There are many equally interesting ways to interpret the ink work of Li Gang. His paintings contain clearly defined borders, where the ink lines mirror and echo one another as if the painting had been created from multiple folds of a piece of paper filled with ink traces. There is a similar technique in Western painting called “decalcomania,” by which engravings and prints are transferred to pottery or other materials to create the illusion of flakes. In the 20th century, a number of Surrealist painters such as Oscar Domínguez extended its definition--the purpose of “reversal” is to create a random substance, “an object without presupposition.” Li Gang’s works take it further by illustrating this process in a “stop motion” mode across one visual frame, in a similar vein to painters like Max Ernst who repeated the decalcomania technique across one painting.

　　In Western art history, this technique is considered “decorative.” In Ten Thousand Things: Module and Mass Production in Chinese Art, Lothar Ledderose touches on a different reading of such techniques. He points out that there are vastly different interpretations of artistic traditions in the East and the West. In Eastern art, the documenting of meditation is not confined to the individual, but often appears as mass visuals that disguise the central theme: “...All this can become reality as the Chinese invented production mechanisms made from standardized components. Components can be pre-produced in mass quantity and quickly assembled in different combinations, which means unlimited units created from limited and regular components...” In Ten Thousand Things, Ledderose uses the concept of “components” to explain the systematic yet constantly morphing existence of “self” in Oriental thought.

　　Strictly speaking, we cannot call Li’s creation as “individual paintings,” since they are simultaneous creations without beginning or end. In his works are manifold “units” of ink, where contrast and consistency are united to form one solid foundation. These “units” are consistent while showing minute degrees of difference; they remind one of the writing of scriptures from Tang Dynasty, where the writing of a Han character takes on varied and spontaneous guises in different manuscripts, presenting a kind of randomness that does not exist in today’s printed texts. “There is no exact duplicate of any word between the manuscripts.” Legend has it that Li Si created the standard small seal script, while Xu Shen designated the 540 units of small seal script. The Han characters went through several stages of revolution in the same direction, and later Chinese only worked to “simplify the system through reducing the number of components and the strokes, in order to adapt to new writing materials.” Such structural control and spontaneity in details always existed. In Li Gang’s works, the preset boxes and expressive ink might seem like an odd pair, which gives birth to “a conscious chaos” and “a precise unpredictability.”

　　We can further discuss the inherent power of such conflict from the perspective of Chinese characters. The essential elements of Li’s works are dots, broken-ink, smudge...There is nothing special about these basic vocabulary in Chinese painting, and the spirit of the work is only revealed through infinite contrast. In the meantime, his “structures” are not static--they are a kind of pure and historical narrative, a variation of circles and squares. Similar to the writing of scriptures, the individual expression has its distinct colors, as compared to the overall absence of meaning (the scriptures are not typical narratives confined by logical sequences). Contrary to the emphasis on the main “shape,” this kind of narratives with no beginning or end or texture creates a two-dimensional space between “form” and “decoration”--if we discard the “frame” and “order,” we may even say that this “two-dimensional” space is not only a surface.

　　Sir E. H. Gombrich said, “Humans not only like elements that are categorized by their differences, but also repetitive and logical structures.” Such examples exist in all kinds of materials from woven blankets to the ideologies and structures of societies. He attributed this phenomenon as a “regularity” developed from the fight for survival among organisms. From the perspective of art interpretation, the overall regularity seems to have stemmed from a comprehensible nature to human beings. It builds on a simple and well-defined structure, while, on the other hand, our “mind’s eye” (which does not exist in reality) seeks another exit akin to the children’s game of “Spot the differences.” Gombrich said that is because “our conscious movements are in need of frameworks”--meaning that Li Gang’s works can be a testimony that shines on the common humanity of our time. It looks for consistency, while in search for multiplicity across all structures and rules.

　　Chinese artists have always stayed close to subtle balance in their art. All this seems to affirm Gombrich’s conclusion: balance is the logical outcome of the synergy between gravity and human structures. In ancient Chinese civilization, however, there were few of those simple structures favored by Western geometry: straight lines, circles and other structures that can be calculated and unified meticulously. In the art of Li Gang, straight lines and circles are not created with rulers. Meanwhile, in the chaotic external world, Chinese artists have not flocked toward those abstract patterns favored by the Arabians. Intricate patterns, like those windows in gardens in Su Zhou, are redundant in the eyes of writers and painters. Such perspectives do not weaken the expression or logic of the painter, but point to an individualized expression and artistic goal.

　　Coming back to the essential aspects of materials, geometry and cultural traditions, we can arrive at a more definite understanding--in a departure from the Western expectations, Li’s works are not born of techniques like “decalcomania”; they are the “graphics of time” that reveal themselves. Xun paper is a “fragile” material that rule out many techniques that emphasize the execution of colors, while the vibrancy of ink lives in the symphony of black and white. The contrast of circles and squares follows a similar rule. It compromises in complexity in certain aspects, while gaining momentum on the broader schemes. Such schemes fall between psychology and artistic traditions; only the audience awakes to their sensibility while viewing these subtle visual patterns. For Western artists such as Paul Klee, who excel in the use of abstract expressions, such symbols are strange graphics that “waver between magic and humor”--and they show a distinct characteristic of “moving art” in the East.

　　The “precise unpredictability” of “moving art” might sound too abstract, but isn’t that what life is about? This revelation of art is coming to a wider comprehension by critics and audience. It resembles the city I live in: in the rigorous order of New York streets is a deep, whirling world that reverberates toward an infinite border. It is also a “controlled chaos” that is unseen but felt.

　　Tang Keyang

　　New York 9 May 2012