Alice: “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”
Cheshire Cat: “That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.”
Alice: “I don't much care where.”
Cheshire Cat: “Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.”

— Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Mojin Stone Space "Right Guard: Duan Zhengqu's New Works Exhibition" — Exhibition Site at Building A07, 798 Art District

Normally, people tend to take a macro and inductive perspective when understanding an artist — dividing their career by years and summarizing their creative values over extended periods of time. But this is only one possible way of observing.

If we take the formation of a single work as the point of entry, it offers a certain documentary quality, and may even come closer to the essence of artistic creation itself. Of course, this requires the artist to be open and willing to share both the joys and struggles encountered in the creative process. Mr. Duan Zhengqu, an artist currently based in Beijing, is such a candid and forthcoming senior artist. From December 2021 to February 2022, I was fortunate to visit his studio multiple times and witnessed the transformation of a canvas over this period. This article is a record of what I saw and heard during that time.

01. Going Northwest, From Region to Universal Humanity

When I first met Duan Zhengqu in his studio, he was wearing a dark blue work robe, splattered with paint. The scent of turpentine still lingered in the air. The studio, a spacious duplex, has been his workspace since he moved in back in 2010. Upon entering, two large easels stand directly ahead, usually holding works he is actively working on. Some half-finished canvases, which he doesn’t intend to continue immediately, are stacked against the studio walls.

Duan Zhengqu Studio

During most visits, the studio is lit by natural light streaming in from the windows, while the bright overhead lamps are reserved for painting sessions. Looking up, one can see large paintings from earlier periods hanging along the tall walls, bearing witness to his creative journey.

Several newly completed works are also displayed high up, allowing him to observe them from a distance and assess the overall composition. At the back of the studio stands an entire wall of bookshelves, and throughout the space, small antiques and folk carvings can be found.

He has also kept an early work from 1979 titled Yi River, a small painting hung on the wall opposite the work area and the entrance. It was with this piece that he was admitted to the Oil Painting Department of the Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts.

Duan Zhengqu, Yi River, 1979

In the early 1990s, Duan Zhengqu, then in his early thirties, began to make a name for himself in the art world. Yet his creative path has long been accompanied by self-doubt — a challenge every artist must confront. Looking back now, he admits that the desire for change has never left him. Although “after trying, I often cautiously return to where I started,” each round of struggle has nevertheless pushed him slightly off his original track.

In 1991, after rising to prominence with the Duan Zhengqu & Duan Jianwei Oil Painting Exhibition (CAFA Gallery, Beijing), his artistic style began to take on a more systematic approach. He consciously worked to shed traces of Georges Rouault’s influence — softening the rough outlines, reducing the brown tones, and minimizing glazing techniques.

Following his participation in the 1995 Oil Painters Invitational Exhibition (Art Museum of Nanjing University of the Arts, Nanjing) and the 2000 Shanghai International Biennale, he sought to broaden the scope of his subject matter, gradually distancing himself from regional narratives. The figures from northern Shaanxi in his works slowly transformed into more universal human representations. His most recent “rebellion” dates back to 2015.

Duan Zhengqu, Zhangye, 20 × 32.5 cm, mixed media on sheepskin paper, 2015

Duan Zhengqu, Lijiaxia No. 1, 40 × 55 cm, mixed media on sheepskin paper, 2015

As he approached his sixties, health issues and the passing of his mother compelled him to adjust his mindset and reconsider how to reignite his creative passion.

He became increasingly conscious of avoiding familiar painting methods. He experimented with new media and materials, such as tempera and sheepskin paper. He challenged himself to use fine brushes and patiently work on large canvases. He re-examined the atmosphere that could be created through just a few strokes in his paper sketches. All of these became part of his ongoing experimentation, while the choice of subject matter gradually became secondary. His creative rhythm remained steady, and his passion for northern Shaanxi never wavered — in fact, it expanded to encompass the entire northwestern region.

Tornado, 24 × 32 cm, sand, glue, watercolor, 2014

Having grown up in Yanshi, Henan, Duan Zhengqu’s memories of his rural childhood were, in a subtle way, amplified by the vast landscapes and simple folkways of the Northwest, fostering a special personal connection to the region.

Since his first solo journey to northern Shaanxi in 1987, and beginning in 2008, leading annual sketching trips with his students to the Northwest, his plein air practice has taken on something of a field study quality. They would often stay just a day or two in each place, and in recent years, they have traveled extensively through numerous counties in Shaanxi — Yulin, Shenmu, Fugu, Ansai, Jingbian, Dingbian, and others. These trips have, to a large extent, become sources of material for his personal work. He enjoys visiting ancient ruins, learning about local customs, collecting stories and anecdotes, and browsing antique markets.

He admits that he does not particularly enjoy the lush, picturesque scenery of the South. Even when traveling to the Loess Plateau to paint, he prefers the transitional season between winter and spring. In his early works depicting northern Shaanxi, he pursued a sense of grandeur and sublimity. Now, however, even the simple and ordinary aspects of daily life can enter his paintings directly. What he seeks to capture is a certain aura — something both familiar and uncanny, something that feels as though it has naturally grown out of the land itself.

