Often I have asked myself, why do I paint “Tibet”? It haunted me as I constantly shifted from anxiety, depression, and paranoia to the point of despair. When anxiety becomes a core emotion, it undoubtedly will be reflected onto the canvas. Looking back – it was under this emotional state of inexplicable confusion and anxiety that I created many paintings about Tibet.
It was autumn, 1991. With some reverence in my heart, I arrived in Tibet – a land full of allure and wonder. On the way, I came across large stones charred black from the burning sun, as if it was a scene from purgatory itself. The slowly fading silhouettes of Lamas upon the mountain road seemed like a forlorn smear of red – branding itself upon the heart, as a pang of melancholy permeates inside my chest. Dusk, prayer flags rolling under the sunset. Early morning, the rising smoke clouds in front of Jokhang Temple. Crowd after crowd of prostrating pilgrims, group alongside group of Lamas sitting against the walls. In front of me I see block next to block of solid yet depressive colours – blurring out all detail. Waves upon waves of oppressive yet distant horns bellowing, like the surging tide, washing over me. At this moment, I am deeply moved by the spiritual atmosphere that surrounds me…
Today, I finally understand, the relationship between artists and Tibet, artists and the Earth, artists and all living things – is one of spiritual yearning.
— Liu Jiawei
December 2010