Over the past half-century, China has undergone a rapid transformation marked by unprecedented urbanization. Fueled by economic reforms, China saw itself shift from an agrarian society to a bustling urban metropolis, with the urbanization rate quadrupling since 1960 (World Bank). Millions migrated from rural to urban areas, creating a dynamic landscape of towering skyscrapers, expansive infrastructure, and a burgeoning middle class. This wave of urbanization, propelled by industrialization and globalization, has not only reshaped China’s physical terrain but has also catalyzed profound societal changes. The megacities that have emerged reflect a convergence of tradition and modernity, embodying the tensions and opportunities inherent in such rapid development.

Nowhere is this tension more visible than in the artworks created by Chinese artists during this period of rapid change. Having personally grappled with these dizzying advances, many individuals turned to art as a way to express their hopes and disillusionments, oftentimes resulting in a state of dissonance and contradiction. To this effect, Kan Xuan, Ai! (1999) by Kan Xuan and Our Future is not a Dream (2000) by Weng Fen offer a valuable site of comparison into the impact of modernization on the psyche of Chinese artists. Despite being contemporaries, Kan Xuan and Weng Fen’s works seem to highlight conflicting conceptions regarding Chinese identity—simultaneously lost in a modernizing world and firmly rooted in its nationalist history—these dissonant views can be accommodated through an expanded conception of identity that accepts, rather than dismisses, internal contradictions. As China continues to navigate the complexities of its urban evolution, art offers an opening into understanding the consequences, challenges, and innovations stemming from this transformative process.

The literary and visual arts are areas typically associated with self-reflection, “often in relation to others and/or to society” (Koopman and Hakemulder 2015). Neuroaesthetic research suggests that during the production and viewing of these “emotionally moving and potentially transformative works,” viewers are more likely to have an “inward, self-reflective focus,” allowing art to function as a medium through which the zeitgeist of a period is constructed and communicated (Sherman and Morrissey 2017). This is particularly true in 20th century China, where rapid socio-cultural changes were reflected through the wide spectrum of art produced.

As scholar Gao Minglu discusses in his Total Modernity and the Avant-Garde in Twentieth Century Chinese Art, art was a medium to reflect prevailing social, cultural, and political sentiments. Specifically, Gao discusses how the avant-garde movement in China came about as “part of two major cultural movements of the 1920s and 1980s,” with both involving “extensive heated debates concerning the cultural confrontation between East and West” (Gao 34).

During the New Culture Movement of the 1910s and 20s, widespread disillusionment towards classical Chinese thought led many prominent thinkers to call for an embrace of Western attitudes, innovations, and sciences. In the arts, intellectuals such as Chen Duxiu called for a “revolution in art” (艺术革命) that sought to “abandon the traditional style of ink painting,” instead drawing from the Western modern form which was deemed suitable for the “future establishment of Chinese modern art” (Gao 36-37). Works that embodied humanist and realist values—such as Xu Beihong’s The Foolish Man Removing the Mountain and works from the Woodcut Movement—were championed as bringing forth a modernized China, highlighting the significance of art in reflecting the cultural values from which it was created.

The 1980s saw another period of avant-garde resurgence: an era that directly influenced artists like Kan Xuan and Weng Fen. Considered to have been started by the ‘85 Movement—the first cohesive Chinese avant-garde movement since the 1910s—this period of Chinese art was largely “influenced by the booming economy and the malaise that followed a half-century of utopian idealism” (Gao 255). Interestingly, unlike the earlier avant-garde movement of the 1910s, this movement was not rooted in response to any particular grievance or event. Rather, Gao’s use of the term “malaise” highlights the general indescribable discomfort felt by many artists, despite having witnessed a period of rapid economic growth and globalization.

Due to a lack of “viewership or official support,” many avant-garde artists during this period turned towards performance, photography, and video art as a medium of artistic self-expression. Instead of creating art with the intent of having it shown in exhibitions and galleries, these artists instead chose to pursue “a serious probing into the notion of the self,” with a particular focus on “the possibility of maintaining an authentic self in a rapidly changing society” (Wu 185). This investigation of identity is a central theme in the selected works by Kan Xuan and Weng Fen. The resulting dissonance highlights the challenges faced by artists—and the country as a whole—as they sought to anchor themselves in a rapidly modernizing world.

