A collaborative project by
Katleen Vermeir & Ronny Heiremans

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A wager for the afterlife-interview Ma Wen

-CIC celebrity reporter Lucy Chen meets the man behind Ma Wen Studio

From the moment you are welcomed through the exclusive security gated entrance, you are assured of total comfort, privacy and peace of mind. The Residence promises luxury, style and freedom, in which to holiday, to live, or to invest. Consistent quality in the design and construction of The Residence assures you of a luxurious and secure retreat in close harmony with nature.”i The real estate publicity on the hotel TV-channel looks glamorous. Is this The Residence project he was working on? Ma Wen mentioned it when we spoke on the phone. I wonder. I’m sitting in the spacious lobby of my hotel, waiting for Ma Wen to arrive. I sip my jasmine tea and enjoy the hustle and bustle of people coming and going, checking in, checking out. Even the hotel staff has become part of an atmosphere of sheer enjoyment, refinement, “savoir vivre”: a “real” leap forward for this country that is. We are in Shanghai, the Paris of the East, with its sleek elevated monorails — gliding past sexy high-rise buildings and beneath tropical sky gardens. Strings of hotels, villa parks, and irrigated golf courses have been integrated to ensure the visitor need never breach the continuum of fully globalized space. An art gallery and performance space positions this world-class city on the international arts itinerary.ii He is due any minute now.

Summer 2009, after finishing his education in Germany, Ma Wen returns to China. He sets up Ma Wen Studio and starts a business that embodies his fundamental artistic ideas and beliefs. After his “Journey to the West”iii Ma Wen finds himself in a much-changed environment. His straightforward way of doing things, his talent for self-promotion and headstrong energy regardless of criticism positions him lively against the monolithic conservatism of the state-run design houses. Not yet quite as prestigious as the international firms, his studio is in tune with the Chinese speed, which demands a just-do-it approach and ad hoc strategy.

Where does his energy come from? What drives this young man? I am determined to figure out the relation between this ambitious Chinese artist and the rapidly evolving context that he operates in. Here he comes...

L.C.: Good morning Ma Wen. Thanks for joining us here in this exquisite lobby of the Shanghai Hotel. I hope the jetlag isn’t too bad. You had a busy fortnight in Europe’s capital, right? How was your stay in Brussels?

M.W.: Lucy, oh my god! So exciting. Yesterday I told my friends that if I stayed on another day, I would seriously be tempted not to return to Xiamen.iv

L.C.: At the moment you live and work in Xiamen, but you were born in Henan, North China. And if I remember correctly, from 2002 till 2009 you lived in Germany where you studied art at the Academy in Munich. That was even before Beijing gave the go-ahead for its ‘abroad policy’ in 2004. How did that extended stay in Europe affect you? Was it important in your decision to become an architect?

M.W.: I have to say I don’t really consider myself an architect. I am a person who does different things. I don’t want to be in a position that a priori defines what I do. The same reasoning goes for what you’ve named my “Journey to the West”. Of course it had an influence, but more important for what I do seems to be my awareness that the China I left when I moved to Germany and the country I returned to after my German training are two different countries. And even more important is my ability to respond to this new situation. Upon returning I came back to a China that in a way had been remodeled into a capitalist nation. That process had already started when I left, but the speed with which “the new way” had installed itself during my absence... Incredible! Maybe that’s why being here I feel a bit schizophrenic... I have this double sensibility. It was like returning to a country I had not seen before. So many things had changed. Not only places, also people.

L.C.: Modern, urban, affluent, international... I’ve read that the successful artist is surprisingly fitting as a role model for the new China. The profession is even in the top ten of preferred professions, as selected by middle class parents for their children. How did it begin for you? Was it an intentional choice or...

M.W.: You see I’ve had this “bastard” training. I studied architecture in China. My training as an artist I got in the West, and what I absorbed during those years is based on a western social condition. This probably gave me an edge in China when I returned. As you know we have this old saying here: “The blossom inside the wall is usually appreciated from the outside.” Ever since the Open Door Policy, what comes from abroad has been quite influential. I’m not sure how long this will still be the case, and of course we are all aware of the situation in China, which does not exactly allow you to produce without restraints. A single spark could start a prairie fire, so the path is still filled with many obstacles, not mentioning self-censorship. You yourself are probably familiar with all of that.

