Liu Cong quite enjoys when people describe his paintings as "the man himself," even though he deliberately avoids narrative approaches in his creative process and keeps subjectivity within very limited bounds. For Liu Cong, "painting" as a form of expression is unique not merely because it "describes" the world. Painting should possess capabilities parallel to or even surpassing language, allowing people to engage with the world directly and purely while honestly confronting the self within it. In this process, the artist doesn't always lead the viewer; he may even dissipate or vanish, much like Roland Barthes' concept of "the death of the author."

In 2018, Liu Cong once described his own practice: "My work revolves around the contours of objects in space as the foundational form of structural linguistic signs, and the embodied reality revealed during the painting process, which, guided by the gaze, responds to inner sensations in an abstract sense of expression." Five years later, when I presented this statement to him as a footnote or evidence of his creative approach, he found it unfamiliar yet acknowledged that certain key terms still persist in his current framework of thought. In early March this year, ShanghART Beijing hosted Liu Cong's debut solo exhibition, The Protracted Moment, where viewers could observe the long-standing direction of his exploration. Sometimes, the work proves and justifies itself more readily than the artist can—just as any artist aiming to develop their own creative methods must first find ways to overcome the powerful traditions inherent to their medium (since all creation necessarily employs specific materials).

Liu Cong is acutely aware of painting's uniqueness and the limitations language encounters when confronting it, which is why he has never been able to "verbalize" painting for me. He prefers painting to remain painting itself—without needing to refer to objects or intervene—while its core can forever remain ineffable, so long as it sufficiently illuminates everything before it, whether that be a dark, impenetrable thicket, an open and level forest clearing, or simply a winding garden path that does not fork.

POINT TALK 01: On "What Kind of Work Painting Is"

This was the first question I posed to Liu Cong and the core of our conversation. At its essence, it is an enormous question, encompassing both the artist's conscious engagement with expression and their insight into the self and its relationship with others and the world. Over two hours of discussion, all our exchanges circled back to this.

OUIART：Could you share the origin or starting point of your journey into painting? Among so many art forms, why did you choose painting specifically? What kind of work is painting, for you?

Liu Cong：Initially, of course, it was because I liked it. That I’ve continued is due to many contingencies—there’s always the desire to paint, and there are always questions I haven’t fully figured out. As I paint, new realizations and ideas emerge, so I just keep going. Compared to other mediums, painting is relatively simple and direct in execution; it’s something one person can control. And once you fully recognize and accept its limitations, its possibilities open up to you. That’s what makes it so interesting.

POINT TALK 02: On "Handling an Image"

In painting, Liu Cong is both sharp and deeply true to himself. In his early works, the influence of photography and film is easily detectable. But soon, he turned to "signs," employing everyday objects—umbrellas, paintbrushes, candles, pot lids, books, bones—each imbued with his distinctive sensibility. At the same time, he doesn’t shy away from repetition (because repetition, too, is part of life). Sometimes, his repeated treatment of an object borders on "drill," like a poet refining words or a musician tuning an instrument.

OUIART： In your exhibition The Protracted Moment, we see a series of new works where you’ve painted many "sheets of paper." The resulting relationships of contours in space seem more complex than those formed by the everyday objects you’ve often used before, like "balloons," "mirrors," "paint rollers," or "paper cups." Could you briefly discuss what you were primarily trying to address in the "paper" series?

Liu Cong：First, I’ve always been dealing with the image before me—that’s the only thing I face during the process. Specifically regarding the image, I hope its expressive order can be as clear and precise as possible. The rational framework is relatively defined from the outset—what you might call a sense of direction. But the progression and completion of the work must be measured by immediate, perceptual experience. For this exhibition, I wanted the show itself to be a complete work, where the space and the pieces share a structural linguistic relationship. The dimensions of the walls, the spatial structure, even the treatment of wall colors—all are perceptually linked to the content and form of the works. To me, this logic is no different from facing a canvas; the only distinction is that between two dimensions of space: the flat and the Solid.

OUIART：To me, another characteristic of these new works is that you’ve placed these everyday objects in very confined spaces, highly focused. Why? At the same time, I’m curious: what lies outside your frame/perspective? How do you decide what to include or exclude?

Liu Cong：In the gallery, I included a text that reads: "I extract objects from their experiential world, stripping away the meanings attached to their surfaces, and place them in a relatively bare state under my gaze. This grants me the freedom to confront art, making intuitive experience possible."

I prefer direct, unadorned linguistic states, and I want all perceptible content in the work to be presented equally on the surface.

Outside the frame is infinite multiplicity; human perspective is always limited. For me, the figures established in the image serve as scaffolds structuring the painting and vessels containing color.