Kan Xuan, Ai! (1999) is a work of performance/video art by the Chinese artist Kan Xuan. Born in 1972 in Anhui Province, Kan is one of the most well-known Chinese video artists, whose works often experiment with ideas of identity and dissonance. In this video, we see Kan shouting her own name as she runs through a crowded tunnel in Fuxingmen Station, Beijing. Bystanders look on with confusion, but otherwise allow her to move unhindered through the passageway.

This film grapples with identity and dissonance on a variety of levels. Most clearly, Kan is running and calling “Kan Xuan!,” which appears nonsensical to the viewer who understands she is calling her own name. However, to the onlookers—who are also unwilling participants in the video—Kan appears to be calling for a friend somewhere in the tunnel. Thus, to the outside onlookers, Kan is merely any other distraught person looking for someone she cannot find. However, to the video’s viewers—internal observers who are afforded an additional layer of understanding—Kan appears to be instead grappling with a crisis of identity; she has lost herself in an urban jungle.

This feeling of crisis and urgency is further emphasized through the performative and videographic nature of the work. Unlike other art forms such as painting or film, Kan has no opportunity to “redo” the work or control the surrounding environment, lending a sense of authenticity to the panic she displays in the video; as the handheld camera shakes, the viewer feels themselves alongside Kan also searching for their own identity. Furthermore, rather than detracting from the video, the grainy video quality adds a sense of rawness to the performance. It is not only a reminder of the time period it was filmed, but also a reflection of the fuzzy identity Kan attempts to locate.

Our Future is not a Dream (2000) is a collection of scenes from Chinese movies filmed in the 1970s-2000s and compiled by Weng Fen on VHS tape. Born in 1961 on the Chinese island of Hainan, Weng graduated from Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts in 1984 and is known for his photography exploring the impacts of Chinese urbanization. In the scenes, which appear to be set during the 1950s and 60s, the characters aspire to “build communism and socialism,” envisioning a world where there will be dumplings and meat everyday, while criticizing those who would consider leaving China to pursue a better life overseas. In contrast to Kan Xuan, Ai! (1999), Weng’s work depicts a self-assured Chinese identity tethered to nationalist ideals of self-strengthening and economic prosperity.

A crucial aspect of Weng’s work is a “looking back” aspect. Although both Weng and the films he pulls from are contemporaneous with Kan Xuan, the themes and ideals expressed are representative of the revolutionary period from the 1950s-60s. Thus, the “future” that the characters strive for is the present for both the viewer and Weng, allowing for an evaluation of the aspirations expressed in the clips. And by all accounts, these ideals were largely achieved. The rickshaws and horses used for transportation were replaced by motor vehicles, with quality of life improving leaps and bounds for large swathes of the population.

Thus, Kan Xuan, Ai! (1999) and Our Future is not a Dream (2000) present us with two radically divergent conceptions of identity: one lost in a sea of modernization, the other firmly rooted in the modernization of the nation-state. While many would argue that these two aspects appear inherently incompatible, this ignores the possibility of a fractured, multifaceted identity that defies simple categorization. Given the rapid socio-cultural changes China had experienced throughout the 20th century, it seems improbable that a consistent, cohesive identity would be maintained throughout. Rather, as economic growth and urbanization met the physical needs of the population, the individual’s role and position in relation to their environment became distorted, resulting in the aforementioned crisis of identity.

Although the entire country was confronted with mass modernization, the impact was not equally dispersed across the population. This new modernity left a strong impression on the psyches of Chinese artists. As mentioned earlier, the avant-garde movement of the 1980s and 90s saw little state support, restricting many artists from accessing the galleries and exhibitions that had historically been a space for audience engagement, making their adjustment to this urbanized and commercial world uniquely particularly difficult. Ultimately, the divergent views on identity expressed by Chinese artists can be seen as a reflection of the inevitable debris left behind by this wave of mass modernization. While many were able to flourish under this new social and economic system, the consequences—a wide-ranging spectrum that affected every individual in a distinct manner—are highlighted by the dissonant identities expressed through art.