WANG ZHONGJIE

Wang Zhongjie’s work is like a personal creation myth. Stepping into this mythical world sculpted from the tip of a paintbrush, I feel as if waking from the wildest dream of the darkest night, only to find myself strangled in the depth of a gloomy forest. The starless sky envelops the misty woods; not a soul in sight of this muted country where even the gods have veiled their presence. My vision struggled to pierce through this whimsical mist as my mind envisioned the likeness of the world concealed within.

Deeper into the parable, I found myself in a valley: dawn neared, and clarity returned. My heart is thrilled with joy. These moments of transient change between twilight and daybreak, between dark and light, hold within themselves all the unknowns of creation.

Sunrise imbued the valley with a golden tint, yet the expanse of green replenished all with reticence. Ready to leave this grim haze, I was cut off by a nimble leopard, a vicious lion and scrawny she-wolf, who pressed my staggering form to the boulders on the cliffedge. In this hour of doom, Wang Zhongjie became my savior. He recounted his life in these dense black woods, which added up to many a year. The only way out is through the path of Avidya, Samsara and Sukhavati. In between day and night, there is consciousness; like a flickering lamp guiding the senses. Wang Zhongjie leads me through his world. He ventures on. I follow.

Dai Zhuoqun