and also from Switzerland. My stay in London enriched my knowledge of European artists, and I have definitely been influenced by that. 56

← View from Morgan Wong’s studio on Tai O Island, Hong Kong. MW

Demolishing Rumor, video still, 21'03", Video, 2010. MW → The Remnant of My Volition (Force Majeure), 2.4 × 7.5 × 9 m, 2014, at Art Basel Hong Kong. MW

Tai O Island, near Lantau Island, Hong Kong. MW

Ko Sin Tung

Ko Sin Tung Born in Hong Kong in 1987 Artistic Medium(s) painting, video and digital print Studio Fo Tan, Sha Tin, New Territories, Hong Kong (Together with Lai Cheuk Wah Sarah & Kong Chun Hei) Education Bachelor of Fine Arts, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2009. www.kosintung.com

What does an average day look like for you? Sitting in front of the computer, browsing different websites. Recently, I have been working with prints, so I have to find images, decide what images I am going to use, and do some editing. This is all computer-based work. After finishing the prints, I usually set up a table and start painting. Working with different kinds of media, what comes first, the idea or the media youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d like to work with? Basically the idea comes first, or sometimes the idea and the media come up together. I think though that the media is also a part of the idea or concept. What are you working on right now? I am preparing a set of works about houses in Taiwan based around the concept of collecting light for a show in Taipei. What I do is select and print images of windows. In the work, light becomes a non-functional symbol that represents the desire for this essential element of a living space. Does sharing a studio with two other artists make for much collaboration? So far there hasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t been much collaboration. However we do visit exhibitions and discuss different artworks together.

← Preparing inkjet prints enti-

tled Modern Home Collection for upcoming exhibition, Never odd or even in Taipei Artist Village, Taiwan. KST Ko Sin Tung at her work space. PK → As white as you can 3, Acrylic

on archival inkjet print with wooden frame, 75 × 121 cm, 2014. KST

Lai Cheuk Wah Sarah

Lai Cheuk Wah Sarah Born in Hong Kong in 1983 Artistic Medium(s) painting Studio Fo Tan, Sha Tin, New Territories, Hong Kong (Together with Ko Sin Tung & Kong Chun Hei) Education Bachelor in Fine Arts, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2007. www.laicheukwah.com

What does an average day look like for you? I usually wake up late because I’m more concentrated and work better late at night. I have a coffee to start my day. If I have any deadlines, I can work straight through the day, sometimes for up to a month or even longer. When I have time though, I just go through my day as if it was a slow holiday. I read or go on the Internet. I make some visual notes if I get a thought or an idea. I’m capable of staying at the studio all day for several days, but this makes me feel uncomfortable after a while. When this happens, I go downstairs and take a long walk alone. During these walks, I often have some good ideas. What is missing for young artists in Hong Kong? It is not too difficult for young artists to find somewhere in Hong Kong to feature their work. One thing though is that there is almost no funding for young artists to apply for if they want to further their studies abroad. What are you working on right now? I’m working on a painting of a picture of a tattoo. It’s from a musician I feel very connected to. It says “Rave On”, which is a pretty big contrast to my personality. The painting is going in my private collection. I will never sell it because I love the idea that it will always hang on my wall. Where would be the most interesting place to exhibit your work? I have been always interested in street art.

← Sarah Lai Cheuk Wah’s Studio in Fo Tan, Hong Kong. SLCW

Sarah Lai Cheuk Wah at her studio. PK

Spotting the light onto a light, Oil on canvas, 122 Ã&#x2014; 183 cm, 2012. SLCW

Kwan Sheung Chi

Kwan Sheung Chi Born in Hong Kong in 1980 Artistic Medium(s) conceptual works, photography, prints, performance, installation, video Studio Hung Hom, Kowloon, Hong Kong Education Third Honour Bachelors in Fine Arts, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2003. www.kwansheungchi.com

Would you call yourself a political artist? No, my work reflects what concerns me. Politics is only one thing among many that is important to me, but it’s something that concerns everyone. If you could change one thing in Hong Kong, what would it be? I would change the political system in order to make it a true democratic government free of Chinese intervention. If you could travel anywhere for free, where would you go and why? I would go to New York City. My wife and I have lots of precious memories of New York from our time doing an artistic residency there in 2009–2010. Are you afraid of what the future political situation in Hong Kong will be? No, I’m not afraid. Though I don’t have much hope for the future, I think the most important thing is figuring out what we should do in the present.

← The studio of Kwan Sheung. KSC

Meeting Kwan Sheung Chi at the Art Basel Hong Kong VIP-Lounge. PK → To defend the core values is

the core of the core values, Kwan Sheung Chi and Wong Wai Yin, 2012, for Mobile M+. KSC

Kong Chun Hei

Kong Chun Hei Born in Hong Kong in 1987 Artistic Medium(s) drawing Studio Fo Tan, Sha Tin, New Territories, Hong Kong (Together with Lai Cheuk Wah Sarah & Ko Sin Tung) Education Bachelor in Fine Arts, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2009. www.kongchunhei.com

How do you imagine the lives of young artists in Switzerland? I imagine that they can manage their time very well and cannot take baths after 10pm. Does Hong Kong need M+? Yes. How would you describe your work? What interests you? Object-making interests me, because it becomes independent from me when itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s done. Do you have a favorite place in Hong Kong? Yes, a coffee shop in Tai Hang with a bench that only does take-away coffee.

← The studio of Kong Chun Hei, Fo Tan, Hong Kong. KCH

Kong Chun Hei shows Stuff III, mounted on stainless steel. PK → Stuff III, ink on paper, 16.9 × 22.2 × 28.2 cm, 2013. KCH

Lam Tung Pang

Lam Tung Pang Born in Hong Kong in 1978 Artistic Medium(s) painting and drawing Studio Fo Tan, Sha Tin, New Territories, Hong Kong Education Master in Fine Arts, Central Saint Martins College of Art, London, 2004. www.lamtungpang.com

Who has influenced your work the most? Kurt Chan Yuk-Keung, he was my professor at the Chinese University of Hong Kong in the Department of Fine Arts and also my mentor. He opened up my sensitivity to materials. In some of your pieces you work with your daughter’s toys. Is there any agreement as to which toys you can use and which you cannot? I buy the toys, so it’s not me taking her toys; it’s her taking mine. She will often come up to my studio and steal my toys. Toys represent play as well as a process of recognition. My daughter helps me by making me aware of this cognitive process. In some of your works you confront skyscrapers with idyllic landscapes. Can this be read as an environmentalist critique? I don’t really critique, I present phenomenon that I have observed. Will Hong Kong have free elections in 2017? I worry how people are influenced by politics right now.

← Lam Tung Pang’s studio in Fo Tan, Hong Kong. LTP

Lam Tung Pang. PK → The Sinking World (detail), exhibited at Espace Louis Vuitton, 2014. LTP

Stickers for use in Lam Tung Pangâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s paintings. PK

Tang Kwok Hin

Tang Kwok Hin Born in Hong Kong in 1983 Artistic Medium(s) mixed media, paintings, photography, sculpture, and prints Studio Kam Tin, Yuen Long, New Territories, Hong Kong Education Master in Fine Arts, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2008. www.tangkwokhin.com

What does an average day look like for you? Recently, I normally spend at least an hour a day on housework. I sleep in in the morning until I don’t feel tired any more, which usually means getting up between 10 am and noon. Sometimes I nap from 10 pm to 12 am. My lunch is always bread, jam, and cheese heated in the oven. I eat with my mom, dad, or girlfriend at home, or sometimes out. When out, I enjoy watching a film and shopping (but only observing people shopping). Other than that, I always think about what I can actually do; writing, reading, making art, daydreaming, conceiving new ideas, and so on… Do you have any favorite place in Hong Kong? I always like to discover new places. I like the discovery itself more than an actual place. If I really need to say where I like, I like Kam Tin Main Road, cafés, restaurants, supermarkets, art spaces, streets, stores… Do you imagine the life of a Swiss artist being much different to that of a Hong Kong artist? I imagine that we gradually become more similar under globalization, and begin facing similar problems in life. I haven’t ever been to Switzerland before. Is there more space to live? Are the roads wider? Are the buildings lower in general? More museums? Larger studios and artworks? Slower rhythm of life? I think Hong Kong shapes artists because we are struggling between development and nature, identity, mainstream, independence and politics... Do Swiss artists also face similar social problems and life issues? Does Switzerland shape artists to become more focused on so-called “fine arts”?

â&#x2020;? Tang Kwok Hins studio in

New York City (temporary residence, October 2014). TKH

Meeting Tang Kwok Hin at Art Basel Hong Kong. PK

← Reminiscences of the East-

ern Capital, video still, 18-channel video, 6'15", 2014.