L.C.: Yes of course, I daresay a willful misinterpretation of Confucianism. It is true that Mencius and Confucius said that it is the responsibility of the rulers to make sure that there is security and enough food, but Mencius in particular made it very clear that people also had the right to rebel if there were abuses of power. The so-called Mandate of Heaven was understood as justifying the right to rule, with the corollary right to rebel against a ruler who did not fulfill his duties to the people.

But let’s continue. Your practice is still quite emergent, yet things seem to move fast for you. You redesigned a building in Jinmei’s Cultural Creative Garden, then there was the Xiamen University Bookshop and Gallery, two hotels, and now you’re reshaping what used to be a seashore into a fertile piece of green land for many a million to live on; we regularly see your name listed in art shows, either as artist or as curator; you involve yourself in set design, exhibition design... There seems to be no end. Ma Wen, you’re a cannibal.

M.W.: My dear Lucy, you remember how we all had to read Lu Xun in high school? Let me quote him for you: “With four thousand years of cannibalism weighing down upon me, even if once I was innocent how can I now face real humans?”v [grins and lights a cigarette] Actually it’s all kind of a surprise, I now realize. Things started happening for me just like that. Overnight you might say. After my stay in Germany I was mainly performing as an artist. Then I took up teaching, new media, at Xiamen University. Half a year later I got my first commission as an architect. So over the past year my practice has become very mixed. Where else but in China would I be able to do this?

L.C.: In China nothing happens without the proper network. So maybe you had the right guanxi?vi Who’s to say...? This first commission, what was the project? I understand that it was part of an effort by local leaders to regenerate an abandoned industrial site in the mainland part of the city.

M.W.: For a four year period developers are given the opportunity to transform a dysfunctional site into a flourishing creative garden, as these commercial ventures have been named. Should they fail, then the local government will dismantle the plant and construct high-rise apartment buildings on the site, like they have been doing all over this city of two million residents. The whole concept aims to regenerate the area and to boost its property value.

L.C.: Is it working?

M.W.: Urban development in China has found a new category of assets in the idea of manufactured artist villages. In addition, we are detecting an urban nostalgia for industrial heritage. Even when newly built.vii The plan for this new creative garden includes international brand-name stores, a bar and club area, an avant-garde art center aptly named “Creative Land”, and a business-district with a five-star hotel and a conference center.viii

L.C.: Who commissioned you to do this project?

M.W.: A local guy who runs a publicity company, which makes him fortunes by the way. It was his idea to involve me as the “artist” in the development. It was clearly a strategy to turn his gallery bar into the hot spot of the local art community. The gallery felt like a facade for the whole thing. Actually next to the creative garden we have developed an apartment complex. It may become one of the city’s first upscale “art villages.”ix

L.C.: Speaking of surplus value... Didn’t you have your studio in that area? Or was it your good guanxi that tipped you off about a profitable investment?

M.W.: From my point of view, if you can throw up a few warehouses, essentially for next to nothing, move in a bunch of artists (instead of warehouse goods), and wait for land values to soar, then you have the kind of low-investment/high-return project that is real-estate alchemy.x

Some artists think that the danger now is that this site will become an art district in name only. People come with great curiosity to see how avant-garde artists live and create their work. But the disturbance of visiting tourists, journalists and art collectors is growing. Nearly all studios are becoming exhibition spaces and workshops for private dealers. Some artists oppose this excessive commercialization that turns the district into a supermarket where art becomes an object of speculation.xi But I think this question of opposition, firstly, is a misunderstanding of the creative process and of a city’s progress. In fact this opposition to productivity is really nothing more than another type of productivity.xii

L.C.: Isn’t that a bit cynical? Or am I missing out on something? Would you say that this project reflects your attitudes to what the role of the architect in contemporary society can be? Let me ask you then, should he be critical?

M.W.: The Germans have a word for it, Realpolitik. And of course, my practice is critical and timeserving.

L.C.: You mean opportunistic!

M.W.: Today it seems like the only values that are left, are numbers. But let me tell you, art and architecture have always been instruments of government. Let’s not be naive about this. The iconic architecture of today, which is very much the architecture of China at the moment, and oversized Chinese contemporary art fit perfectly with the rulers we have. Authoritarian governments, especially, prefer massive, visible projects. Of course there is a fundamental problem. The question is if architecture and even art in China can be a social critique, since here all depends on political contingency instead of professional standards. And I don’t see how this will change in the near future. So any artist with a brain sets out his stakes as a survival strategy. The artist is not a passive victim, right? [pauses] Maybe my role is to be a constant irritation to those in power, nothing more. [grins] For which I employ an old Chinese military strategy: “Hit the east with the west, and the west with the east.”