(Top) The Shimao Ruins, photographed by the artist during a sketching trip in March 2022
(Bottom) Mural details, photographed by the artist during a sketching trip in March 2022

02. Expression, Expression: The Spirituality of Painting

In 2004, Duan Zhengqu established the Studio of Expressive Painting at Capital Normal University.

During his university years (1979–1984), he encountered Western European art from the late 19th to the 20th century — including Impressionism and Surrealism — mainly through art books. He also conducted in-depth studies on artists such as Sandro Botticelli (1445–1510) and Rembrandt (1606–1669). However, it was ultimately expressive painting that left the most lasting impact on him. In his own words, he “preferred works that conveyed inner emotions — paintings that were deeper and carried a stronger sense of spirituality.”

At that time, without access to original works or sufficient academic resources, the visually intense and highly individualized language of expressive painting naturally resonated more powerfully with a young artist. His admiration for Georges Rouault (1871–1958) and the Neo-Expressionists reflected his gravitation toward non-objective representations of reality. Compared to Henri Matisse (1869–1954), whose works often centered on pleasure and featured bright tones, Georges Rouault emphasized personal anxiety and suffering through dark colors and heavy brushstrokes.

The Neo-Expressionist artists emerging from Germany and Italy in the 1980s, on the other hand, represented a reaction against the conceptual art movements of the 1960s. Returning to figurative painting, they employed distorted human forms and bold primary colors to create compositions filled with tension and conflict.

For a long time, Duan Zhengqu’s attention to these artists was purely driven by the form and atmosphere of their paintings. The spontaneity emphasized by Western Neo-Expressionism—rather than objective representation—gradually became his path to break away from Soviet-style realism.

He still keeps the art book The New Image: Paintings in the 1980s, which he bought at a foreign language bookstore in Zhengzhou in the 1990s; even the cover is worn out from frequent reading. Besides this, he admires Romanesque paintings from the Middle Ages and the works of Chen Hongshou, a late Ming dynasty master known for his eccentric style. He is also fascinated by ancient Chinese myths and stories such as those found in Classic of Mountains and Seas (Shan Hai Jing), Taiping Guangji, Yi Jian Zhi, and Song-Yuan Note Novels. The rustic charm revealed in these works has been a source of inspiration for him.

03. Night — “Everything is hidden in the unpredictable.”

During my first visit to the studio, I saw a canvas with a completed composition that the artist was not very satisfied with. About half a month later, Duan Zhengqu sent me six or seven photos showing that he had applied a translucent layer of acrylic and latex over the original work. The canvas was painted black everywhere except for the central area.

“Since it’s an old canvas, there’s no need to be as cautious as when painting a new one,” he explained. On a canvas that has already been worked on, he could experiment more freely, painting and contemplating the next step simultaneously. The underlying image, faintly visible beneath the new layer, would subtly influence new creative ideas.

Thus, this canvas naturally became a point of entry for observing his creative process. Reflecting on this experiment with the old canvas, he said he wanted to depict shadowy figures in the darkness of night. Although he had never tried such a composition before, he is skilled at painting “black paintings.”

Since the 1990s, many of his works have employed the imagery of night, “as if everything is hidden in the unpredictable. Because of the unknown, it becomes more alluring, and for this reason, expressing ‘mystery’ has always been a subject that fascinates me.”

Duan Zhengqu, North No. 1, oil on canvas, 170 × 190 cm, 1994

Duan Zhengqu, Lantern Array, oil on canvas, 150 × 180 cm, 2003

Duan Zhengqu, Night, oil on canvas, 160 × 130 cm, 2006

The figures and scenes in North (1994), Lantern Array (2003), Night (2006), and Mahuangliang (2018) are largely drawn from rural farmers in small counties. The dark backgrounds correspond to these subjects, carrying a certain sense of revelation — revealing a state of existence, a condition close to the essence of life.

The night acts like a stage curtain, bringing intense focus to the movements and facial expressions of individuals and groups. In his “black paintings,” there is often a source of light: sometimes illuminating the crowd to create a sense of ritual, sometimes becoming the very subject of the painting itself, ultimately evoking a mysterious atmosphere.

Moreover, as his age and mindset have shifted, so too have his creative techniques. Whereas he previously built up layers of paint to achieve a sense of weight and density, his recent treatments have become increasingly light and transparent, seeking a more direct and effortless visual effect.

Duan Zhengqu, Mahuangliang, watercolor and pastel on paper, 100 × 180 cm, 2018

04. Experimental Phase — “Painting is born through chance.”

On this old canvas, Duan Zhengqu carefully wove together clusters of small figures, gradually brightening their backgrounds. In the central yellow color block, there was originally a strong beam of light. The small figures around it went through several adjustments, with bonfire-like flames added in a few places to create better visual balance. When he painted a person lying down and reading at the very center of the canvas, he decided to stop. Once he sensed that the painting no longer held further possibilities, he chose to “surrender.”