Snail Occipital, drawing on paper, wood, drawer, door lock, chair, glass, mirror, newspaper, color paper, cloth, key box, glass bottle, stamp, and receipt, 100 × 100 × 95 cm, 2014, exhibited at Art Basel Hong Kong. PK

Interviews by Brandon Farnsworth Kurt Chan Connie Lam Ian Leung Teresa Kwong Tina Pang Pi Li Leung Po-Shan Tobias Berger

These interviews are the result of several months of intensive research, as well as a trip to Hong Kong in May 2014 with my two research colleagues, Claudio Bucher and Patrick Kull, under the direction of Michael Schindhelm. Our goal was to learn about the city’s burgeoning arts scene, as well as to explore how this scene will change and develop in the coming four to five years. The timeline is significant, as it reflects the number of years until the opening of the first phase of the West Kowloon Cultural District, a cultural mega-project encompassing an impressive array of cultural facilities, – among them theaters and an opera house. One of the most noteworthy buildings in this new development, and the focus of my interviews, is the so-called M+ Museum for Visual Culture, which will house the recently-donated Sigg Collection of Chinese contemporary art, as well as major works of Chinese contemporary, Hong Kong contemporary, and Asian art. The Hong Kong art world is currently undergoing a significant paradigm shift. Over the past several years, the city has seen a veritable explosion of galleries, both foreign and domestic, along with substantial increases in government expenditure on arts and culture. In light of this transformation, I saw it fitting to interview those on the front lines of enacting change, as well as those who have watched the field develop over the past several decades. The arts scene needs the development of some sort of standardized discourse on its actions. There are many very respectable efforts going on right now in the city to establish such a discourse, the work of the Asia Art Archive being a major one, but often the pace of change seems to make the task of writing and reflecting on Hong Kong somewhat Sisyphean. Several interviewees mentioned that there was relatively little in the

way of scholarly reflection on topics such as the Sigg Collection, or the relationship between the West Kowloon project and the “creative city” debate. This lack is a testament to how quickly matters have developed in the city’s arts scene in the last several years; the pace of development has outstripped the pace of scholarly research and reflection on those developments. With this collection of interviews with a cross-section of influential voices in the Hong Kong arts scene, I hope that I can play my own small part in codifying and formalizing what people are thinking and doing on the ground. It is my hope that this volume will serve to promote greater public understanding and awareness of the rapid and historic changes going on in the city right before our eyes. Brandon Farnsworth

Kurt Chan

Kurt Chan is Professor and Director of the MA program in Fine Arts at the Chinese University of Hong Kong.

BF: How has the arts scene changed since the 80’s, when you first started out? KC: At that time I was still a student. I didn’t feel that there was any future for art in Hong Kong. One of the reasons is that the infrastructure was not well built up. There was only one arts school, seriously speaking; Chinese University was the only place for tertiary education in the fine arts. In the 90’s, Arts Center played an important role because it was a big institution with a large variety of arts activities, one with the freedom to invite different international exhibitions. I would say that there were three very important figures in the city at that time; one is the curator Oscar Ho from Arts Center, two is Johnson Zhang from Hanart Gallery, who was very important in opening up the window for Chinese artists in the international arena, and three would be the manager of the Fringe club, Benny Chia. Fringe Club is actually a place that combines bar, performance space, and exhibition space, which was a very important in the 90’s. He also founded an important festival, called the Fringe Festival, which he then renamed the City Festival, which was aimed at putting art in neighborhoods such as the Soho District. These three key figures each did different kinds of things. One worked for the Arts Center to bring in international connections, one brought Chinese and Hong Kong artists to the international arts scene, and the third tried to bring art into the city. This is basically what happened in the 90’s. In the 80’s, there was not much going on in Hong Kong. Back then, there was increasing demand for a more formal arts school. Chinese University is not really considered as an arts school. We only have a small department that we call the Department of Fine Arts, which comprises classes in every genre of art. We train artists, curators, art educators, etc., but all in one place. This was because the arts scene in the eighties was not quite so popular, and a little bit marooned. The arts scene has only become prosperous since 2000, as the Hong Kong Arts School was founded in that year and the Hong Kong Arts Development Council (HKADC) was founded in 1995, with its impact being witnessed around the millennium. In 2005, the Baptist University Academy of Visual Arts started many art programs in new genres, such as media art and comic art. City University was more on the practical side at first, only interested in training animators and website designers, but now the curriculum has been changed to become more fine art oriented in the School of Creative Media. All these developments changed the scenario of art in Hong Kong. There were not even many NGOs at that time in the city. One of the first to pop up in the arts scene in the early 90’s was Para Site, which still plays a very active role. BF: That leads well into my next question, which is how does the Chinese University fit into the Hong Kong arts scene? KC: We are the oldest tertiary arts education institution in Hong Kong; we started our school in the 50’s. In the coming year, we are celebrating our 60th anniversary. If there is something called Hong Kong art history, the Chinese University plays a very important part, because many of the important artists have been teachers here, like Liu Guosong, the pioneer of contemporary ink art. He actually came from 92

Taiwan, and spent more than 30 years here, from his thirties to his sixties; basically his whole career was spent in Hong Kong, although many still saw him as a Taiwanese artist. There have actually been many museum advisors as well as prominent artists who have taught here, probably because Chinese University was the only university-level arts institution around. If you wanted to make a living, your only choice was either to teach or to sell. At that time though, there were very few local galleries selling Hong Kong art. They basically sold decorative art from Vietnam, Malaysia, Singapore, rather than selling works by artists from Hong Kong. The problem remains the same even today; you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t really make a living by selling artwork because of the increase in the number of Chinese artists. As far as I remember, only a few people in Hong Kong can live from selling artwork in such a harsh and competitive environment. However, a new generation joined the game in the eighties. It consisted of those people who graduated from the Chinese University, as well as of people whose parents were willing and able to send them overseas for their schooling. It is this generation that began to have international vision, and who, upon coming back to Hong Kong, found or created opportunities for art making. Oscar Ho, who I mentioned earlier, is one of them, Benny Chia another. There were many interesting artists who returned to the city during that time, like the sculptor Antonio Mak, or Yank Wong, a painter and also a musician. It was an interesting era, the conditions were just right for the growth of the arts scene. It turned into a great opportunity for people to find ways to contribute, to make something happen, to activate the arts circle here.

If there is something called Hong Kong art history, the Chinese University plays a very important part.

BF: Going back to the present, what do you see as being the status of art in Hong Kong now? What does art mean in a Hong Kong context? KC: Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a very complicated issue. Hong Kong was a colony, and the British, in the process of governing the people here, tried to eliminate the sense of belonging to a local culture, especially to a Chinese culture. Elite culture was never a priority in the eyes of the colonists, which was the case when my parents came as immigrants from mainland China in the early 50â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s. There were many war refugees fleeing the mainland and coming down to Hong Kong to try and make a living. Survival was the first priority; things like getting enough food and shelter were the 93

most important. The sense of insecurity that was prevalent really could not allow something called art and culture to exist at that time. The first generations, those of the fifties, sixties, and seventies, were mostly just concerned with boosting the economy, productivity, and making Hong Kong cosmopolitan. Everything was very pragmatic, very materialistic. Spiritual life happened only in religion, but not in art. Because of the hard work of our parents, there was the possibility for my generation to start to look forward to the growth of art and culture. BF: How much is M+ about creative industry? KC: It is definitely heavily influenced by the creative industry discourse, specifically by the UK in the nineties. Because of the threat of China becoming the world’s factory, the government asked themselves what they could do with Hong Kong. Competing with Chinese industry wasn’t possible, but we have a good fiscal and legal system, as well as a solid infrastructure, which sustains a healthy economy. We need more than that though, because of the high salaries. The government wanted to find a way to maintain economic strength for the next generation. Creative Industry immediately came to the mind of the Chief Executive as a solution. One thing, design – not art – came to be the focus, and they’re getting a lot of resources from the government to develop just that. Projects like the M+ are another major area where the Chief Executive is interested in development. It amounts to a shift of the Hong Kong economy from more materialistic to more culture-based. M+, even the whole West Kowloon project, is perhaps the vision that the city has for its future.

The government wanted to find a way to maintain economic strength for the next generation; creative industry immediately came to mind.

