Preface
 

I find it embarrassing when people ask, “What stories do the works tell?” or “What ideas do the works convey?”
 
The present is unlike any previous era; the artists and their discourses stand at the front, and the artworks are pushed to the back. We describe intentions and ideas with clear rules, or curators do it for us. Artworks are attached to the terms “contemporary” or “classical,” then developed into sophisticated schemes, competitions of intelligence and vocabulary. However, when I look at an artwork, I approach to examine it closely, then I ask: whose was this?
 
I hate writing those kinds of conceptual explanations; however, there are ideas behind my work and this book does describe how “Distant Letters” came to be considered for a contemporary art prize. I have tried to describe this process honestly, but when I read my own analyses of my work, my face still turns red, and I ask myself: Did I really think that much? When I am painting, do I have that many thoughts? In nearly five years, do I still need to think so much when confronted with a piece of white paper? Are my motivations for making these paintings really that complex?  
 
I began to focus on “Distant Letters” more closely in 2005, when I made the first album leaf, an homage to a four-part erotic painting. Apart from the fact that I had not copied a letter, it was much like the series as it currently appears. I painted a blue and white cover mounting and entitled it Evening Rendezvous. I then had Master Cao add a thick binding and fold it into a book, which I placed in a cabinet. Over the course of seven years, every time I looked at it, I wondered if I should do another book. Fortunately, this artwork was collected in 2012, and I know that it will be hard to see again.
 
If not for that, I would have ignored the book, and I wouldn’t have remade it as some kind of reckoning. Yes, it is not simply a painting; it is also a physical object, a book I made by hand, and a painting that I see as a material object.
 
It has been said that ten years before Manet painted Olympia, he copied Titian’s Venus of Urbino, so I guess he may have been a bit like me. He first sensed something, but it took a period of time or a certain incident for clarity to strike: Oh, that’s it! It was here all along! Manet was enamored of the planarity of painting; I am fascinated by the materiality of painting.
 
However, in this book, the materiality of these artworks is attenuated. As I was making them, I discovered that I was also fascinated with the details of these paintings. In the past few catalogs, the entire works have been presented, but as physical objects, the majority of scrolls and album leaves are long and thin, and so when they are printed, all that can be seen are indistinct images, and not the details, which I found a bit regrettable.
 
The works seem to have minds of their own, and I believe that they guide me. One painting inspires other paintings, just as this brushstroke inspires another brushstroke; at the same time, I waited for the chance to add a secret, like a childish prank. I hope that people will seek out these secrets, and I think they’re interesting whether they are found or not.
 
When scrolls and album leaves are viewed from a distance, all that can be seen is a painting or a book that has not been opened. In this book, I opened every painting and extracted a fragment. I hope that there will be people like me, leaning in and looking closely.




 
Peng Wei
November 11, 2016
Beijing