L.C.: The re-valuing of urban space is an important element of social transformation in our cities, and this is no more evident than in the recent fascination with creative clusters, which aim to be both spaces of globalization and spaces of elite consumption.xiii The creative clusters have officially become part of the government’s current five-year economic plan, since the cultural industries are considered to be the engine of the next stage of China’s economic development. It is not necessarily about opening up society, is it?

M.W.: There is this inherent element of violence in architecture. It can be a trigger both for inclusion and exclusion. There is something uncanny about architecture that is activated in specific contexts. For instance in China all these new art galleries serve two goals. One is the blind planning policy of the government. Second is the market. Art is business, so it will attract people. Ai Weiwei has a nice story about that. When China first opened up its doors, people started to buy refrigerators. But, at the time, the living style was day-to-day. People ate what they bought, and that was it. Their shopping was a daily activity. It was what people did. So for years, the refrigerator was just an empty box. It was bought as a showcase. Today a lot of galleries seem to share the same fate.

L.C.: Whereas in the West the whole concept of the Creative City is falling in ruins, it seems to bloom in China. Of course the financial collapse of the bickering West and the economic strength of our single-minded nation have a lot to do with this, but this geographical shift also reminds me of Rosa Luxemburg’s description of “capitalist accumulation.” She described capitalism as a parasitic system, which can proceed according to its principles as long as there are “virgin lands” as yet untouched and open for expansion and exploitation. Would that be an accurate description of the Chinese context in which the “cultural garden concept” has been imported as part of the dynamics of a global market that has found its way to urban contexts all over the world?

M.W.: Tall and spacious factory buildings, discarded iron gates, obsolete piping, slogans on the walls of revolutions gone by: all those unique industrial elements in a factory have become iconic of loft-living everywhere. This idea of turning waste into wealth came down from Soho, New York, but has now been met with a warm response all over the world.xiv

Cultural Industries” has become a new buzzword in the discourse of urban policy making. The concept is believed to have somehow a superpower that cures all ills of a transitional economy.xv These industries always play the same refrain, which in any case is dictated by the market economy. We are prepared to adopt any strategy as long as it is sold under a banner of “freedom, transparency, networking and democracy,” in order to capitalize on the desires of the population.xvi

L.C.: You mean the desires of the middle classes for whom you are building the apartment complex embedded in an island of brand-name stores...

M.W.: You know these residential complexes often publish their own lifestyle magazines. They represent a cutting edge art movement led by the “young crowd of internationalization,” a cosmopolite and ideally mobile clientele that likes to spend time and money at trendy places.xvii Only the other day we had an extensive publicity shoot on the site, for which I designed the film set and lighting.

L.C.: What was the publicity for?

M.W.: It was part of an elaborate marketing campaign to brand Xiamen’s prime industry, high-end polarized sunglasses. A luxury-buying binge is roaring throughout the country as torrid economic growth has kept the millionaire-making machine well oiled. Sales of everything from high-end watches, sunglasses, and jewelry to cars, and yachts and private jets are soaring and financially distressed foreign luxury companies are increasingly tapping into the country to make a profit amid the economic downturn.xviii Today it doesn’t matter much what will be on display, as these sites are about branding. Once that formula was understood, tested and controlled, it served as a model radiating from the capital outwards. Areas like “The Creative Land” offer everything in-between creativity and consumption, folk culture and foreign intrigue, coffee and cultural critique. Commercial companies already show off their brands here, because the site has a bohemian style and a gift for creativity.xix

L.C.: Are the Chinese middle classes in for that kind of luxury lifestyle? Or do you think it’s just another top-down strategy to set out ways for money to flow?

M.W.: We are redeveloping the old mode of production into a modern service industry, the assets of which are invisible and very volatile: reputations, skills and brands. In today’s economy manufacturing can be outsourced to other continents.xx Creativity and innovation are the drivers of development worldwide. Understandably, we want to grasp this creative mindset, and take a leading part in this global transformation.xxi

L.C.: Ma Wen, where do you get all these ideas? Who would you say has influenced your work?

