Wu Guanzhong: Though the man is gone, his affection will last forever.

Every year, there were things that happened or were perceived that were linked to him, be they paintings or writings. His paintings contain dreams, joy and emotion; his writings contain thoughts, grievances and powerful words. But beginning in 2011, there would be no more news about this man, only old information and changing numbers; his already outstanding auction results will only improve in the future. This man is Wu Guanzhong, who passed away in 2010, one of the leading representatives of 20th century modern Chinese painting.

Wu Guanzhong was born in a riverside town in the south of China. His brushwork was graceful, sweeping and full of vitality. Even in his direst straits as a youth, he never changed this signature style. As critic Michael Sullivan writes, "He freely and effortlessly lives in harmony with nature." Even living in Beijing for 60 years did nothing to diminish his memories and nostalgia for his southern home. He would often interrupt conversations to ask his interlocutors, "Could you understand my southern accent?"

This artist, who underwent constant 'revisions' since the founding of the republic, always maintained his stubborn demeanor. He said, "I will never bow my head to the vulgar artistic view. I could never paint those empty worker-peasant-soldier models." Wu Guanzhong held a solo exhibition at the National Art Museum of China in 1979, and was elected director of the China Fine Artists Association board of advisors at that year's Art Workers Conference. At the first board meeting, Wu fired shots at the maxim of "politics first, art second." The room fell silent – no one dared to respond. Every time he lifted the brush, it ushered in a new chapter in modern artistic conceptions. In a certain sense, he was China's modern art mentor. Even after ascending to fame, he never stopped his criticisms of art and reality. "Few painters ever become artists. Most are just artisans. They can publish their works, but they mainly chase after fame and subsistence. They don't bother with the academic side. These days there are fewer and fewer who really make an effort." Another: "Society has become completely impetuous. Look at the magazines, the newspapers, the books, nothing but impetuousness. The galleries are all crowded together, with all their exhibitions side by side. This isn't a blossom of culture, this is people making a scene to get their hands on the rice bowl, making noise to scam the people. It can't be mentioned in the same sentence with the innocent minds behind inspired art."

In his autobiography, entitled I Betrayed Painting, he admits that he wouldn't want to be an artist in his next life: "As I grow older, I've increasingly come to think that painting technique doesn't matter; it's the content that matters. The art of painting is limited by the flat plane, and many emotions just simply cannot be expressed within. It just lacks that social aspect that literature has. As I see it, one hundred Qi Baishis can't compare with a single Lu Xun in terms of social function. We could do with or without Qi Baishi, but without Lu Xun, the spine of the Chinese people would have snapped in half. I shouldn't have studied painting. I should have studied literature instead, becoming a man of letters like Lu Xun. In this sense, it was painting that betrayed me."

His persistently critical cultural character and artistic values had a kind of mutually reinforcing relationship with his artistic pursuit of the fresh, bright and natural. In his research of the differences between Chinese and western painting, Wu constantly sought out a point of confluence between the two. He formed a fusion between the freehand style of traditional Chinese ink painting and western expressionist painting. This fusion technique imbued his art with a clear and simple modernity that managed to maintain a typically Chinese poetic sense of tranquility and emotional expression.

Throughout his life, his creative themes consistently embodied his aesthetic pursuit of that Chinese poetic sense of tranquility and emotion. Most of his works centered on the themes of southern China, the northern country, riverside towns and animals.

To date, his top 10 ranking works at auction fell into these categories. In 2010, his "Landscape" sold for 57.12 million RMB; in 2009, his "Parrot Paradise" sold for 30.25 million RMB; and his "Scenes of the North Country" sold for 30.24 million RMB. This work created in 1996 and entitled "North Country Spring", also represents this style. With a simple structure, light ink brushstrokes and sparse, elegant colors, he brings the simple, brilliant elegance of spring in the north country to life on the paper.

Warmth of the North Country

Having been born in the south, Wu has a unique set of emotions towards the north country. The term north country is mainly used to talk of the landscapes and scenery of northern China. Wu Guanzhong frequently used his art to express his infatuation with the northern landscape. His landscape paintings are full of poeticism. This poeticism and emotion form a marked contrast to his experiences upon first coming to the north. His harrowing experiences never cast a shadow over his artworks. Instead, his images were full of warmth, just like the artist, and just like the trees in his paintings. Even the smallest shrubs are given an elegant bearing, blending into nature while transcending the surrounding landscape.

Wu Guanzhong was sent to a village in Hebei Province in 1970, where he suffered greatly. Even his right to paint was stripped away from him. Several years later, when he was finally allowed to paint every once and a while, he was unable to obtain painting materials. He made a series of small square works in the seventies, each of which was made on small, simple blackboards he purchased for one Yuan a piece and covered in epoxy before painting on them in oil. For an easel, he borrowed his landlord's manure basket. This is the origin of the "manure basket painter" nickname that people later used for him.

Even worse than not being able to paint, his family was split apart, with his wife and each of his three children living in different places. His eldest child was in Inner Mongolia, his second child in a village in Shanxi Province, and his youngest working at construction sites, moving often. Wu and his wife were at separate farms, and rarely saw each other. During this time, Wu caught a bad case of hepatitis, and suffered from increasingly severe hemorrhoids. He nearly died. Under these harsh conditions, all that Wu could do was to paint with all of his might, trying to forget everything in his art. Even dying at the easel would have been an agreeable fate. Astonishingly, in his fever craze of painting, he got over his hepatitis without treatment. It is because of this experience that we often see sorghum, corn, winter melons, pomegranates, birches, stones, wildflowers and other hallmarks of the northern landscape in his art.

Wu once explained his choice of subjects thusly: "I have two audiences; one comprises the masters of the West, the other, the Chinese common folk. With such a gap between the two, how do I satisfy them both? With the emotional connection. My paintings pursue aesthetics and inspiring imagery. Without those, I will not lift my brush. I don't care about resemblance or prettiness. When I was in the countryside, I'd sometimes spend an entire day painting. The old landlady would look at the sorghum, the corn, the wildflowers, and say that they looked like the real thing. But I felt that the emotional expression wasn't there, so it was no good; I had tricked her. I've seen many paintings. If it doesn't move me, then I don't like it."

Quality of Character, a Work of Art

In life, Wu Guanzhong donated much to society. Whether in terms of quantity or the quality of his art, this contribution was highly valuable. Since the beginning of the 20th century, only he and Xu Beihong reached this level of achievement. According to rough estimates, Xu Beihong raised 100 million Yuan through donations of artworks to charity sales. In death, he donated all of his artworks to the state. By the age of 90, Wu Guanzhong's art was fetching high prices at auction, but he spent his life in a small apartment, leading a simple life. He donated hundreds of highly valuable paintings to society in a touching expression of his devotion to the state, art and life.

It is because of his outstanding character and his achievements in art that even during the global financial crisis, his artworks continued to fetch high prices, setting new records. The so called difference between the artisan and the artist can often be seen in a person's character. This character affects the artwork, forming a core difference in the value of a work of art. For the collector, sometimes a purchase is more than just a painting. Sometimes it is a mind, a worthy deed, an interaction.