Steve Wu's sculpture titled, “Jesus’ Love”

“I have forced myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste.” Artist Marcel Duchamp

“Dada doubts everything. Dada is an armadillo. Everything is Dada, too. Beware of Dada. Anti-dadaism is a disease: self-kleptomania, man’s normal condition, is Dada. But the real dadas are against Dada.” Tristan Tzara (1896–1963), Rumanian-born French Dadaist.  

“If we knew the meaning to everything that is happening to us, then there would be no meaning.” By Idi Amin Dada (former President of Uganda, 1971–1979.)

Transplanted Taiwanese artist Steve Wu is blessed with a devilish sense of visual gags. His exhibition titled “The Word of Wu” is a challenging exercise in decoding a truly odd way of viewing the world. To paraphrase the Godfather of Surrealism and guru of Dada, Marcel Duchamp, Wu strips bare the veneer of the ordinary to expose the humorous paradoxes lurking beneath the surface, “the bride stripped bare by her bachelors even”. 

The Wu exhibit travels serpentine paths through the topsy-turvy domain of the subconscious. The sculptures (utilitarian and non-functional) and pen and ink drawings inhabit an off kilter fantasy world where the normal is contorted in unexpected ways to form another hyper-reality. The third component in the Wu exhibit is less fantastical. It is  more documentary orientated: a series of slice-of-life photos taken by Wu in the late 1980s to early 90s when he worked as a photojournalist for a newspaper in Taipei, Taiwan.

The sculptural works plow some well traveled Dadaist-Surrealist territory, but plow those aged fields in decidedly new, exciting ways. Wu gives a clever, highly original spin on the pictorial psychodrama of Surrealism. This review will concentrate primarily on Wu’s sculpture with only brief asides on the drawings and photos. 

Wu’s work is about the meeting and melding of two divergent cultures- east and west; Chinese and European with a smattering of Belizean just for spice. Wu’s sculpture incorporates aspects of centuries old Chinese-Zen Art and twentieth century iconoclastic French-Swiss Art.

The Chinese-Zen components include an obsessive concern with pristine craftsmanship, meticulousness to the nth degree; a focus on exposing the inherent aura or nature of the material. The work is low-keyed and has a serenity bordering on spiritualism. The pieces attempt to capture the unique rhythm of the material. Wu’s art carries on the Chinese-Zen tradition of paring down the image to its fundamental essence. His forms don’t so much define a specific object but express the iconic conceptualization of that object. His sculpture doesn’t so much as reproduce the outer appearances of objects as to embody the form’s emotion- its sparse spirit.

To break stride and go off on an extended tangent, there is one cynical pundit who heads a TV station that seems to gravitate to counter pointing his commentary with oh-so hip obscure references to the New York based Rap group Wu Tang Clan, which according to group founder RZA is an anagram for Witty Unpredictable Talent And Natural Game. In his station’s coverage on October 19th of the Wu exhibit the pundit just could not resist to quip, “the new art at the Image Factory is not a homage to the legendary lyricists of the Wu-Tang Clan”. Cute, though way out in left field.

A reference somewhat less cute though considerably more applicable to Steve Wu’s art would be to the Tang Dynasty when Emperor Wu-Tsung (sans the clan) attempted to purge all Chinese art of western iconographical influences, circa mid-800 AD. Xenophobia gone wild. Foreign look, foreign styles were negatively viewed upon by the power brokers in the Tang dynasty. In the year 845, Wu-Tsung outlawed all "foreign" religions (including Christian Nestorianism, Zoroastrianism and Buddhism) in order to strengthen the home-grown Taoism religion. He confiscated Buddhist property and forced the religion to go underground. Naturally when a religion is banned all the shrines, paintings and sculpture commissioned by that religion were also banned. Remember the big three patrons for the arts- both European and Eastern art- are: 1. Royalty, 2. Church and 3. the moneyed mercantile elite.

The Taoist, Wu-Tsung connection segues directly into Wu’s aesthetic. Taoism created a structured philosophical way of addressing the world. Taoists believe that in the beginning there was only the Tao, “a featureless, empty void, energy mass with the potential of all things”. That amorphous energy mass eventually evolved into two complementary aspects: yin, which is dark, weighty, and feminine, and yang, which is light, buoyant, and masculine. Ergo the underlying yin-yang dichotomy found in Wu’s art.

Now to shift gears from the yang aspects of Wu’s art (the Taoist subtext) to the yin characteristics; from Wu-Tsung to Tristan Tzara.