M.W.: I’d say there is a way of thinking I feel an affinity to: Nietzsche, Duchamp, Zen Buddhism. People often ask me why this trinity — I think, ultimately, because their ideas have to do with ending things. [pauses] But then again, no need to go that deep. I think philosophy should move our hearts, rather than wreck our brains.

Apart from these more general influences, the bold position of an artist like Ai Weiwei I find very inspiring, though this is not totally innocent in today’s China. I’ve been approached twice already by plain-clothes police officers giving me straightforward warnings, because I show Ai’s work in my classes. I should be a good teacher they tell me... an invitation to self-censorship if ever I heard one. It’s a bit worrying.

L.C.: Were you not involved in Ai’s Documenta project?

M.W.: Yes. I was taking care of 1,001 hungry Chinese, all of them part of the Fairytale project. I cooked Chinese food for the whole lot. A great experience, but a hell of a job! Today I look back on it as a kind of performance. Every day I sort of did my own performance in the context of his you could say.

L.C.: Performance art, being elusive for the repressive regime at the time, marked the beginnings of contemporary art in China. The Xiamen Dada Group was a loose alliance of emerging artists that was active in Fujian Province and Xiamen. I remember vividly how they one day, I think it was 1986, set all of their work on fire on Xiamen beach, like it was some weird ritual. You were too young at the time, but did you pick up any of that period afterwards? Or, of the later Chinese performance scene for that matter?

M.W.: Like you said, I was quite young at the time. But I’ve always been intrigued by the raw potential of performance. A lot of my work at the Academy in Munich was performance or performance related. The most memorable piece I did was 13 ways to deal with the bible, one of which was eating the bible. I also chewed Mao’s Red Book... My performances in Germany! [lights another cigarette] I showed them on video one day in my studio, when we had all these collectors from the West visiting the site. They were also very interested in my porno paintings...

L.C.: Porno paintings? What are those? Do you paint yourself?

M.W.: No, no. I download images from the net. Behind the firewall you can find posts of homemade videos. I paint these series, stills of these videos. Every sequence is a painting. It’s a real pity that I cannot show them in this country. Pornographic images are forbidden in China, but maybe in ten years... who knows, or abroad.

L.C.: Coming back to your trip to Brussels. Did you work on something specific over there? You told me on the phone that you were designing a house for some rich investor’s afterlife.

M.W.: We did lots of things, but the main thing was the work on a new niche product. Actually the whole thing is a test case. What I learned in Germany is the need to maintain a strong focus in order to reach a goal. What’s more, I have become rather adroit in shifting between reality and imagination. If you concentrate only on the limits of reality, you may be able to realize a project, but it simply won’t be that interesting. Only your imagination can prevent you from simply implementing your ideas, and by going beyond physical boundaries you can produce something new and interesting.

L.C.: I’m so curious. Tell me more! Who is the client? What does he want?

M.W.: The client conceived the house as an environment, as a stage, a new domestic interior where he could enjoy the privileges of public space without being subjected to its laws, and dangers.xxii Inside, the client would have absolute control over his environment. He could change night into day, screen a film at noon and order dinner at midnight, have appointments in the middle of the night and romantic encounters in the afternoon. It was to be his haven and a sanctuary.xxiii There was no front, no back, no sides to his house. The house could have been in any place. It was to be immaterial.xxiv

L.C.: Sounds pretty surreal. So what form does it take then?

M.W.: It’s a film, but one that we did not edit. Instead we developed an algorithm, a set of rules that precisely defines a sequence of operations. Since these rules were inspired by computerized trading in the world of high finance, we wanted our algorithm to be operated by a live-feed of international currency trade. Therefore we had to figure out a way to define currency equivalents for the video images of the investor’s daily life. That was a tricky process, but in the end the team came up with some pretty convincing solutions. The connection to the currency market now makes the algorithm into a kind of continuous present. Actually you can never watch the same film twice, since the algorithm generates new combinations of images and sound non-stop.

L.C.: Fabulous. Since The Residence obviously is not designed to be built, how would you define the project?