BF: How do you think the museum is going to fit in or affect the city’s current art institutional landscape? KC: That’s a very good question. Nowadays, the most active players in our scene are basically self-supporting. They get their money from different groups in different sectors, and have each developed their own unique way of surviving. For example, if Para Site wants grant money, 94

they can apply for it through the HKADC, but if they don’t get enough to cover expenses, they have to resort to doing their own fundraising, like selling the works of eminent artists. Asia Art Archive does the same thing. They’re very active and healthy because of this self-sustainability. They have a program that is year-round, and have more and more people who are willing to donate resources. To go back to your question, which was if M+ became really well established what would change, I think it’s very dialectic. We only have our imagination of M+; we know M but we don’t know plus. We don’t know what this plus means yet. I foresee there being many interactions between the local institutions, such as NGOs and the Leisure and Cultural Services Department (LCSD), but how they will interact with each other, as well as the strategy behind the interactions will change from time to time because of the competition. If M+ wants to draw more audience, attention, or resources, then they have to compete with each other in order to get what they want, otherwise they’ll be outplayed by the others. The thing is though, that from the governmental side there probably should be some funding for M+, but they should also strengthen the resources for the HKADC because it’s the only organization that distributes resources with a bottom-up approach. So NGOs can apply for money, but yet still maintain a very close connection to the neighborhood that cannot be directly replaced by governmental bodies. If the government can balance the resources between the two, the problem should be settled, and we can have a healthy ecosystem in different areas. In regards to the development of the West Kowloon Cultural District (WKCD), even if the project has yet to be built, it has already aroused a certain amount of attention in the education sector. People think that WKCD will need lots of arts administrators, so Arts Management courses have been founded in almost of the arts educational institutions here. The other effect so far is in Visual Culture, because the market suspects that there should be more and more institutions willing to employ people with arts skills in a broader sense. They don’t think artists are important, they think art sense and management skill are important. BF: Would you say that to an extent, the M+ has already done its job? That it has raised the profile of Hong Kong internationally? KC: Yes, that’s certainly true to an extent. There have already been budget cuts to the original plan. The useable exhibition space of the museum seems now to be a little bigger than the size of the new Hong Kong Museum of Art. The section for Popular Culture has for instance already been cut. As you mentioned, M+ has already done their job in terms of creating expectations; many initiatives have already been created in response to these expectations. If they do a good job or not now, it doesn’t really matter. BF: One of the M+’s stated goals is to promote Hong Kong art and artists internationally. Do you think they will be successful in doing this? What do you think they would need to do in order for this to happen? KC: The last Venice Biennale, curated by the M+ team, was actually quite successful. They definitely do have some tricks to promote 95

so-called “lesser known” artists to the international arts scene. I think they did a very good job. Before that, there has been around six or seven times that Hong Kong has participated in the Biennale, but none of them got the same kind of feedback from the international scene. One of the reasons is that HKADC and M+ joined forces and doubled the amount of money they spent compared to previous Biennales. This time they have more money, as well as professional strategies for promoting artists. One big reason for their success was Lars Nittve, the director of M+. He is well connected in the contemporary art scene; he knows how and where to spend money. The threat of M+, even if it’s not established yet, has already been acknowledged by the LCSD. They are strong competitors in the art field, even if they are both funded by public money. The curators and the people upstairs are already aware of the threat and they are trying very hard to polish their program because of the competition. For instance, LCSD is renovating the entire Hong Kong Arts Museum, as well as ‘Oil’ (a branch of the Art Promotion Office). These initiatives were only planned after the announcement of M+. It’s clear that there is some healthy competition now. It’s no longer the case that they can monopolize the government-run art program. They have to face their competition and stay relevant, and I think this is a very good thing for Hong Kong.

Hong Kong still has a very important role to play by bringing Chinese artists to the eyes of the western world. BF: The relationship between global and local influences has its unique configuration in Hong Kong, whatever it may be. How will this balance, particularly in regards to the arts scene, change in the coming years? KC: Though many international galleries are operating successfully now in Beijing and Shanghai, Hong Kong still has a very important role to play by bringing Chinese artists to the eyes of the western world. This is partly due to the fact that China, no matter how open it is, is still restricted by political ideologies. Some “sensitive” shows are still prohibited in China. Hong Kong tends to be more of a free place, more of an international city, not in the least because more people here speak English. Because of these factors, Hong Kong still has an inevitable advantage in regards to cultural exchange. Because M+ is basically run by foreign expertise, they’re inevitably going to have more international experience. Their background will definitely have an impact on what they present, on what kind of pro96

jects they take on. I find that the methodology is actually quite similar all over the place when it comes to trends like community art, relational art, and concerns of public space. What makes the difference is the cultural context, which varies from city to city.

We will begin to attract audience from all over the world, not only to see the art of China and Hong Kong, but also of all of Southeast Asia. Hong Kong is now at the cusp of a very important era of change, where we can have a significant impact on the future of both Hong Kong and China. If the city integrates more closely with China in the future, then it could change Hong Kong. A reverse-influence could take place as well, in other words, it would not just be China influencing Hong Kong, but also Hong Kong influencing China. The other important aspect is that many important artists still want to show in Hong Kong. This is because though there are many important galleries that go to Shanghai or Beijing, many still would rather stay here. Hong Kong has a different agenda, a different political system, even a different tax system, which all make for favorable conditions for investing here. If you want to show or buy a painting, you don’t want it to get caught up in unknown factors such as political issues, so the city is somehow still a gateway for China to reach the rest of the world. Asia is a much bigger topic; many international players are now interested in Asia. China has, in a way, become very mature as an art market. They can do their own business through different local or international agencies. Asia seems to have become the world’s focus now. I don’t know if you’re aware, but there are conflicts in the region between Japan and China. The US is trying to lay a hand here. All these political struggles become hidden strings that put Asia, especially Southeast Asia, under the limelight of the so-called international arts scene. Hong Kong can serve as a showcase for those countries, especially those in Southeast Asia. But East Asian countries, like Korea or Japan, are already very mature; they have their own platforms to communicate with the international art scene. Talking about M+, if the museum is able to serve as a platform for Southeast Asia, it is my expectation that we will begin to attract audience from all over the world, not only to see the art of China and Hong Kong, but also of all of Southeast Asia. 97

BF: So it’s a key to Southeast Asia as well, not just to China? KC: Yes, I think it will be like that. Not just M+ but other institutions as well will become gateways. For instance, the Hong Kong-based Osage Gallery is an expert in Southeast Asia. They now have some of the best connections in the region, and it’s an institution based in Hong Kong. Tokyo and Seoul are other things, they have their own platforms, they don’t need us, but I think it’s possible for Southeast Asia. BF: Talking about a gateway to China, what do you think about the Sigg collection being brought from China to be shown here in Hong Kong? KC: Some people say that the collection does not contain the most important works; others say that they’re very good. In my opinion, they are part of early Chinese contemporary art history. The collection mostly consists of early works by artists who are now very famous. It’s sort of strange because the picture of development of contemporary Chinese art is incomplete if you are only able to see the early works of the artists and not the later developments. I would rather that the Sigg Collection goes back to China, because the rest of the works are still there. Otherwise, history is being split in different sections and located in different places. BF: Some would say though that the collection wouldn’t get the chance to be exhibited in China, because of censorship issues, and Hong Kong is the only place where it can be shown. KC: If Hong Kong agrees with that view, then the city should start collecting Chinese art and completing the collection. Otherwise, the earlier collection doesn’t really make sense. Collecting contemporary Chinese art would be very expensive, whether or not the government is ready to do that is the main question. The other thing is whether there are any art historians in Hong Kong ready to do research on the collection. BF: It’s interesting that you mention research, because I see it often as a problem of discovering what is legitimate Chinese contemporary art and what is not. Do you think that the museum will affect Hong Kong’s art in a way that will push it more towards the same style as that of China? KC: From the perspective of Hong Kong artists, modern art actually has a longer history of development here. It’s at about the same pace as Japanese or Korean art, but because of the pragmatic nature of Hong Kong people, we are under-developed. In China, there’s only a twenty-year history of modern art. The reason China has become so powerful is because they have so many art schools, so many art students, and a government and society which is much more supportive of art and culture in general. From that large amount of arts students, they will obviously have a few stars who are extremely talented.

It would not just be China influencing Hong Kong, but also Hong Kong influencing China. BF: I don’t mean to say that Hong Kong would be more influenced by the west through China, I also see the Hong Kong arts scene as being extremely modern, hybridized, and international. What I’m asking is how much China will influence Hong Kong art? KC: Of course China is affecting Hong Kong. First of all, most manufacturing industries are now located in China, which are capable of producing all sorts of physical products. Many of the sculptors in Hong Kong need to go back there to produce their works. Another effect is that some students, if they cannot get into an arts school here, still have the possibility of going to China to look for opportunities to study. It’s important to remember that the painting technique in China is still the best. Many artists train for over ten years, whereas here we only do about three years before leaving school and producing a body of work. In terms of art practice, the drawback is that here we are lacking space and time to improve our skills after graduation. When artists finish their studies here, if they are not determined enough to set up a studio and polish their skill and ideas, then it is very difficult to improve their work, which often fails because of harsh competition. Many of the artists now working in Hong Kong are working part-time in some other job, and part-time on their artistic practice. Only a few survive. Because of the above-mentioned limitations, the works of Hong Kong artists tend to be very conceptual. You don’t need to put much effort into the technical competence, which is good if you can make use of these limitations on time and space. As you can see, Hong Kong art actually stems from our limitations and our weaknesses. Up until now, I haven’t seen many big changes in how Hong Kong art is influenced by the mainland. Even if we envy them and try to be like them, they have very closed communities, so it’s not easy for an outsider to join in. Even in mainland China itself, artists from Beijing can barely survive in Shanghai, and artists in different cities compete with each other. They are different circles, all of which are quite exclusive. We also don’t have the resources to become like them, even if we want to imitate them. What’s important though is that, talking about global or contemporary art, Hong Kong people still have the most advanced tools to understand so-called international art or global art in-depth. This has to do with free access to information, and services like YouTube, Facebook, or social media, through which they can access all kinds of up-to-date information. When we talk about international art, it’s a very significant difference between the mainland and here. Ten 99

years ago, how they learnt about international art normally came from translated books, second-hand accounts, or merely personal interpretation of visual images. Therefore, the impact that they will have on the art of Hong Kong, as the two places begin to interact with each other more frequently, will be very interesting. BF: I know youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re very busy, so Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll leave it there. Thank you so much for your insightful answers! KC: My Pleasure!

