Conversation with Curator Wang Shuman
Exploring trauma in time-based art
By Zhai Qiutong
‘Letter, Testimony’, 2024, screening at LASALLE College of the Arts as part of Singapore International Photography Festival (SIPF). Image courtesy of Three Shadows Photography Art Centre.
Wang Shuman is a curator and writer specialising in video and media art. Currently based in Hong Kong, she serves as an associate curator at Tai Kwun. She played a pivotal role at OCAT Shanghai from 2017 to 2023, where she oversaw numerous exhibitions, including her own curatorial projects. Shuman’s writing has been featured in leading publications such as Artforum, LEAP, and The Art Newspaper. Recognised for her innovative approach, Wang received the Curatorial Award for Photography and Moving Image in 2022 and has participated in international research initiatives supported by Pro Helvetia and Jimei x Arles.
We begin the conversation with Shuman’s journey into curating time-based art, discussing her academic background, early career challenges, and the evolution of China’s contemporary art institutions. Themes of trauma, collective memory, and solidarity surface as we discuss her curatorial projects and the complexities of navigating censorship and institutional constraints. Her practice demonstrates how art can act as a space for responding to socio-political realities while fostering resilience and critical dialogue.
Shuman Wang, photo taken in 2023.
How did you enter the discipline of Moving Image, and what key influences shaped your outlook in researching and curating video and media art?
I completed my Bachelor's degree in Broadcast and Film in China, studying film theories, media theories, and documentary making. I then earned a Master's in Art Curating at the University of Sydney in the Department of Art History and Film Studies. Since then my focus has shifted slightly from film studies to contemporary video and media fields on a more theoretical level. The pivotal point that brought me to video and media art curation was when I started working at Overseas Chinese Town (OCT) Contemporary Art Terminal (OCAT) Shanghai in 2017. OCAT was the first professional art institution focused on media art in China. In my first two years there, I worked and learnt alongside experienced curators in the international contemporary art scene and many talented emerging video and media artists.
Personally, I am fascinated by how the media, which exists concurrently with us and continues to evolve, deeply shapes how we perceive, interact with, and understand reality. I want to explore what kind of media systems construct the “reality” we encounter and what different motivations drive the operation of these underlying systems.
Payne Zhu, ‘Matchpool’, 2022, installation view at OCAT Shanghai. Image courtesy of OCAT Shanghai.
‘Energy Giveaway at the Hzmuspunk Library’, 2023, exhibition view at Awareness in Art (AIA). Image courtesy of Shuman Wang.
Let’s discuss this transition period when you first joined OCAT Shanghai. What was it like for you as an emerging curator in a relatively young but specialised institution?
When I returned to Shanghai in 2017, most institutions lacked in-house curators. Public art museums and institutions typically invite well-known international curators to oversee exhibitions to achieve what they consider professional exhibition quality with a forward-looking international perspective.
From another angle, while the development of contemporary art institutions in Shanghai was already very active then, the curator training mechanism seemed to be at a preliminary stage. This sudden entry of contemporary art as a relatively new concept has led to uneven development of its corresponding mechanisms. Consequently, we observed high turnover among young art workers within these institutions; staying at one organisation for two years was considered stable. Opportunities for in-house curating were limited, and research and artist visits comprised only a small part of daily work.
In my first year at OCAT, my main responsibility as an exhibition executive was the practical aspects of executing the exhibition plans. Working in a small team, I had the chance to engage directly with artists and their artistic concepts. My first exhibition was a group show featuring over 30 Chinese artists born between the 1960s and the 1990s. It was challenging to liaise and learn to communicate with such a big group of artists from different generations, backgrounds, and methodologies. Fast forward two years, OCAT Shanghai moved to its new venue at Sunken Garden and I was encouraged to lead the curatorial efforts for one of the spaces. I initiated ‘C Plan’ in 2019, a solo project series featuring Chinese media artists whose professional careers span approximately a decade.
‘In Solidarity With____?’, 2022, exhibition view at OCAT Shanghai. Image courtesy of OCAT Shanghai.
Tell us more about ‘C Plan’. What were your interests and motivations, and how did they transpire?