He soon restructured the composition, returning to a more familiar format: two full-length figures facing each other. Reflecting on past unsuccessful shifts in his approach, he admitted: “If not done well, it becomes forced, even contrived.” In a 2020 interview, he sighed: “When I place the canvas on the easel, squeeze out the paint, pour the oil — I get so excited I almost tremble, eager to get started. The passion is there, but the process brings many practical challenges. What you want to express doesn’t come out; what does emerge isn’t what you wanted. Even the placement and shape of every brushstroke can directly affect your emotions…”

Work in progress during Duan Zhengqu’s creative process, December 2021

The working habits Duan Zhengqu has developed over decades are difficult to change. Due to his impatience, he often paints impulsively, not caring whether the previous layer of paint has dried before energetically applying the next. This spontaneous approach somewhat contradicts the nature of oil painting.

In recent years, he has become fascinated with the texture of works on paper. However, the gouache sketches on paper often cannot be smoothly translated into the solid brushwork required for oil painting on canvas. In fact, he describes his current stage as an “experimental phase,” or perhaps more accurately, a kind of wandering state — allowing himself not to know exactly what he is searching for.

He neither wants to rely on well-trodden paths nor exhaust himself in forced pursuit. In his own words: “Painting comes together by chance.” The subjects he paints often emerge through a dynamic process of exploration. While he begins with a general visual direction, the specific theme and spark often “emerge by chance” as the work progresses. This process of “emergence” contains both the excitement and freshness of the unknown, as well as the anxiety and uncertainty inherent in creation.

05. Wild Blooms: The Coexistence of Flourishing and Withering

For the following month, this work was set aside. Duan Zhengqu began creating several new paintings, most of which continued the experimental approach he had pursued since 2015.

In late February, I forwarded him a WeChat article titled “Why Are Monster Images on Screen Both Fearsome and Fascinating?” Reading it, I recalled how we had exchanged lists of horror movies before, and it also reminded me of his desire to create an eerie atmosphere that deviates from the norm in his paintings. The “monsters” discussed in the article refer to figures removed from everyday reality, serving as triggers that invite viewers to reflect on life from a distance. This could be one way to understand why he is drawn to strange imagery — the normal is often devoid of critical reflection, while the bizarre becomes a pathway to presenting reality.

About half an hour later, while I was at a flower and bird market buying green plants and admiring the magical appearance of some potted plants, Duan sent me photos of his ongoing work — a large mass of wildflowers layered densely across the entire canvas. I then sent him some photos of green potted plants in return. His reply was four words: “A timely help” 

Duan Zhengqu, Secret Realm I, oil on canvas, 150 × 200 cm, 2022

Five days later, I visited again. On two easels sat two paintings of wildflower clusters — one with a reddish tone, the other leaning toward green. It wasn’t until our conversation ended and I was preparing to leave that I learned the long-shelved painting was now on one of the easels — the green-toned wildflower cluster. Compared to the original composition, aside from the black background, it had completely transformed.

I still remember that on the eve of the Lunar New Year, he showed me a photo saved on his phone — a picture of wildflowers taken during a plein air study trip in Youyu, Shanxi, around the 2021 Frost’s Descent period. He said a strong wind had flattened the flowers overnight, and the scene looked “very striking.” The “Wildflower Cluster” series began with a small painting and has since grown into several large-scale works. Before this, he had never explored floral subjects. Much like his process of experimentation and collision, these wildly growing flower clusters reveal both lushness and withering; the coexistence and alternation of bloom and decay. They symbolize decline but also hold the potential for renewal at any moment.

Postscript: 

This article was written in May 2022. At that time, the author was working at the Today Art Museum, located in the same art district as Duan Zhengqu’s studio. Due to the pandemic, the publication of this piece was delayed until now. Earlier this year, during the artist’s solo exhibition, I had the chance to see this painting again. Aside from minor detail revisions, the image I observed last February remains intact. Whether or not the original painting still exists, this article attempts to present the artist’s thoughts and actions during the creative process — the very foundation of what makes art “art.” I would also like to express my gratitude to Yang Tiange for initiating the writing project starting from the idea of “painting a picture.”

Text: Huang Wenlong
Editor: Phoebe Ng
Photo Credits: Mojinshi Space, the author, the artist

Author Bio:

Huang Wenlong is a curator and researcher at Meikailong Art Center. From 2019 to 2022, she worked in the Research and Curatorial Department at Today Art Museum in Beijing. During her tenure, she documented the creative practice of choreographer Wen Hui and participated in organizing exhibitions such as Great Waves and Echoes: Revisiting China’s Art Around 1987 and Postmodernism and the Global 1980s. She co-curated exhibitions including The Principle of Hope, Can’t Help But Turn Around, “Afterall” Exhibition History Series and Its World, and From Art to Yishu, From Yishu to Art. She also curated Wang Huangsheng | Publishing as a Voice for Thought.