100

Connie Lam, Teresa Kwong, Ian Leung

Connie Lam is Executive Director of the Hong Kong Arts Center. Teresa Kwong is Assistant Programme Director at the Hong Kong Arts Center. Ian Leung is Programme Manager at the Hong Kong Arts Center.

Brandon Farnsworth: Could you talk a little about the institutional history of the Hong Kong Arts Center (HKAC)? Connie Lam: The Hong Kong arts scene for me began to develop in the sixties; during this time, the first civic center in Hong Kong, the City Hall, was built. The Arts Center is a very significant milestone in this development. It was established in 1977, and is the first art space that is not run by the government. The government just gave a piece of land and then it was up to us to raise funds and make the center happen. We have all the freedom we want, since we do not receive recurrent funding from the government.

We have all the freedom we want, since we do not receive recurrent funding from the government. BF: How would you describe the daily operations of Arts Center? CL: We have become a platform for young talent in Hong Kong, and in the meantime, in Asia as well. Apart from that we are also a platform for big names that come and work with Hong Kong artists, so weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re a space for high-end exhibitions, too. Because of our nature, having galleries, a cinema, as well as a black box theater, we can promote a wide variety of different art forms at the same time. We are also always doing interdisciplinary projects that make use of this wide variety of resources. For example, before we started our street music program in 2009, there was no regular outdoor space that featured independent music, but now even LegCo (Hong Kong Legislative Council) has come to us to ask how many shows we are performing annually, and endorsed our contribution to promoting music in public space. Another thing that is very difficult to do in Hong Kong is to have a regular platform for promoting sound arts. We have such a platform, where we work with Samson Young, a Hong Kong sound artist, to promote sound art. We have also recently founded a place called Comix Home Base. With it, weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been promoting comics and animation as an art form since 2006. Because of us, more people think this is an art form, and more people are talking about it.

102

BF: What is the biggest factor driving change in the arts scene here? CL: I think it’s the government. Without the government policy stating that we will have a West Kowloon Cultural District (WKCD) development, we wouldn’t have the amount of change we are seeing. Chow Chun Fai has done a painting where he paints a shot of our previous Chief Executive, Donald Tsang, saying that the WKCD will help Hong Kong to achieve better economic growth. The government is not talking about the growth of the Hong Kong arts scene, but rather about the growth of Hong Kong economy. You can see that the government is trying to drive the economy with the arts. This is their direction. The West Kowloon project will be a very important networking point for the Perl River Delta area. BF: Where does the Hong Kong Arts Center position itself in the arts landscape of the city? Teresa Kwong: I think the Arts Center, though there are so many other arts organizations compared to thirty or forty years ago, still plays a unique role in Hong Kong, and even in the region. We often see ourselves as an art hub. When we talk about our building, we often compare it to a vertical artists village! Other than us, we also have the office of the Hong Kong Arts Festival, the Goethe Institute, and the architecture firm CL3. We work independently, but we often work on projects together as well. At the same time, we have our own venue, and we have a network. We have both tangible and intangible resources, as well as a history stretching back 30 plus years. We see ourselves as a platform or an incubator with a mission of promoting contemporary art and artists. CL: This is something important. I don’t want to say that we are schizophrenics, but the Arts Center is very diverse. The overall picture of the Arts Center is to promote arts through art exhibitions and art education. Whenever we do a project, we always incorporate both elements in it. What we are is an incubator, but we do benchmarking as well. We are trying our very best to change the landscape and make an impact on the society. I think this is something that is possible only because of our scale. Our board entrusts us with great deal of freedom, which is why we can do so many things. For example, Teresa and I are co-producers of feature films and documentaries. I don’t think many art organizations can do so many things at one time. This is an area in which we are very unique, because we keep evolving. We keep evolving because we respond to the society and its needs. BF: The WKCD has been doing a lot of audience-building programs already, for instance with the Mobile M+ exhibition series, or even the Bamboo Theater. Could you talk about the differences in audience-building strategy between the Arts Center and WKCD? Ian Leung: We are building audience not only to enrich their art experience via our programs, but also to create the momentum for them to explore on their own. On another level, for example with street music, we aim to promote a certain vibe and culture across different districts in Hong Kong. In parallel, we also conduct music appreciation 103

workshops and demonstration classes for youth, empowering them to pursue their interests. In contrast, the recent endeavors of the WKCD have suggested that they are focusing mainly on cultivating awareness in adjacent districts such as Yau Ma Tei, Tsim Sha Tsui, Jordan, and Mong Kok, while also keeping the project relevant to the arts community. Our vision is more about promoting the arts as a certain lifestyle. It should be very approachable for a wide range of people. Our mission is to educate the community about the arts, to the point where if our younger generation says to their parents that they would like to study art, they won’t be immediately dissuaded from doing so. We want to show them that there are many ways of making art happen and turning it into a profession, we offer that level of education as well. CL: Our position towards the WKCD is that we are rooted in Hong Kong, and know it very well, and are thus able to respond to the city’s needs. We really want to the WKCD to succeed, because we think that they will become a platform for Hong Kong artists to shine on a larger stage. This is an area where I think we can complement each other. It’s just like in New York where you have MoMA and lots of big museums, but you still have the New Museum, which is only six stories of space, but is very energetic. This is maybe something like Arts Center. Another thing that will set us apart, even after the WKCD opens, is our size. We always work within our limitations, i.e. not receiving recurrent funding from the government. Because we do our best to survive, we can understand that which is at stake in the art scene. That’s why we commit ourselves to creating excellent and cutting edge content, which in turn changes the cultural landscape of the city.

What we’re seeing now is that the key players are expats again. It’s because we have yet to acquire the skills.

BF: Do you see the Arts Center as targeting Hong Kong “locals” more than new immigrants from for instance Singapore or Taiwan? Or do you not make that distinction? TK: From my own perspective, I don’t think we really make a boundary. If we believe in the project, we just do it. Our motto is to make art available for all. There is however one particular area that we have been exploring for the past few years, which is looking at how to bring art to different groups, including minorities. CL: What we don’t do is focus on “superficial” audience building. We try to focus on several different types of groups, such as teenagers, 104

ethnic minority groups, or the hearing impaired. The next group we’re going to be working with is actually what we call the “young old”, or people who go into early retirement. The reason we want so many different groups is so we can really try to do something in depth. I don’t want to say that we’re trying to empower them with art; rather we just want to share knowledge with them. For example, in our visual arts group, some of our graduates are housewives, who after studying have become full time artists, and discover a second life. We want to transform people’s lives through art. This is our very simple vision. We understand too that from a general art audience to artists, there is a very wide spectrum of people. We just want to let people taste art, and give them the freedom to choose their way, and to find out more if they are interested. We also respect those who don’t like arts, but before they come to that conclusion, we want to make art accessible by bringing art to the community and the community to art.

Hong Kong in the coming five years will increasingly pay more attention to Asia. BF: How do you see Hong Kong in five years? IL: Well, in terms of performing arts, my personal wish is that this initiative in West Kowloon will spin off a lot more attention on art and hence forth, funding initiatives from different sectors of the society. I also hope to see the scene grow in prominence as well as capacity to achieve sustainability. At the same time, I hope the audience spectrum would grow in size and depth as well. CL: We are now facing a vey interesting transition period in Hong Kong history. When you ask about five years from now, I have to first go back to the city’s history. In the past, the leaders of most Hong Kong institutions were British, but over time they were gradually replaced with people from Hong Kong. What we’re seeing now is that the key players are expats again. It’s because we have yet to acquire the skills. We’re managing big projects that are very international, it’s almost as if we have returned to a certain part of our history again. Talking though about the future, I envision that we will have a transition period where the locals, regardless of their ages, have to adopt to the new system. It’s not only about survival, it’s also about how to govern things, what are the best policies, and also what makes the best environment. Right now, Hong Kong is – I don’t want to say it but – protective. Most of the funding tends to go to the local artists. What we’re seeing though is that lots of expat administrators, but also artists are coming to Hong Kong. There are lots of Europeans who are coming, particularly from France. 105

I don’t think it’s bad, I think it’s going back to the very beginning of Hong Kong’s development in the seventies, where a big pool of British and Europeans came and got positions in commerce, in the arts scene, etc., because there was no Hong Kong talent at that time who could compete with them. We are repeating this history in some sense, but this time we have a more active role to play. The question now for arts practitioners in Hong Kong becomes that of dealing with the situation during this transition period. How can we think of a new system? How can we envisage the fact that yes, we might lack a certain amount of international experience, but we could transform our own experience in our local context. We are very open to absorb new things, new knowledge from expats who are contributing to Hong Kong. From what I’ve learned from the history of Hong Kong, the people are very adaptable. They take things from all over and internalize it until it becomes their own. I think that after five years, or perhaps a longer time, Hong Kong arts practitioners will adopt the new challenges and develop a new system in the Hong Kong arts scene. I see it as something repeating in the history of the city. If this situation is similar to what happened last time, I think that we will see the rise of a new class of Hong Kong arts practitioners in the future who are empowered by the knowledge they have gained. One more thing is that Hong Kong in the coming five years will increasingly pay more attention to Asia, rather than just focusing on Europe and the United States. This is something that will also change the arts scene. In the past, Hong Kong has been heavily influenced by the United States and Europe, but in the future, Asia’s influence will be as important too. BF: Thank you everyone for your responses.