The shock component in Wu’s sculpture has its roots in the early days of the 20th century- 1916, Zürich, Switzerland. Tristan Tzara, Hugo Ball, Hans Arp,  Sophie Täuber; along with other artists-anarchists discussed art and politics and put on performances in the Cabaret Voltaire starting on July 14, 1916. Those discussions-performances focused on their disgust with the war (World War I) and the moneyed-elitist interests that spawned it.

One of the original Dadaists, Marcel Janco, wrote, “We had lost confidence in our culture. Everything had to be demolished. We would begin again after the "tabula rasa". At the Cabaret Voltaire we began by shocking common sense, public opinion, education, institutions, museums, good taste, in short, the whole prevailing order.”

The Dadaists strove to undermine the royal-religious-wealthy underpinnings of art, challenging the status quo right, left and center. Marcel Duchamp exhibited in a traditional museum/gallery venue a urinal purchased at a hardware store, turned upside down and titled it “Fountain”, 1917. If the art hierarchy thought Duchamp was pissing on their beloved notion of preciousness in art, they were right. Another radical that challenged conventional ways of seeing was Meret Oppenheim.  Meret Oppenheim was a member of the Surrealists in her teens and made the history books with her odd juxtaposition of objects and materials, especially her “Fur Teacup and Spoon”, 1936, which is one of the most recognized art works of that genre. Inexplicably Meret dropped out of the art scene before reaching her twentieth-fifth birthday. 

Likewise, some of Steve Wu’s sculptures juxtapose utilitarian objects and odd materials creating a superb visual-psychological disconnect. His sculpture carved out of volcanic stone with gold leaf applied in sections titled enigmatically and quite scatologically “The Crown of the King” 1991, is a witty and vulgar melding of Chinese craftsmanship and Dadaist outrageousness. The volcanic stone is painstakingly carved to form a pile of excrement. I’ve heard of hard stools before but this one is literally rock hard. The top portion of the coiled up turd is scrupulously covered with gold leaf then about half way down the stone poop the gold leaf becomes scattered lozenge shaped particles. The title is the zinger. Combine a pile of stone crapola with a king’s crown and you’ve got a wickedly humorous comment on the narcissism of royalty. Apparently to Wu, the whole royal concept that a fluke of birth inherently makes a person superior is nothing more than a pile of shit. Right on dude! 

Another piece in the exhibit that debunks royalty or at least a modern equivalent- democratically elected royalty- presidents- is a splendidly constructed throne with sharpened spikes jutting up from the seat. Ouch, sitting on that throne would be a painful move. Again the title, “The Seat of Mr. President”, 2006, helps decode the content. Head of government put on the metaphorical hot seat. Again, Wu, like the Surrealists before, mocks the accepted norms and flips-off the power structure.

The sculpture titled, “Jesus’ Love” 1992, fabricated from volcanic stone and copper is less thematically controversial though still tenderly, precisely crafted. The rigid volcanic stone is exactingly carved into the form of a large conceptual heart. Wu even carved rivulets of blood dripping down the abstracted shape. Placed on top of the carved heart are two twisted branches of thorns crafted from copper.  The mood is solemn, meditative and compassionate. The sculpture’s reference is the passion of Christ and the sacrifices He made on mankind’s behalf are subtly and poignantly portrayed.  The religiosity is poetically presented and devoid of the modernist cynicism found in some of his other more secular pieces. 

The photographic, drawing and graphic design components in the exhibit contain similar technical precision that is so amply evident in his sculptures. The photographs document news events that took place in Taipei when Wu was employed as a photo-journalist for the daily Taiwanese newspaper “The China Times”. In the exhibit Wu hangs his photos in small groups based on themes. One series of four photos composed vertically as in a film strip are images titled “Japanese & Street Performers”, 1990, of the acrobatic antics of street actors and directly beside it is another set of four photos vertically designed titled “Street Fighting in Taipei”, 1990, of gang brouhaha. Each series functions independently but when viewed side by side the parallel energy between the two series sparks unexpected subliminal connections. Teens with attitude equal mean streets. As Oscar Wilde said, “Life imitates art.”  

“The Word of Wu” is a subtly shocking exhibition. It beguiles and befuddles simultaneously. It bridges and combines two divergent aesthetics: the perfectionism of Chinese art and the psychological weirdness of European art. The end result is a special visual and intellectual treat.