Artists

Excerpt from Transformation exhibition catalogue, 2003

On canvas, I amplify the scale of the insects so that what was once overlooked is now impossible to ignore. Certain patches of color on the butterfly wings are crisp and clear, whereas others are blurry like memories. I confess it depresses me to consider the nature of beauty, the only redemption in an otherwise cruel world. It is like a lily floating on the water with no root to anchor it in time or space. The poetry of Li Shang Yin typifies this balance. Though it looks formally beautiful, with its thick brushwork and subtle mastery of colour, the underlying themes are that of helplessness and loss.

The beauty of the natural world far surpasses these garish ads and billboards that line our streets. These signs are smooth and refined, but by reproducing them thousands of times with impeccable accuracy, the true beauty is all but extinguished. When the last traces of wildlife are driven out of the cities completely, these man made creations may be all that is left to dazzle our eyes, but they will not replace the glorious and unpredictable forms of nature.

Have we forgotten how to marvel at insects the way children do? The black shell of the beetle, the sparkling eyes of the dragonfly, and the ornate symmetry of the butterfly all seem to belong where we discover them, as though they were woven into the very fabric of the landscape. They should not be considered intruders when, after all, they are composed of the same matter that we are. When one realizes that these compact sources of magnificent beauty are alive, radiating with the warmth of life, it arouses the desire to touch…to feel the trembling life course at your fingertips.

I still remember watching the sunset when I was a child. The sun sunk behind the mountain, spreading the sky with pink and orange, burning its image into my memory. Now I realize that all that matters in life are moments like those. I realize that both man and insect wither away eventually, leaving behind only the faintest evidence of where they passed.

Right now, at this very second, countless creatures are being brought into this world and just as many are passing away. Every fragment of time becomes history as it passes, and the old, as usual, is perpetually replaced by the new. No one knows the fountain from which life rises, just as no one knows where it slips off to when it goes. Even if it is nothing more than a bright spark in the vast universe, the sun and the moon will always witness it. The earth will feel it. Everything that comes into being, no matter how monumental or miniscule, takes its rightful place in the cosmic cycle of all things.

Cao Jing Ping
June 2003