106

Tina Pang, Pi Li Tina Pang is curator for Hong Kong Art and Culture at the M+ Museum for Visual Culture. Pi Li is senior curator at the M+ Museum for Visual Culture.

Brandon Farnsworth: Having worked for quite some time now in museums and galleries in China, you decided to come to Hong Kong. What sort of differences have you noticed between the two experiences? Pi Li: Hong Kong is the place where the West and China combine. You have a relatively complete infrastructure, which tends to make the institutions very stable. The management, the board, everything has its own place, and isn’t constantly shifting. Once you know the system, then you know how to drive the machine. They often take a while to make a decision, but once it’s made, it doesn’t change so easily. In China, things work in another way. They don’t have this stable machine. They don’t have the complete infrastructure. The system of power is constantly shifting. For instance, you can be a curator, but also run a gallery. A gallery could then simply turn into a museum! Collectors also sometimes deal the work. You can interpret this in a negative way, but there are also some advantages to this. It’s quite flexible, they tend to make decisions quickly, but they can also change their decision quickly. You can still see a kind of energy, or a kind of fresh feeling there. I don’t see this as so negative at all, actually. There are so many models for this so-called “creative industry”, it really just comes down to how you do it. Art Basel moving to Hong Kong is really a challenge for them, because they need to understand a new type of collector, a new way of dealing and trading art. We have reached a certain level of globalization in the art world, but sometimes it can be very local. This is the second year that Art Basel has been here, so they’re only starting to get an idea of how the system works. BF: So it’s easier to establish a steady institution here, whereas it is much easier for artists to set up a studio, etc., somewhere in China. PL: Yes. In terms of China, the whole management model is quite rough. At the same time though, they can develop things much easier. For example, in Hong Kong, young artists have a very hard time getting their first exhibition in a gallery because the rent is so high. In Beijing on the other hand, the rent isn’t so expensive, and there are so many galleries that there are therefore much more possibilities to create crazy new works. So in Beijing there are much more opportunities for young artists, and in Hong Kong there are less. When you ask me to compare working in the two cities, it’s actually not so clear which one is better. They’re just different. The other thing is if you go to cities like Beijing, Shanghai, or even Zurich or Berlin, they have had an arts and culture education infrastructure for many years. That includes professors, teachers, critics, etc. Looking at Beijing for instance, the style of artists coming from schools like the Central Academy of Fine Arts is totally different than that coming from Hangzhou. Say then a young artist comes to me, I can compare his work to that of others in his location in order to see whether or not there is merit to his work. Hong Kong doesn’t really have this same strong arts institutional tradition. Lots of people study abroad and bring their own style here. It’s also very difficult then for people to make judgments about the art. 108

This is probably the most challenging aspect for Hong Kong. On the other hand though, the people here have a very international view, and can speak excellent English. They are really taking part in this globalized lifestyle.

Say a young artist comes to me, I can compare his work to that of others in his location in order to see whether or not there is merit to his work. BF: What are the challenges of building an audience for the upcoming museum? PL: Hong Kong is a very diverse place, with lots of foreigners, bankers, and also this kind of middle class. Somehow though, from a contemporary art point of view, Hong Kong is quite a conservative place. They don’t have a very open mind, especially compared with other places in China or Taiwan. They have very much preserved the traditional social system quite well. Hong Kong is also a place for transfer. People come here, they work or study, and then they go, they emigrate. Therefore, figuring out who our audience actually consists of is a big challenge for us. Michael Schindhelm: Speaking about Hong Kong as becoming an international city, as well as about how the city will change in the next several years, how do people, especially artists, who have lived here for a long time view the changes that are taking place? Tina Pang: I think it’s a very complex picture. There are certain people who travel very easily between various worlds, who see a lot of international exhibitions and artists. For them, it’s going to be a very welcome development. For others, I think it’s going to be a much more challenging development. Unfortunately, at this moment in time there is a very specific political climate which can be said to have nothing to do with the development of cultural institutions or West Kowloon. It is a prism though through which West Kowloon and M+ will be viewed. There is a lot of sensitivity about the protection of freedom of expression, about universal suffrage, about the big changes in the political landscape here, and Hong Kong’s unique cultural identity. We are meant to get universal suffrage in 2017, but it remains that nominees of the Central Government will appoint the candidates for Chief Executive. 109

West Kowloon coming at this time means that it’s getting caught up in some of these discussions. There is also sensitivity to the fact that as the cultural infrastructure develops, there are more jobs, many of which require very substantial experience and specific skills that are hard to find in Hong Kong. Therefore a lot of experienced people with different backgrounds have been appointed to quite high positions. It has certainly created a kind of tension. At the end of the day though, the jump in capacity, in skills, in experience, will kind of filter down, and have a positive impact on everyone. We are three years into the project and we’ve already begun to see this happen. Where before there was some caution and reservation, we are now slowly seeing that gradually beginning to change.

M+’s growth has been uncomfortable for some people, and incited anger in very small quarters. BF: Could you talk about the role of M+ in art education? PL: Yes! From the point of view of M+, our initiatives such as Mobile M+ or M+ Matters are all attempts to build up the audience here. We are trying to change the public into an art-going public. I think that in four to five years, we can definitely effect some change in the city. Even now, we are trying to approach young students in schools, to start educating them at an early age. Every project we do, we try and think about it mostly from the perspective of involvement with the public, as well as art education. We don’t just design education programs to promote our exhibitions; rather the art exhibitions themselves are the art education. The second aspect is our planned digital M+ program. We will probably be the first museum in the world to have an online program before the actual museum exists. Digital M+ is an education platform that can be used to reach a broad audience in Hong Kong but also internationally. Usually, a museum’s online presence is a mirror of what they are doing in the physical space, but we are trying to do something different. We still have our physical shows, but we also have a part that is only online. We are also exploring types of exhibitions that are only possible to do online. The Neon Signs exhibition is an example of this. People use Google Maps to explore the city’s disappearing neon signs, which are being slowly replaced by LEDs. People use their phones to take pictures of the neon signs, and upload them to the website, which then puts it, in a way, into the city’s cultural memory. 110

Another project we are doing is the Right is Wrong show in Umeå, Sweden, which shows selections from the museum’s M+ Sigg collection. We are trying to develop a website project alongside it that can show the connections between each of the works. We’re developing a sort of timeline that shows how each of the artists is linked to the others. This is something that can only really be done on the Internet. There’s also a project with art magazines from the 60’s to the 80’s. In the modern museum space, you can only really show a book in a bookcase, and can’t really touch it. If it’s a PDF though, you can view the magazine, and examine how the artists worked together with the writers, etc. People can really view the magazines page by page, and have a chance to zoom up on a certain work or drawing, for instance those made by Ai Weiwei. We’ve made our whole collection accessible in this way. TP: In my opinion, an important factor for the museum in terms of art education is our strong learning and interpretation team. Of course we have a strong curatorial team that is working on one level, but the learning and interpretation team – which is growing – is working much more with less art-savvy or art-comfortable audiences. They are doing very important work reaching out to these audiences, trying to diminish people’s fears and this feeling that art is not for them, while at the same time building our future audience. I think it’s a gradual process. For general audiences, the growth in foreign and more established galleries arriving in Hong Kong has offered them an opportunity outside of art fairs and outside of the auctions to see a lot more art, which is positive for everyone. M+’s growth has certainly been uncomfortable for some people, and incited some anger in very small quarters. But these are people who have felt frustrated by the existing institutions, or even marginalized previously, before M+, before foreign galleries. That may continue, but in general what we’re experiencing is that within the arts and writing communities, the development of the museum is certainly being taken very positively. The museum will also have an effect on teaching institutions as well. There will be a need for very well trained and experienced people, but whether having schools train people (as many now intend) in Arts Administration, or Venue Management, or even Art History in order to fit the needs of the West Kowloon is the best way or not remains in question. Certainly, somewhere down the line there will be opportunities for these graduates, but at this stage, experience is probably more important than any qualification. On the other hand, there are a large number of other cultural institutions in China that are being built that will need to be staffed. That is a very real need and represents a very strong demand for universities that offer the kind of training and professional skills that institutions here are not yet able to offer. MS: A lot of Chinese cities are getting comparably expensive to Hong Kong in terms of cost of living, but here there are still the advantages of freedom of expression, free trade, higher competency to deal with globalization than in other parts of Asia, as well as strong institutions like the upcoming M+. Do you think that in the long run, Hong Kong will become attractive for established artists because of these advantages? 111

PL: At this moment, yes, free expression is very important, but for most Chinese artists, there is another problem here, namely the misunderstandings between Hong Kong and the mainland. It takes place even on the level of daily life, and can sometimes lead to an unpleasant experience for the artists living here. As for freedom of expression, it can change the art language quite a lot, but freedom of speech still doesn’t change the political situation. Chinese artists already learn how to express themselves without necessarily being explicit.