‘C Plan’ includes several significant solo artist projects, some of which document pivotal moments in an artist’s professional career. Their creations also brought new dimensions to my own research interests. For instance, in my two-year collaboration with artist Payne Zhu for his new work ‘Matchpool’ (2022), and his solo exhibition of the same name, we explored the ballroom as a venue that offers sexual services.We examined the relationship between sex, competitive sports, and exchange within the economic framework. We drew some inspiration from Spanish philosopher Paul B. Preciado’s publication Testo Junkie (2008), which states, “In the milieu of professional sports, as in that of sex work, the problem is not the sale of the body, contrary to the affirmation of abolitionist feminists and Protestant and Catholic fundamentalists. Work in the post-Fordist society is always and in every case the sale of the force of communication and excitation produced by a living body—the sale of that body’s potentia gaudendi.”¹
In addition to ‘C Plan’, I co-curated the biennial OCAT & KADIST Emerging Media Artist Exhibition. The list of artists for this exhibition is by nomination from over 50 industry professionals. We discuss the theme and direction of the exhibition based on selected artworks. In the 2022 exhibition, I proposed a curatorial focus on solidarity. From a linguistic perspective, new media provides additional vehicles for the “mythological” system that transforms meaning into form, further dismantling the understanding of reality as “natural” when it is, in fact, socially constructed. Starting from this new normal, the exhibition posits three chapters that introduce the notion of “solidarity” from various dimensions such as ontology, body ethics, ideology, among others. and reveal how the excessive meaning given to the term “solidarity” conceals a cognitive crisis.
How do you think the Chinese exhibition visitors’ relationship with video and media art, or contemporary art in general, has evolved in recent years? How does it affect the operation and curatorial direction of an art institution in your experience?
I contend that the relationship between the audience and Chinese contemporary art institutions is currently marked by a significant lack of communication and trust. Museums are increasingly transforming into mere venues for display, serving primarily as visitors’ photo backdrops or as embellishments to a city lifestyle.
The contributing factors are quite complex. One aspect is that the authorities attempt to establish a grassroots mechanism for public scrutiny of exhibitions, promoting this as an opportunity for citizens to assert their voice on internet platforms. This brings to mind Václav Havel's book, ‘The Power of the Powerless’ (1978).
In reality, beneath the facade of so-called internet freedom of expression and the perception of effective public critique, lies a contraction of contemporary art production, which simultaneously deprives the public of opportunities to engage with diverse forms of art and culture. This is not to suggest that the public lacks the power to critique art. Rather, it reflects the current realities in China, where institutions are becoming increasingly cautious. When negative public sentiment arises online, all forms of art, music, and cultural activities face the risk of complete cancellation, eliminating any space for discussion, negotiation, or critique.
After the closure of OCAT Shanghai in 2023, what kind of art space do you think is needed in the current art ecosystem in mainland China?
This is difficult to answer. Two years ago, I discussed with a founder of a dwindling independent art space in China whether Chinese contemporary art should return underground in light of increasingly stringent censorship and the audience's diminishing imagination for diversity in contemporary art exhibitions. We talked for three hours on the phone without reaching any conclusions. We only noted that even if we returned underground today, it would not be the same scenario as the large-scale rise of independent art spaces in the country over a decade ago.
The earliest independent artist spaces in China can be traced back to the 1970s. From the late 1990s to the early 2000s, some art spaces emerged with specific physical locations, initiated by individuals, but they did not have clear institutional critiques or explicit anti-art mechanisms. It wasn't until around the first decade of the 21st century that some relatively complete independent spaces appeared in the country, such as Arrow Factory, DRC No. 12, The Bunker, Salt Project, and the Wyoming Project in Beijing. These spaces share some characteristics. They include having a specific location that differs from the white cube format, being collectively initiated by individuals or small groups independent from institutions and large capital, being non-profit, and stimulating contemporary artistic creativity in a more experimental way.
For artistic directors, curators, artists, and those who still believe in the power of art to help the world, we can only insist on establishing an awareness of the issues. It is important to identify the subject matter that is valuable to discuss and to refuse the meaningless consumption of art and the uncritical accommodation to prevailing narratives.
‘The New Survivors’, 2023, installation view at Three Shadows Photography Art Centre. Image courtesy of Three Shadows Photography Art Centre.
Let us talk about your curatorial project, ‘The New Survivors’, which received the Jimei x Arles Curatorial Award for Photography and Moving Image in 2022. The exhibition was materialised at Three Shadows Photography Art Centre in Beijing in 2023. In our previous conversation, you spoke about your own quarantine experience in Shanghai during the pandemic as one of the motivations. Has your perception of the project changed, looking back now?
My thoughts have not changed much. I firmly believe in two points. First, in facing today’s Chinese social reality, we need to express ourselves in a timely manner, documenting the rapid changes in society, people's psychological states, and emotional power. Second, regarding methods of expression, “detour” may still be a strategy we need to use, employing artistic means such as fiction, metaphor, and hauntology to protect our freedom of speech.
‘Letter, Testimony’, 2024, panel discussion at LaSalle College of the Arts as part of Singapore International Photography Festival (SIPF). Image courtesy of Three Shadows Photography Art Centre.
Kyvay Samnang, ‘Untitled’, 2011-2013, installation view of ‘Everyday Practice’, 2024, Singapore Art Museum. Image courtesy of Shuman Wang.