M.W.: It’s a presentation of our client’s way of living. The client’s individual worth is measured by the rise and fall of the stock market.xxv By associating himself with the project the client can at one and the same time be a stock market speculator and patron of the arts.xxvi The Residence will be a monument to his sense of refinement.xxvii For the client, art functions as an index, suggestive of his urge to explore the unknown, of innovative energy and of the guts needed to be part of an esoteric, privileged and elite sphere. This aura can be attributed to the inexplicable ability to conjure money out of nothing, which exists both in art and the economy.xxviii

L.C.: Does this mean you will promote this “never-ending” film as an economic vehicle as well?

M.W.: Look at it as an alternative way of presenting the market, rather than using models and graphs or candlestick charts. Furthermore we hope to make it into a real-time investment vehicle, since it is not his belief in a hereafter, but his belief in economic activity here and now that opens up the client’s perspective on eternity.xxix

Once The Residence is finished we will burn it. And we’ll burn any reference to it so as to create scarcity around the product. That way it will become exclusively accessible for the client in his afterlife. It’s a popular ritual thing, connected to ideas of the afterlife that are still very present in the southern parts of China where people burn paper money and paper representations of luxury goods for their ancestors to have in their afterlife.

L.C.: I wonder why you chose to use filmic images instead of the more typical architectural renderings, as a way of visualizing The Residence I mean. When I think about films I always imagine there is a plot. There is what you could call a normal sequence of things that you need in order to understand what is going on. But now I understand that it is not about the construction of a plot, it is more about the basic architecture of the story, isn’t it?

M.W.: It completely aligns with the idea of a market creating narrative, and fiction creating a market. Let me try to explain. It is not a film about the market; it is actually the working market that generates the narrative. Markets in commercial paper generate ‘fiction’. It is a new ‘narrativity’, you could say. Promises in stocks and bonds are verifiable only in time. Until the moment of their pay-offs they balance on the brink of fiction. The same goes for the investor, or the reader, or the public, there is nothing else to do but wait, and suspend their disbelief. In this way the film is part of the market, creating wagers, promises and future fictions. But as I said, The Residence is very much a test.

L.C.: Did the test live up to your expectations?

M.W.: I’m sure, if anywhere, a thing like this will work in China. Looking back on the whole process, we’ve been at it since Autumn 2009, I’m quite happy with the outcome. On the whole I’m very much an image producer. I think architecture is above all about producing images. Film culture taught us to see these images in relation to time. It reads a city in its relationship to movement. Before architecture was seen as frozen in time, whereas now we rather think of the urban environment as a sequence. These days we also see a lot of video screens in the city, entire facades becoming video screens at night. You could say the screen has undermined the wall. It is a dematerialization following from the emerging media. There is a creeping realization that architecture’s most powerful contemporary expression may in fact be its disappearance.xxx

L.C.: Discussing the film I have the impression that The Residence is also very much about branding, and for that matter not only for the one who commissioned it; it will raise your symbolic profile, as a producer, a designer, an artist, you name it... as well. Did you have this in mind from the start?

Ma Wen gets up from his chair. From his bag he takes out a long-haired black wig, which he puts on. He lights a cigarette and looks at me. While leaving I remember him saying, with that twinkle in his eyes: “Lucy, do not forget that for us, our hair is our pride and fall. How many victims has it claimed over the centuries, I wonder? Take our ancestors they didn’t seem to take hair that seriously. Just look at their list of punishments: decapitation for the most horrid crimes; cutting of sex organs next. Shaving the head was right at the bottom of the list. Though I suppose we’ll never know how many lives over the centuries have been stigmatized by baldness.”xxxi

Vermeir & Heiremans are indebted to and would like to acknowledge the publishers and authors whom they quoted in this fictional interview. Copyrighted material is used in good faith in that it complies with the “Fair Use” doctrine of the Copyright Act of 1976 Section 107.

iCompilation from real estate brochures.

ii Adrian Hornsby, “Implosions into an inner void: Global architecture, the credit crunch and the irrepressible M. Derrida,” Hunch 13, (September, 2009).

iii “Journey to the West” (1590’s) is one of the Four Great Classical Novels of Chinese literature. In English-speaking countries, the tale is also often known simply as “Monkey.”

iv The island city, also known as Amoy, is situated along the Taiwan Strait right across from Taiwan. The city was a treaty port in the 19th century and one of the four original Special Economic Zones open to foreign investment and trade when China began economic reforms in the early 1980s. Today, Xiamen is known as a prosperous and clean city with a pleasant subtropical seaside climate. It is endowed with educational and cultural institutions supported by the overseas Chinese diaspora. In 2006, Xiamen was ranked as China’s second “most suitable city for living.”