BF: How do you see the museum fitting into the cultural landscape of Hong Kong? TP: We are in this extraordinary position of being able to draw on what has already been done by our colleagues in the museums here, on their foundation and the groundwork which they have set out, and build a museum that’s much more international in scope, and that’s much more about thinking what Hong Kong will need in ten or twenty years’ time if it’s really going to be a truly international city in Asia. It’s a very ambitious project, but it’s also very exciting. The goal is eventually to have a museum that is really forward thinking, and that incorporates a lot of the museological and institutional developments that are happening elsewhere in the world that would not otherwise be able to be implemented in Hong Kong. This is due to the city’s often rigid and somewhat intransigent structure, which is now changing slightly, partly in response to the M+ and the West Kowloon Cultural District. In that sense, I think that the District has been a very positive thing. MS: There are still four years to go before the museum opens. What is going to happen with the collection during this time? PL: We will start to tour the collection. We have plans to exhibit the Right is Wrong exhibition at the Whitworth Museum, the new museum of the University of Manchester, next March until May. The exhibition will then travel to Hong Kong in August of 2015. We are now planning after that to tour the collection around Britain, Japan, and possibly China, but we first need to see how we handle the censorship issue. After that, the collection will return to Hong Kong early 2017, and by that time, our storage facilities here will be completed, so we don’t need to ship the collection back to Switzerland any more. We will also have a new Arts Pavilion, a 400m² space where we will will be able to show other areas of the collection. MS: So by touring the collection, as well as showing it in Hong Kong, you are already starting to pull back the curtain before the museum is finished. Are you not afraid that by showing these works before the opening, you are spoiling the big reveal in 2017? PL: Well, talking about Chinese art and the M+ Sigg Collection, you first need to give people the whole picture. Our idea was that doing this show before the opening would give people the storyline of the collection, so that when the museum opens we can show specific parts of it without losing oversight. 112

The other serious project in the next two years is going to be that of writing and researching the collection. MS: Storyline is a great word. Are you actually developing something like a narrative around the collection? PL: I wrote actually a very long article which will be published next month, which is entitled Four Decades of Chinese Art from the M+ Sigg Collection. Basically I will be talking about how this kind of collection of Chinese contemporary art stepped out of the box starting in the 1970â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s. The developments in art during this time are something we try and analyze through the collection. We are not talking about what Chinese contemporary art is, or who Uli Sigg is, rather we are trying to illustrate history through the works. The other serious project in the next two years is going to be that of writing and researching the collection. When we talk about Chinese contemporary art, we always talk about the big names like Ai Weiwei, but there are still so many things that have not really been explored yet. We are well set up here because on the one hand we have the works now, and on the other we have the Asia Art Archive here. We are inviting art historians to come study the archives and the works, and are encouraging them to write about their research. In this way we hope to deepen our understanding of the collection. Lastly, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s important to remember that one collection cannot possibly represent the complexity of the whole of Chinese contemporary art. We are still trying to add works to the core collection, in order to fill in the gaps and broaden our reach. MS: What are your plans for the next four years, leading up to the opening of the museum? TP: My position is slightly different from my colleagues because Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m focusing more closely on Hong Kong, doing things such as communicating with the government museums in order to understand their collecting strategies. For instance, the Hong Kong Museum of Art recently received a 50 million HKD (6 million CHF) grant to collect specifically Hong Kong art. This has somewhat crystalized their role, as well as help us to think more clearly about how our collection of Hong Kong visual culture will work. We use the term loosely, but M+ will eventually be a kind of panAsian museum that will also look at diasporic art as well as of course the movements that influences those artists. What is going to be really 113

exciting will be to see Asian art from the post-war period up to the present, placing Hong Kong art within a broader and much more international context â&#x20AC;&#x201C; itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s unrealistic and a simplification to see it only within the context of Hong Kong. The art will be placed within exhibitions and collections that reference and reflect other parts of the world and other traditions. BF: On behalf of Mr. Schindhelm and I, I would like to thank both of you for taking the time to talk to us today.

114

Leung Po-Shan

Leung Po-Shan is a researcher at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, and has also served as the General Manager of Para Site.

Brandon Farnsworth: How do you see the art world in Hong Kong changing in the next five years? Leung Po-Shan: Since the sixties, since colonial times, the art world here has revolved mainly around public institutions. We have libraries, museums, the City Hall, all very much the British systems. They were all first established as public institutions where everybody could go. There wasn’t really any kind of elitist or commercial art world that existed. This continued until 1997, more or less. After that, it wasn’t so much the political changes that made things different so much as globalization and the influx of money, which really shifted the focus of the art world. Hong Kong of course was always an extremely capitalistic city, but that never really affected the art world until after the reunification. What happened was that the government wanted to make culture useful. It was similar to other city regeneration projects like you see in London and a lot of northern English cities.

We set up the West Kowloon Cultural District on reclaimed land in the harbor. There’s no history at all there. BF: So it’s the creative city strategy. LP: Yes. Richard Florida, that way of thinking. The situation is a little bit different, though. In Europe and in North America, this phenomenon happened because of the shift to post-industrialism, because of the need to change the economic structures, to change the city. I always disagree with interpreting Hong Kong in this same way. All the industry is moving to China, but Hong Kong is a hub for design and exhibition industries already, so we haven’t experienced mass-scale depopulation or loss of investment. It’s quite the opposite, actually. All the money coming to Asia comes to Hong Kong as well. The context is therefore very different, however the way that they deal with culture here is very similar. Lots of these “creative cities” set up their creative quarters in old areas that they want to regenerate. Here however, we set up the West Kowloon Cultural District on reclaimed land in the harbor. There’s no history at all there. Another dimension then comes up, which is the fact that this project is something that is totally foreign to here. It is therefore very reasonable that M+ doesn’t have any relationship with the cultural life of the city. 116

BF Here in Hong Kong, I’ve heard a lot about the Police Married Quarter (PMQ) project in Central. Do you see this project connected to this same phenomenon as well? LP: It’s a little bit of a different context, so yes and no. Do you know about the preservation movement in Hong Kong, like the Queen’s Pier and the Star Pier? The movement was started in 2006. Before that, heritage didn’t have a place in Hong Kong. It existed, but mostly in corporate and regenerative projects. The city regeneration strategy in Hong Kong is usually just to uproot everything and build something new. The public began to put a large pressure – I was involved in this – on the government because they wanted to preserve their history through preservation of the urban landscape. In response to this, the government set up the Development Bureau. Since then, projects like the PMQ, and several others as well, have benefitted from big investments from the government. Somehow, this new interest in art and the preservation movement became a perfect match. Heritage is difficult to use, there are a lot of regulations as to what you can do and not do. Using it for commercial purposes is not always the easiest thing then to do. It became however a very good and fitting façade for art and art activities. The PMQ is a product of this movement. BF: So it helps legitimatize the project, just like the historicization process seen in other creative city strategies. LP: Yes. Well originally, they just wanted to uproot everything. But after several waves of protests and resistance movements from the local community, specifically from the Central and Western Concern Group, they relented. The protesters actually overlapped a bit with the arts circle, particularly a man named John Batten. He’s a gallerist as well as an activist, whose first gallery started in the area. He’s the one that organized the concern group with other people in the neighbourhood. They demanded not just to preserve this or that particular building, but also to preserve the livelihood of the local neighbourhoods, specifically the wet market nearby.

Well originally, they just wanted to uproot everything. But after protests and resistance movements, they relented. 117

BF: Talking about preservation, it’s clear the city is changing rapidly. How do you see M+ fitting into this shifting landscape? LP: M+ is the flagship for the whole creativity discourse in Hong Kong. The government wants to have this big flagship establishment, but this also attracts all the capital. Because of Hong Kong’s specific context, this means that the real-estate companies become involved. These companies then start to take culture as their instrument as well. For instance, there is the K-11 and their art mall, which is a project of the Urban Renewal Authority (URA). This union between the real-estate companies and the URA is a direct result of not just M+, but of the whole dynamic that the West Kowloon project will bring to Hong Kong.