You had a recent screening ‘Letter, Testimony’ in Singapore, as part of the Singapore International Photography Festival. The screening is an extended contemplation of ‘The New Survivor’, featuring four works: by Vietnamese artist Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Chinese artist Zhu Xiang, Czech-born German artist Harun Farocki, and Chinese artist Hu Wei respectively. You also hosted a wonderful panel discussion with Hu Wei and Singaporean artist Ho Tzu Nyen. I would love to hear more about your impression of and connection to practices in Southeast Asia.
Last year, while planning the ‘New Survivors’ exhibition, I wanted to extend discussions in two main directions: first, regarding images and war, exploring the technology of image-making and the power of representation; second, focusing on solidarity within the anti-Vietnam War movement, re-examining collective resistance under trauma. Though I could not fully and effectively realise it in the domestic context, thoughts are often difficult to interrupt. Thus, the first direction has been transformed into a research article titled “Burning Images, Chilling Memories—Embers of War in Contemporary Time-based Art”, published in LEAP in November 2024.
The latter point about the anti-Vietnam War movement continues to resonate with me throughout the year, especially when viewing art and exhibitions. For instance, the collection exhibition ‘Everyday Practice’ at the Singapore Art Museum (SAM) discusses the experiences of individuals—often marked by violence and trauma—within the historical and geographical context of Southeast Asia, highlighting how these small yet enduring acts of daily resistance might coalesce into collective strength. This is particularly relevant as we face ongoing conflicts, humanitarian crises, and asymmetric power relations, which demand sustained patience and resilience.
My choice to use the Vietnam War as a historical backdrop for discussing collective resistance to trauma stemmed from the fact that many works in the ‘The New Survivors’ directly or indirectly referenced Vietnam. For example, Harun Farocki's work ‘Inextinguishable Fire’ (1969) examines, from an ethical perspective, how an American chemical factory obscures the truth of its production of weapons for the Vietnam War through a precisely refined division of labour and a sticky humanitarian facade. Another example is Nguyen Trinh Thi's ‘Spring Comes Winter After’ (2008), which employs reverse motion to document the funeral of poet Lê Đạt, who was stripped of his name and identity during the intellectual movement in North Vietnam in the 1950s. Nguyen Trinh Thi argues that Lê Đạt's experience symbolises the stifling and interruption of free speech and creative expression in Vietnam under ideological oppression from the 1950s to the present, as well as the erasure and distortion of national historical memory.
Additionally, Japanese artist Meiro Koizumi's work ‘Rite for a Dream–Today My Empire Sings’ (2016) captures Japan's annual anti-imperialist social movement. While this piece may seem unrelated to Vietnam, a deeper exploration of Japan's post-war social movement history reveals connections to the earliest anti-Vietnam War protests and subsequent anti-nuclear and anti-security law movements. I had originally intended to invite Japanese social movement scholar Eiji Oguma to participate in this discussion. In 2015, he published a book titled How to Change Society (社会を変えるには), which examines how the evolution of post-war social movements in Japan redefined the increasingly fragile community and altered a social system that could not effectively operate after the war. Building on this line of thought, I conducted this screening to extend the discussion from the Vietnam War to the broader context of the Cold War. Through the methods of "letter and testimony" as ways of recording history, I aim to unveil the political oppression and collective memory revision that occurred in Vietnam and China during the 1960s and 1970s—though differing in form, they were strikingly similar in their power structures.
Monica Ursina Jäger, ‘Forest Tales and Emerald Fictions’, 2019, photo taken during studio visit with the artist. Image courtesy of Shuman Wang.
I was inspired by your writing on your research trip to Switzerland last year. In your studio visit notes you comment on the breaking down of boundaries: “It was these cracks that allowed the emergence of heterogeneous and interstitial space in which new vitality was brewing.” How will this inform your next step in your practice?
Although I do not want to think this way, to some extent, besides stifling creativity, censorship and a disordered society also provoke innovative responses from artists and curators. It is interesting to consider how contemporary artists navigate these challenges—whether through digital platforms, alternative spaces, or new forms of expression. The resilience of the art community often leads to unexpected and transformative outcomes, even in restrictive environments. This context explains why my exhibition emerged from one of the toughest moments in my life—the compulsory quarantine in Shanghai. Additionally, art created by Hong Kong artists after 2019 has become more radical and with complex layers, which is closely related to the political background. Art always finds its power to express and criticise within the cracks.
About the Writer
Zhai Qiutong is an artist and researcher based in Singapore whose interdisciplinary practice spans installation, writing, and socially engaged art. She collaborates with communities across islands, documenting oral histories of ancestral knowledge and caretaking spaces of conversation and connecting knots.