v See: Lu Xun, “A Madman’s diary” 狂人日 (1918) in “Call to Arms” (1922).

vi The word ‘guanxi’ describes the basic dynamic in personalized networks of influence. In Western media, the Pinyin romanization of this Chinese word is becoming more widely used instead of the two common translations — “connections” and “relationships” — as neither of those terms sufficiently reflects the wide cultural implications that guanxi describes. (source Wikipedia)

vii See: Adrian Hornsby and Neville Mars, “The art of keys: profit and loss in the art village industry,” in Urban China #33, Counter-Mapping Creative Industries in China, Ed. Ned Rossiter, Mónica Carriço and Bert de Muynck (2008). http://orgnets.net/urban_china/hornsby_mars.

viii See: Michael Keane, “The capital complex: Beijing’s new creative clusters,” in Creative economies, creative cities, Asian-european perspectives, Ed. Lily Kong and Justin O’Connor, Geojournal library 98, (Dordrecht, Heidelberg, London, New York: Springer science and business media BV, 2009): 77.

ix See: Alex Pasternack, “Other kinds of ambitions: from artist villages to art districts,” in Urban China #33, (2008), 127. http://orgnets.net/urban_china/hornsby_mars.

x See: Hornsby and Neville, “The art of keys.”

xi See: “Interview with Zhu Qi,” in Beijing 798 Now, Ed. Cheng Lei and Zhu Qi, (Beijing: Timezone 8, 2007-2008), 124.

xii See: “Interview with Ma Qingyun,” in Beijing 798 Now, 100.

xiii See: Michael Keane, “Creative clusters, out of nowhere,” in Urban China #33, (2008), 123.

xiv See: Xian Wang, “A loft tide of turning the old in the new,” in Creativity in China (China Intercontinental Press):24.

xv See: Ren Xuefei, “Holes in the Net? State Rescaling, Creative Control and the Dispersion of Power,” in Urban China #33, (2008).

xvi See: When bad faith moves mountains - Manifesta moves to Limburg. http://indymedia.nl/nl/2010/10/70362.shtml.

xvii See: Beatrice Ferrari, The noble, the traditional and the cosmopolite - reading Beijing urban landscape and its global materialities, (Laboratoire Chôros - Institute of Urban and Regional Planning & Design, EPFL - Swiss Federal Institute of Technology): 20; 21.

xviii See: Yue Hu, “Shopping priorities,” in Beijing Review, Vol.52, no. 46, November 19, Beijing (2009): 31.

xix See: Bert De Muynck, “How foreign architects became international architects: a case study of China’s creative construction agenda,” in Urban China #33, (2008), 126.

See: “Interview with Marc Hungerbuhler,” in Beijing 798 Now, 197.

xx See: “What are Creative Clusters?”

xxi See: “Interview with John Howkins,” in Urban China #33, (2008), 128.

xxii See: Beatriz Colomina, “The split wall: domestic voyeurism,” in Sexuality & Space (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1992), 85.

xxiii See: Gretchen Edgren, Introduction to ‘Inside the Playboy Mansion,’ (Los Angeles: General Publishing Group, 1998). Quoted in “Preciado, Beatriz: Pornotopia,” in Cold war hot houses: inventing postwar culture, from cockpit to playboy, Ed. Beatriz Colomina, AnnMarie Brennan and Jeannie Kim, (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2004), 218.

xxiv See: Beatriz Colomina, “The split wall: domestic voyeurism,” in Sexuality & Space, 114.

xxv See: Patrick Brantlinger, Fictions of State. Culture and credit in Britain, 1694-1994 (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1996), 36.

xxvi See: “Interview with Michael Goldberg,” October 9, 2002, http://geertlovink.org/interviews/interview-with-michael-goldberg/.

xxvii See: Harald Szeeman, “Money and value, the last taboo,” Art stock, (October 2002): 87.

xxviii See: Szeeman, “Money and value,” 86.

xxix See: Brantlinger, Fictions of State, 26.

xxx See: Colomina, “The Split Wall, 128.

xxxi See: Lu Xun, “The Story of Hair” 头发的故事 (1920), in “Call to Arms” (1922).

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