Has the Commercialization of 798 Saved Chinese Art?

There has been a recent spate of articles lambasting the commercialization of Beijing’s 798 art district – supposedly now the third most visited tourist attraction in Beijing. Not too shabby considering the first two are the Great Wall and the Forbidden City, and a decade ago, 798 was merely a dusty group of empty munitions factories being rented by a handful of artists seeking cheap studios. The charge of articles like the Beijing Review’s “Has 798 Sold its Soul” is that the area has become too commercial – visitors to the area are more likely to be Chinese high school students snapping photos with the art, rather than curators armed with advanced degrees or, even better, collectors armed with checkbooks. “Serious” gallery owners have fled to nearby Caochangdi for cheaper rent, larger spaces and to escape pesky gallery goers. But now, rumors are circulating that 798’s cultured older brother Caochangdi – the area 15 minutes from 798 that has been usurping it as the place to see quality Chinese contemporary art – will be torn down and replaced with commercial developments (the really bad kind of commercialization). It turns out that the very things cited as 798’s downfall – tourists, government support, shops – have saved 798, and in some respects, Beijing’s contemporary art scene.

Photo: adifromusa

I don’t think it’s a good thing, I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” says Vivi, an artist who works in a 798 gallery whose recently constructed Caochangdi space is now facing the wrecking ball, “I think it’s natural. Art will find a place.” There’s no doubt that 798 has become a circus. Souvenir shops crowd out galleries, and many galleries exhibit nearly identical work – minor variations on worked over contemporary Chinese art tropes: girls with big eyes and skimpy clothing posed juxtaposed with emblems of traditional Chinese culture. “There are still some good galleries existing here,” says Vivi, “not the pioneers, but there are still good ones.” Vivi is not alone in worrying that the glut of shops hawking identical goods will be detrimental, “The tourists can compare; if 798 goes the same way as a flea market they will not come, they will just got to Panjiayuan.”

Declaring that an market has become too commercial is always problematic: markets are about commerce, the art market is no different – it’s a luxury commodity that’s bought and sold, often for investment reasons (who likes a painting so much they’re willing to fork out $9.5 million for it – the price one collector paid for an oil painting by Zeng Fanzhi). The Renaissance masters we revere today were working for the Medicis or popes. They weren’t barbecuing with friends or attending openings, they were churning out flattering portraits of their employers. Leonardo DaVinci wasn’t hired for his portfolio of ladies with enigmatic smiles, he was hired because he had invented a wide variety of terrifying torture implements and military devices.

Photo: bfishadow

The people bemoaning the commercialization of 798 complain that the crowds flocking 798 now aren’t serious about art. The “serious” viewers are willing to head out to Caochangdi, Jiuchang and Feijiacun to view the “medium-priced” work where collectors are still willing to shell out 30-500,000 USD. Are the artists and gallerists looking to sell work for six and seven figure prices threatened by the gift shops selling five kuai postcards and fifty kuai mugs with witty Chinese slogans on them?