M+ is the flagship for the whole creativity discourse in Hong Kong. BF: What are your thoughts on the M+ Sigg Collection? LP: Actually I’m quite positive about the effect it will have. A lot of people from the art world here are quite negative, but personally I see it from a wider perspective. The collection is actually very important for Chinese contemporary art, but in China itself, there is no institution that can store and show this collection properly. This is because the government does not see it as officially sanctioned art. Even so-called civil society is not able to manage the collection, as they are very much reliant on the government for economic success. This is why the Sigg Collection cannot find a proper place in China. Hong Kong could play a very important role in this regard because here we have the protocols already in place that are needed to properly manage the collection, as well as the steady funding required to maintain it. BF: What about the argument that the museum’s collection might not be a fair representation of Chinese contemporary art? LP: It’s important to remember that each collection naturally carries the collector’s point of view. After a couple years of acquisitions though, it should be possible to balance out this point of view with others. What I’m looking forward to is the M+ rounding out their collection, and establishing their own point of view in regards to the rest of the art ecosystem. This will of course take some time though. What people don’t understand is that a museum cannot be built in a day. It’s an accumulation of years and years of effort, of exhibitions, of strategic acquisitions, of academic research, etc. BF: In my interview with Professor Kurt Chan, we talked about the possibility that Mobile M+ has in a way already done the job of raising the status of art in Hong Kong internationally, bringing in big galleries etc. What would you say about that? 118

LP: Like I said, the museum is not just about the physical buildings. They’ve already set up quite a good, diverse team. They come from many different nationalities and represent many different points of view, and that’s perhaps more important than the actual physical museum itself. I won’t agree that international standards are higher than the local ones, though. I tend to think more in terms of systems of overlapping circles. I actually really dislike the perception that the international standards are higher than the local ones. In fact, I tend to think it’s the other way around! Put it this way, this whole initiative is more about bringing in different methods and attitudes towards doing things instead of different standards.

The collection is actually very important for Chinese contemporary art, but in China itself, there is no institution that can store and show this collection properly. BF: Is the museum going to drive more people to go to museums and look at art, or is it going to take its audience from other museums that already exist in Hong Kong? LP: They’re building a very different audience. Not just that, they’re also building a new Hong Kong culture or cultural identity. It’s similar to what happened in the sixties with the City Hall, which is for me the beginning of a modern, local identity in Hong Kong. The City Hall is the first time that the people living here started to have a different identity from that of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) Chinese, which was a very Cold War concept. We were slowly taught that we were different from the PRC, although we are all Chinese. As I see it, the job of M+ is very similar, but with some key differences. The identity they are building is somehow cosmopolitan, but at the same time integrated into China. Especially given the tensions between Hong Kong and the mainland in recent years, this has become quite important. 119

The audience building programs that they have done so far are very clearly something different from the way it used to be. For example, I went to a concert last year where they had a mix of singers from Taiwan, mainland China, and local Hong Kong singers. Significantly, this was also reflected in the audience. Standing in the crowd, I heard much more Mandarin than Cantonese. They are building up a different audience through these programs. BF: Thank you so much for your insights! LP: Thank you!

120

Tobias Berger

Tobias Berger is a curator at the M+ Museum for Visual Culture, and has previously worked as Managing Director and Curator at Para Site.

Brandon Farnsworth: What has been your role at the museum so far? Tobias Berger: In the beginning, there was only Lars Nittve and I, and now we have about seventeen curators, so I did curate at the beginning, as well as the Mobile M+ exhibitions, all of them up till now I think, but it’s not my main job at the moment. I also curated the booth here (at Art Basel Hong Kong), but my main job at the moment is actually building the physical building together with Herzog & De Meuron, as well as doing acquisitions and things like that. M+, for the first three years, was really more like a start-up, we had two people, three people, four people; it was just a very fast start-up with a very exact timeline. We constantly change the way we operate, especially me, I did a little bit of everything at the beginning and now I’m more concentrated. Michael Schindhelm: It seems your role is getting a little bit more structured. What will be your core subject for the next years during the preparation for the museum? TB: I personally think I will stay with the building, I think that will be the major subject. It’s actually very interesting how important an institutional history is. For instance, knowing why that door is there and why you thought about this or that. Things develop, and sometimes you need to go back into that history to understand why certain things are the way they are, especially in the case of a building. Since I’ve been on the project the longest, except Lars of course, who has an overview of the details, I’m perhaps in the best position to understand what’s going on. This project has the amazing luxury of being able to be built from the inside out and from a curatorial point of view, which is very unusual. Most museums or galleries, if they are new, have been built by politicians, and then hire a museum director, maybe a year before completion. That’s why we have all these galleries that look great in the city landscape but are impossible to work with. I think the beauty of this museum project is exactly that: it is completely built in a very flexible way, so it can grow with a collection whose final shape and form we don’t yet know. MS: How is this building process being organized? TB: M+ is only one department within the West Kowloon Cultural District Authority. There is a project delivery department, and this department is the one responsible for building. They are the architects, the engineers, and so on. They are responsible for building, but they subcontract out to a management firm. There are then engineers and architects on the board of the museum, the Museum Joint Venture, who actually build it. We found out that we needed an architect on our M+ team too, who we hired half a year ago now. It’s just somebody on our side who understands what’s going on. Building is a game; it’s about money, it’s about time, it’s about responsibilities, so you need somebody on your side that understands that game, otherwise you are lost. One of my friends is working at a museum in Germany that just got a big addition, which turned out to be no good because the city development team took over, and they don’t understand things like why you don’t want a door in the middle of a long wall. That’s why we needed to balance it out from our side, that’s why the architect, an excellent consultant, and I are here. 122

The museum is not the same as a building, the museum is actually the relationship between content and audience. BF: Each of these Mobile M+ exhibitions that you’ve done so far seems to target a different audience, a different space. Can you talk about the strategy and the planning of these exhibitions? TB: There was this one mantra which we had, which was “the museum is not the same as a building, the museum is actually the relationship between content and audience.” The building is a beautiful tool, and one that we need, but actually we can have a “museum”, or exhibitions, before we open, which is what we did with Mobile M+. The concept of Mobile M+ was threefold: it was a chance to build audience for the museum, it was also a chance for us to learn about Hong Kong, and finally it was a chance to build up our team. The very first Mobile M+ project was the Bamboo Theater, where we worked together with the performing arts team, building things around this amazing theater. It was however more of an add-on to an already-existing project. It was also testing out how we could work with the performing arts team, which has common goals, but at the same time is very different. We all learned how difficult it is. A performing-arts production is run completely differently than a contemporary art production. It’s amazing how different it actually works! We didn’t do it again. They still do the Bamboo Theater, but we’re not project partners anymore because of these huge differences. A lot of these smaller exhibitions were more about the local arts community, for instance Aric Chan’s Building M+ exhibition, which targeted the design and architectural community. It was trying to tell them that we have a collection and to show them what amazing treasure you have here in regards to urbanism, as well as Hong Kong as a space. The Yau Ma Tei project, the first “real” Mobile M+, was really research into this neighbourhood of Yau Ma Tei, which is the neighbourhood that we’re going to be located next to. It’s one of the most fascinating neigbourhoods in Hong Kong because it is still in the city, but its still very rough, and there’s a lot of drugs, prostitution, and night-markets. It’s probably the most typically “Hong Kong” space in the city center. With these first few projects, we learned a lot about audience, and about what we are about. We also got the chance to give Hong Kong 123

artists, designers, and filmmakers bigger projects. In Hong Kong, not having a decent museum or Kunsthalle or anything, these people never got the opportunity to do certain things. Some of it was not even big in size, for instance one artist couple (Kwan Sheung-chi and Wong Wai-yin] just produced a gold coin for a lot of money that they then wanted to throw in the harbour. It’s a totally crazy project, and it’s one that you can do only if you have these resources. Inflation! was more about researching the site where the future M+ will be. It was also about checking out what will happen if you put something super spectacular on this site, like the future museum. Will people come? We had 150’000 in a month, which was an amazing amount. This changes a lot, because in Hong Kong there’s always this assumption that you won’t get audience, which is totally ridiculous. I mean look at how many people Art Basel draws in, come on! The Neon Signs project, which was also a Mobile M+ project, was a fantastic one, because it was about Hong Kong, but at the same time it was connecting the city into a global landscape. It also produced such a great amount of new works, of films, of research, of articles. We basically made an exhibition, a catalogue, and a web project all in one. We’re getting great support with this project, with people shooting pictures of neon signs in Hong Kong, so there’s this crowd-sourcing element as well. It’s been a huge success. So, that’s the aim of these Mobile M+ exhibitions, audience building, but also staff building, and showing to Hong Kong what we are all about!