POINT TALK 03: On "Structure" and "Imagination"

While talking with Liu Cong, I kept thinking of Calvino’s crystalline writing and Auden’s view of poetry as an intellectual game. In both literary concepts, creation is seen as a precise system with rigorous order yet capable of diverse interpretations and complex weaving—reflecting infinite, intellectual content within finite form while striking a necessary balance between absolute freedom and self-restraint in expression.

OUIART：For a time, you used photographs as references for painting, but later abandoned this method. Why?

Liu Cong：Using photos isn’t new; different painters employ them differently. Art history is full of discussions and practices around painting and photography. At one point, I was very interested in Richter, as well as Belgian artists like Luc Tuymans and Michaël Borremans—and of course, David Hockney. These artists’ works all engage with photography and imagery. But the more I studied and admired their creations, the more I felt I lacked my own angle, so I had to find another path.

OUIART：Your work intentionally eschews "narrative" and "imagination" in favor of "structure" and "form." (Is this related to your attempt to strip away the influence of photography/images?) But for a creator, the former might more easily demonstrate so-called "creativity" and "subjectivity." How do you think about "narrative," "imagination," "structure," and "form" in painting, and their interrelations?

Liu Cong：There’s some connection, but I don’t think contemporary people can "strip away" the influence of photography/images on vision. As Heidegger noted, its impact on perceptual experience—even on how we understand the world we inhabit—is profound.

Today, we live in an endless stream of images. Many outstanding photographers and image artists are equally creative subjects; some even handle images more like painters than painters do. Distinctions based on medium seem unimportant to me—visual language is equal across mediums, though different surfaces and forms do lead to varying modes of reading and feeling.

"Narrative" in painting is a vast topic—even a technical one. Simply put, in my view, narrative and imagination are structural relationships, including what emerges for viewers within the structure of appreciation. It’s not an external concept.

OUIART： Does weakening "narrative" and "imagination" in favor of a more cautious, rational mode of expression resist the abuse of images/image technology, or the plight painting faces in this era?

Liu Cong： I’m not sure how you define "narrative" and "imagination." Usually, people associate imagination with Romantic or Symbolist connotations, but I see it as having structural properties—establishing connections between seemingly unrelated things, connections that give the linked objects a wholly new sensation, activating them in a fresh context, even granting a sense of rebirth.

I don’t think I’m weakening imagination. More precisely, I resist the excessive projection of "self" into images and an over-reliance on literariness in visual art language. Painting has its own language and strong material qualities; its very existence is a form.

Painting doesn’t seem to be in plight—or if there was once an assumption of plight, some have used it for ontological reflection. But if you’re willing to believe, you could also make entirely different assumptions and judgments. It’s not about resistance; it all stems from interest.

POINT TALK 04: On "Openness of Expression"

Art does not imitate the visible; it makes the invisible visible. This is perhaps every creator’s ambition. Cézanne, the "father of modern art," summarized its essence as "penetrating the object." But as Julian Barnes questioned: As art evolves and painting shifts from figuration to abstraction—followed by conceptually open expressions spreading across broader cultural fields—might it, at some point, degenerate into pitiful fallacy?

OUIART：Does depicting everyday objects through abstraction and extraction exclude richer, more complex messages/experiences from life, resulting in a false openness at the level of expression?

Liu Cong：First, I’m not depicting everyday objects; I’m using them to achieve painterly expression. What we see are paintings, not objects. Everything surrounding art responds to and enriches life’s experiences—that’s their relationship.

Second, all expression has its perspective, and within that perspective lies the inherent limitations of humans. What we can do is remain aware of these limitations—to know what we don’t know.

Openness isn’t tied to informational complexity; it’s built on sensation and imagination. A blank sheet of paper can be more open than a book. For me, openness is also a structure—not just the unidirectional output of the expressing subject but also the perceiving subject’s understanding. Across different dimensions, there exists openness in thought or feeling.

OUIART：Would you agree that, to some extent, painters or creators play the role of translators, using self-established "programs" and "methods" to help people "grasp" the world as we "see" it?

Liu Cong：Not translators—creators. Art is creation ex nihilo; painting is the making of things on a flat surface. The first encounter with painting is always an immediate sensory intuition. "Grasping" comes after feeling, reshaped by rationality thought into renewed sensibility. "Seeing" is an excellent state; in daily life, we overlook too much. Creative programs or methods can be understood as grammar. Normal speech and conversation require logic, but that doesn’t mean "expression" is indoctrinating or preaching.

Liu Cong’s structural thinking about creation has long merged with his everyday perceptual experience. On intuition versus non-intuition, he emphasizes the freedom to shift perspectives and the integrity of two sides coexisting—just as he insists painting is a union of body and emotion, mind and spirit. I hope he remains in the steady state he desires, continuously working to complete a chain of painterly language that is entirely his own, where each link bears witness to and elucidates the others.