Abstract art is not the opposite of reality but a means to enrich our understanding of the human spiritual world. Agnes Martin once said upon discovering her abstract visual language: "When you walk toward the truth, what you express is the truth." What is truth, and what form does it take? In an era of competing for attention, how can one refine pure perception and focus the soul’s attention? Zhou Yangming began pondering this thirty years ago. Twenty-one years after his influential 2003 exhibition Beads and Brushstrokes, his first solo gallery exhibition, I Saw the Truth, recently held at Beijing’s White Box Art Museum, offers a glimpse into his meditative "spiritual sanctuary" and the "truth" revealed through his unique artistic language in the world of abstract painting.

The exhibition features over 20 of the artist’s latest works, with Li Xianting serving as academic advisor and Xu Wei as curator. For over two decades, Zhou has obsessively pursued painting as a path—both affirming and dissolving the concept of "oneness." Through the simplest techniques and imagery, he confirms a truth: infinity arises from solidity, not unrestrained freedom. In essence, Zhou’s work is less about repairing "oneness" and more about persistently affirming its necessity within a system.

Xia Kejun, a philosophy professor at Renmin University, remarked that Zhou’s paintings offer artistic inspiration for the "inner soul-space of the world." With each resolute stroke, the artist penetrates the linen’s texture, unlocking the painting’s interiority. This demands unwavering focus, where every stroke—like a vajra or a mark in sand—acts as a seed of Buddha-nature, one thought per stroke. Yet it also allows for purposeless dispersion, merging into a holistic breath. Xia notes that Western abstraction tends outward, while Chinese abstraction turns inward, regulating inner breath. The wholeness of breath and the seed-like quality of biology, akin to linen’s organic nature, reflect a Chinese replication that moves from multiplicity to biological growth, resisting the shadow of death.

During the exhibition, philosopher Xia Kejun, curator Xu Wei, White Box Art Museum director Sun Yongzeng, and artist Zhou Yangming discussed the artist’s free will and painterly language, with insights curated by Oui Art for readers.

< Xu Wei > Curator
The theme I Saw the Truth declares a stance. We believe truth exists—not as a prefabricated, standard answer imposed by others, but as something solid, a return to one’s spiritual self and true freedom. This may seem provocative, as if claiming authority, but our aim is the opposite: to return that authority to you, helping you find your own truth in the present.

< Zhou Yangming > Artist
Painting is more than painting; art transcends its own realm. Human expression takes many forms—music, dance, poetry, literature—but painting holds a unique charm. Its expression is irreplaceable by other mediums.

< Xia Kejun > Philosopher
A Western critic once said, "Before an image, we must stand in front of it, not behind a screen." Before a painting, we can pause, contemplate, and gaze—a holistic perception impossible with AI, screens, or virtual spaces. This is the soul’s attention, where we meditate and dwell. Zhou’s work establishes a willful subject, an absolute agent. For twenty years, his single line—echoing Laozi’s "From one comes two, from two comes three, from three comes all things"—embodies this will. Its formalization marks the emergence of a Chinese painting subject, where autonomy arises from the correspondence between the artist’s will and formal language.

< Xu Wei >
How does painting retain necessity in today’s clamor? When was the last time we contemplated anything at length? Fragmentation dominates; our attention spans are short, lacking breath’s wholeness. Now, the craving for an inner spiritual space is more urgent than ever.

< Sun Yongzeng > White Box Director
Painting endures because it offers emotional solace, spiritual elevation, and guidance—a timeless value. Amidst the deluge of concepts, techniques, and media, we’re like disaster victims, overwhelmed by information’s tsunami. Many feel swept into chaos, resisting passively. But art can restore quietude, letting us feel life’s wholeness. In fragmented times, even half an hour of quiet reading at home is a luxury. We must ask: What has art given us? Why can’t we face subtle, genuine feelings? The loss stems from inexperience with such relentless information, leaving us spiritually torn and oxygen-deprived, grasping for external supports. Humanity’s recent chaos—moral decline, injustice, global turmoil—is unprecedented. We’re post-tsunami orphans, adrift.

