or one way to look at me

The West was direct. I liked that. The East… well, “eastern” was a new a curious way of looking at myself. I liked that too. The East was, is, and possibly will ever be, simply implicit. Yes, the East is implicitness and unspoken-ness, and I knew something had to come out of this whole new experience. The years 2007-2010 brought exhibitions at the Estonian Contemporary Art Museum (EKKM), Tallinn Kunstihoone, Art Museum of Estonia (KUMU), Tartu Kunstimajas, Estonian History Museum, and open-air gallery activities such as the city of Paldiski or Lasnamäe. Grey skies in winter and beautiful, deep blue skies in summer. Contrast is art’s little secret, I think. Or at least one of them.

There was one table (only one) in my grandmother’s house in Tianjin. At that table we used to have our meals, the adults would discuss and argue about their different views, business talk, and quiet talk about other things I did not understand. At that table, too, my grandfather taught me to write Chinese calligraphy: day by day, hour after hour. My name is Li Yang; I write Chinese calligraphy and develop Chinese traditional ink painting. Also, I am what people may call and artist, but we are so many that who can really tell. But yes, I love art. Art, present, past, and future, is my world, my breathing space.

Those were successful years (hard too) and my work, my failed attempts, my insights, and little discoveries filled me with quiet pleasure. Sometimes they met with a good reception, and sometimes with embarrassment or silence. That was ok too. I do not do things for effect, but you cannot help that sometimes.

I obtained a Bachelor’s degree from the Traditional Chinese Painting department at Tianjin Academy of Fine Arts in 2005, where I studied with […] and […], famous Chinese artists. Moving to Europe (in 2006) was both a cultural adventure, a challenge, and an inspirational experience. I found myself in Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, at a time when things were changing very rapidly. The old Soviet Union had left obvious traces in that beautiful city, also in the reserved character, mistrustful and quietly ironic of the people. The new Estonia was here and everyone wanted to create and to shape the new images and sculptures that would advertise it: the monumental, somewhat grotesque statues of the old soviet leaders and heroes laid now on the ground, at the back of a remote museum somewhere on the northern coast. There, in the changing faces of the new Tallinn, I obtained M.A. degree, graduating with an international exhibition, and a degree of success that I neither expected, nor fully understood. It went well, and that was good.