Time is, in Li Yiwen's paintings, watercolours and models, always multi-directional. It stands still, because the objects he paints are planted into illusionary scenarios, and this displacement creates an unsettling absence of reality. It extends into the past, because his objects are generally either man-made (they have a material history) or they came into existence long before man-kind. Time projects into the future, because the objects might suggest a future use. Time is also compressed in the paintings in a materialist sense, because the artist took time to paint them. Finally, for the viewer, time might expand. This is the case not only in the act of viewing, but because, when confronted with these melancholic timescapes, we might start asking ourselves: "What have we done with this world?"
Leo Gallery is pleased to introduce the catalogue of Li Yiwen, which meticulously compiles Li Yiwen's artworks created over the past decade, exhibition-related texts by art historian / curator Ruth Noack and Wang Che, as well as installation views capturing the artist's exhibition highlights. Each work is presented with exceptional attention to detail, inviting readers to immerse themselves in Li Yiwen's distinctive artistic vision. Additionally, the photographs from the exhibitions showcase their ingenious display arrangements once again, offering a profound artistic experience to those unable to attend in person.
Edit by Wang Che & Li Yiwen
Text by Ruth Noack & Wang Che
Translation by Shana Wu & Zang Yusi
Proofreading by Charlize Li & Yin Nuo
Book Design by Pigao
Published by Leo Gallery & Moucube
Nevertheless, abandonded building sites settled in nature can provoke, if not revery, at least benevolent contemplation in their viewers. There is something endearing about the efforts of human beings, even if they are failed. And because they failed their intended purpose and fell out of time - into stillness - they provide us viewers with a respite from our own diachronicity, our own flow of time. They create the distance we need in order to look at ourselves. Because this is, in most cases, not a very deep look, more a whiff or trace of understanding how we (or how our bodies) relate to time, this results in a warm and fuzzy feeling, or possibly a sadness - "Look at this never built, broken down, attempt at a building… what a waste!" - but not a deep sadness.
Li Yiwen's paintings carry these associations in their DNA, that is to say, they rely on emotions that we remain unaware of, because they are not in the foreground - they are not the artist's primary goal. He is not giving us a quaint, picturesque view of a ruin in the distance, no: the building has been propelled right into our field of vision in such a way that it almost, but not quite overwhelms our senses with its monumentality. Almost, but not quite: The viewer is fully enveloped into the building site, but not cowered by its size. Maybe that is, because its monumentality is unashamedly artificial? Take the eccentric way that stories are stacked on top of each other to create a swirling, over the top feeling or take the fish-eye perspective, these are tropes that are used to create an effect of viewer-immersion similar to what we might encounter in an ego-shooter game.
Icebergs do not need the viewer's ability to focus on them in order to be beautiful. They simply are majestic. Maybe they are majestic, because they have been around for eternity? Because they have simply been in existence for so long? Are they of the past or the future? Who cares about humanity, as long as there are icebergs? Li Yiwen took a trip up north with a few friends and fell in love with icebergs. Now he is painting the afterimage of that love. In his versions, icebergs are highly stylized. They are also more colourful than life. Not even a filter on the artist's Huawei phone would be able to produce such sparkle. Incidentally, Li Yiwei's phone was the only picture-taking apparatus carried on the journey that did not freeze up in the cold, thus giving evidence to the fact that the heroic and the banal remain close friends.
--Ruth Noack