< Zhou Yangming >
I want to return this sovereignty of appreciation to you. Attention is something you can consciously command. Approach my works as you would ordinary objects—what do you perceive? I invite you to look, simply honoring your own unfiltered impressions. Shed all distractions, preconceptions, and inherited notions—this is crucial. Today, our minds are overcrowded; we're inundated with excessive information from all directions. What I hope is for everyone to return to essence and find stillness.

< Sun Yongzeng >
The reason we still cherish art lies in its refusal to drown us in superficialities—those tsunami-like waves of ephemera. Instead, it guides us back to serenity, allowing us to experience life's wholeness. We must resist fragmentation, that state where our inner soul and spirit lie in tatters, granting us not a moment's peace.

Consider how rare it is to claim an uninterrupted hour in modern life—forget discussing paintings here—even reading quietly at home with a cup of coffee has become an extraordinary luxury. This demands reflection: What has society imposed upon us? What has art truly offered in recent years?

I've been contemplating why we've grown incapable of confronting subtle, authentic feelings—why such sensitivity has atrophied in our era. Partly, as noted, we're unequipped to process the deluge of information assaulting us. These fragmenting forces leave us spiritually lacerated, gasping for oxygen, perpetually clutching at external lifelines to sustain our existence—no longer awakening naturally to life's simple sensations.

On a human level, these years manifest unprecedented disorder: eroding morality, social injustice, global turmoil. Society's turbulence has made us post-tsunami orphans—this homelessness of the soul is palpable.

< Sun Yongzeng >
In such chaotic and disordered times, we as individuals often feel powerless. The only thing we can do is to rebuild and restore inner order within ourselves—to find something steadfast amidst the turbulence, something to hold onto for stability and peace. This, I believe, is truly precious.

Yet what we must seek ultimately lies within—it is our inner strength, our intrinsic capacity for self-renewal. Too often, we exhaust ourselves searching for external solutions, but even the mightiest ship cannot withstand such a tsunami. In our era, these anchors of stability and permanence are vital—they form the very foundation of meaningful existence.

The world may appear meaningless, but it is our imperative to uncover its significance. The irony is that while this pursuit itself holds profound meaning, we often remain blind to it, dismissing it as futile. Yet through this process, each person arrives at their own existential realization.

Art, at its most fundamental, offers solace. It reshapes our inner landscape, elevates our consciousness, and lifts us above the chaos—granting a transcendent perspective. When the floodwaters rise, art becomes our vantage point. Standing higher, we find ourselves less battered by the storm. This is no abstract ideal, but a most authentic human necessity—a spiritual imperative for our age.

< Xu Wei >
As Director Sun said, we’re spiritually homeless orphans, needing art to guide us home. Art’s path isn’t just about free will—it’s the space to return to your solid core, holding all anxieties. We agree: this era needs such art, and we champion it in our ways.

< Xia Kejun >
Entering this exhibition’s temple-like space opens your heart. Our brains and vision leap outward, but Zhou’s paintings pull them back into the soul’s city. Even sorrow here feels scant, for we’ve failed to build an inner sanctuary. Zhou’s work constructs this sanctuary, awakening us to create our own. In this era of fleeting, scattered thoughts, true spiritual guidance is essential. Each stroke is a vow, crystallizing intention into an unobjectifiable structure. Though moments seem fragmented, his paintings cohere through an indestructible, enveloping qi—a perfect fusion of the soul’s breath.

< Zhou Yangming >
This is my intent. The creative process fills you with constructive energy, enabling your own growth.

< Zhou Yangming >
Art, in our tradition, cultivates the mind. At its core, all art serves human good—refining temperament, as the saying goes.

< Xia Kejun >
This inner soul-space is alive, biological. True Chinese painting differs from American or European abstraction. Europe’s abstraction is expressive, outward-striking; America’s, per Clement Greenberg, rejects narrative for flatness. But Chinese abstraction is inward—a fullness of soul and atmosphere, where breath surges. Each work breathes, inviting viewers beyond vision into life’s inner richness. Only with full, whole breath can one rise. Zhou’s paintings carry this rising force. Ours is a declining era—philosophers see collapse, layoffs, ruin. To reverse this, we must ascend, vibrantly.