We are building a worldclass facility that will look at Asia as well as the world from a Hong Kong point of view. BF: How will the M+ Museum affect the current Hong Kong arts landscape? TB: It will be a process, but basically, we are building the museum that Asia does not have. We are building a world-class facility that will look at Asia, as well as the world, from a Hong Kong point of view. How much did Tate Modern change London? A lot! I think it will hopefully be even more extreme because London had a thriving arts scene already. To a certain extent though, it has already changed things here. We have seven senior curators here now, which means that even gallery openings are completely different now. If there is a gallery opening now, there are several of us who go, which changes already a lot of dynamics in the scene. 124

What we’ve basically done is take the best people from Asia and gather them in Hong Kong, even just that changes the Asia network, because a lot of important people are here now. BF: Do you think that the museum will create an audience, or take it away from other institutions? TB: No museum has ever taken away audience. They create audience. We have a huge education program, which will be better than the other museums because of all these resources we have. People then move on to other museums, too. They go to other places, they get interested. This fair (Art Basel Hong Kong) for example created audiences for the museum. This is, per day, the most-visited art fair in the world, it’s amazing! MS: How do you plan to keep the ball rolling during the lead-up to the museum’s opening? TB: 4 year is unfortunately faster than one thinks. We will calm down a bit, because we also realize – talking about Mobile M+ for instance – it is so difficult to do these projects in Hong Kong, where space is so limited, and bureaucracy is so outrageous. We’ve realized that we need to concentrate our resources more on the collection and the building. I don’t think we will do another big Mobile M+ exhibition, for instance. We will get the Arts Pavilion next year, or end of next year, where we will be focusing our energy during the lead-up to opening. Right now, we have to concentrate on preparing the first years of the new museum. I think these mobile exhibitions were very important to do. We made our mark, but right now we have to focus more on the museum itself.

Whatever building or team you have, you need a collection. Uli Sigg gave us an amazing foundation and we’re going from there.

BF: Can you talk about the M+’s acquisition project? TB: The acquisition project is huge. Whatever building or team you have, you need a collection. Uli Sigg gave us an amazing foundation and we’re going from there. We’ve always said “a global point of view from a Hong Kong perspective”, with Hong Kong in the center, and expanding out. Of course, starting off then with a large number of works from mainland China made the whole thing a little off-balance. The first two years were about creating a balance, so we did a lot of buying of Hong Kong art, 125

design, and architecture, and really got that going. With the arrival of Doryun Chong as chief curator, we entered a new phase where we now go more for classical Asian art from the fifties and sixties, as well as becoming much more international. Now we collect like we should collect, but that only started a few months ago. Certainly, we still collect Hong Kong art, but we also collect more Asian international. BF: So China is only one branch? It’s often perceived as a museum for contemporary Chinese art. TB: Yes, but it’s actually not! That’s a problem of perception, but having the Sigg Collection, that’s what you get. BF: Do you see yourself balancing out the Sigg collection with later works by the same artists? TB: Yes, or earlier works. The Sigg collection is very good, but there are gaps that we are now filling in, while also balancing it out with other artists. It’s a great foundation, but we still buy quite actively in China, and are also getting donations. We just got another important donation from the collector Guan Yi, who gave us, among others, Canton Express, which was the first presentation of Guangzhou artists at the Venice Biennial. It is in an area in which Uli Sigg wasn’t so strong, but it’s fantastic work! Every collection has gaps, so you just have to add on, it’s also what Uli Sigg wanted.

It’s a museum for visual culture, but which will have a certain Hong Kong identity.

MS: What is then the museum’s mission? Does it have something like a specific geographical focus? TB: It’s a museum for visual culture, but which will have a certain Hong Kong identity. It is an open society, a place of crossroads, a very dense place. We will have as much Western art as there is Asian art in Tate or MoMA. It will be there, but it’s not our focus. Somebody offered to donate us a work by Tino Segal, and we happily accepted. Yesterday, we had a talk with European artist who worked in Beijing for a long time who has certain pieces I would like to buy but I couldn’t afford, and he was happy to donate it. We bought Asian Fields yesterday, which is an Anthony Gomley piece, but was done in China. But do I go out and buy a Polke now for five hundred thousand or a million? No! Would I go and buy a Rauschenberg? Yes, because he was quite influential during his travels to China. It’s about telling stories. We’re not going to reinvent the wheel, but we’re going to shift the perspective from a more Western one to a more Asian focus. We build a new narrative, a new story. 126

MS: In terms of numbers, can you elaborate? TB: The problem with numbers is how you count. Yesterday, we got a collection from Red A that was like five hundred pieces, but I’m not saying we collected five hundred pieces, so it’s very difficult. I would say we have about three thousand pieces now in the collection, which is very little for a museum. Of that, about 1 500 is from Uli Sigg, then 700–800 from Hong Kong, and the rest are from China and Taiwan. There are only a few at the moment from America, however there are quite a few from Asian diaspora artists. BF: Thank you very much for your responses. TB: Nice to talk to you!

127

Biographies

129

Claudio Bucher was born in St. Gallen, Switzerland, in 1980. He studied Media Science, Journalism, and Modern German Literature in Fribourg, Switzerland, from 2001 until 2004. He is currently working as a music producer and sound designer, and is in his last year of Masters of Arts in Art Education at the Zurich University of the Arts. Patrick Kull was born in Zurich, Switzerland, in 1987. He graduated from his Bachelors in Media Arts at the Zurich University of the Arts in 2008. Currently, he is in his last year of Masters of Arts in Fine Arts at the Zurich University of the Arts. Brandon Farnsworth was born in Montreal, Canada, in 1991. He completed his Bachelors of Arts in Music in 2013, and he is currently finishing up his Masters of Arts in Transdiciplinary Studies at the Zurich University of the Arts in Switzerland. Michael Schindhelm was born in 1960 in East Germany. He studied Quantum Chemistry in the USSR and became a director of theatre and opera in both Basel and Berlin. He is a writer, filmmaker, and advisor to the Zurich University of the Arts, and was also involved in the master planning of the West Kowloon Cultural District in Hong Kong.

130

Photo Credits Cover (from left to right and from top to bottom) Patrick Kull (2, 4, 6, 7, 9) Marc Latzel (3, 5, 11, 13) Michael Schindhelm (12) Studio photos (1, 8, 10, 14): see Portraits by Patrick Kull for credits Travelogue by Claudio Bucher Mandy Yeung (p. 11, p. 24) Parasol Solutions (p. 16) Claudio Bucher (p. 28, p. 32) ng:studio, Nigel Gregory (p. 36) Bibliography Travelogue by Claudio Bucher Ackbar Abbas, “Hong Kong: Culture and the politics of disappearance” (Hong Kong University Press, 1997). Walter Benjamin, “Charles Baudelaire: Ein Lyriker im Zeitalter des Hochkapitalismus” (Suhrkamp, 1974). Valerie C. Doran, “Care, Justice and a Soft Blue Light,” in Away from the Crowd – the Art of Jaffa Lam (2013), p. 104. Yeung Yang, “Fluttering, stretching,” in Away from the Crowd – the Art of Jaffa Lam (2013), p. 158. Oscar Wilde, “The decay of lying,” (Haldeman-Julius Company, 1923). citieswithoutground.com

131

Acknowledgments Daniela Bär, Silvia Berchtold, Tobias Berger, Kurt Chan Yuk-Keung, Kwan Sheung Chi, Connecting Spaces Hong Kong–Zurich, Glenn Ellingsen, Michael Etter, Chow Chun Fai, Niklaus Gysi, Kong Chun Hei, Tang Kwok Hin, Y-Loft Youth Hostel, Nathalie Kull, Nuria Krämer, Teresa Kwong, Connie Lam, Marc Latzel, Ian Leung, Michael Leung, Jaffa Lam Laam, Pi Li, Quinyi Lim, Patrick Müller, Jonas Niedermann, Lam Tung Pang, Tina Yee-Wan Pang, Leung Po-Shan, Michael Schindhelm, Annette Schönholzer, Uli Sigg, Daniel Späti, Marc Spiegler, Frank Tang, Ami Tsz Hei Tsang, Ko Sin Tung, Lai Cheuk Wah Sarah, Christoph Weckerle, Ruedi Widmer, Alice Wong, Morgan Wong, Mandy Yeung, MA Fine Arts (ZHdK), MA Kulturpublizistik (ZHdK), MA Transdisciplinary Studies (ZHdK), Zurich University of the Arts (ZHdK)

Connecting Spaces Documents # 1 Edited by Connecting Spaces Hong Kong – Zurich Zurich University of the Arts Authors Claudio Bucher, Michael Etter, Brandon Farnsworth, Patrick Kull, Michael Schindhelm Translation Mark Kyburz (Claudio Bucher, Michael Schindhelm) Editing Daniela Bär, Brandon Farnsworth, Patrick Müller Supervision Michael Schindhelm, Patrick Müller Concept/Design Studio Niedermann Typeface Founders Grotesk Text Paper Munken Print White 1.5 Prepress and Printing Niedermann Druck Binding Buchbinderei Grollimund All rights reserved © 2014 the authors for pictures and texts © 2014 for this edition Connecting Spaces Hong Kong – Zurich Zurich University of the Arts

132