Neverland

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Exhibition Period: April 10, 2021 – April 25, 2021

Address: Shanghai Painting & Sculpture Institute Art Museum, No.111 Jinzhu Road, Changning District, Shanghai, China

The solo exhibition “Neverland” was held at the Shanghai Painting & Sculpture Institute Art Museum (SPSI Art Museum) from April 10 to 25, 2021. Curated by the museum, this exhibition was academically guided by Ms. Jiang Mei, the director of SPSI, with art criticism provided by Mr. Hutch Wilco.

The exhibition presents over 40 works, including his representative series “Neverland,” which he has been creating since 2016. The collection also features the smaller-scale “Skyline” series, created during the COVID-19 pandemic period, alongside the “River of Entropy” and “To The Stars” series.

“Neverland” marks a significant milestone in Sun’s artistic journey. Through the metaphor of an “island,” he engages with Nietzsche’s concept of the “Eternal Return.” This philosophical notion suggests that every being subconsciously nurtures an everlasting strong will to live. This will resonate among individuals, creating a continuous cycle of existence and connection.

I. Face Death Squarely

In early 2017, a somber shadow cast upon my family as my father was diagnosed with late-stage colon cancer. Around the same time, my uncle received the grievous news of stomach cancer. This heart-wrenching episode resurfaced memories I had long sought to bury — both my grandfather and grandmother had endured similar battles at comparable ages, and my second uncle was seized by liver cancer at a tender age. It felt as though an inescapable curse loomed over our family, a perpetual genetic shadow.

I had always believed my father possessed a certain kind of luck and had a kind of unbreakable protective shield around him. But this belief was shattered as I saw him transform from the robust figure I admired into a fragile shell, with his vigor slowly fading away. Watching him become so vulnerable, a stark contrast from the man I once idolized, was deeply unsettling. As I accompanied him through his treatment journey, we experienced waves of fear, helplessness, and struggle, which gradually settled into a state of calm acceptance.

During those harrowing days, I began to perceive a profound revelation through my father’s suffering. It felt like he was using his own pain to convey a deeper truth about life to me. This transformation in understanding inspired my art. I began painting scenes of storms and drifting islands — representations of tumult and deep feelings of being lost. These images encapsulated the true nature of life, which is both terrifying and strangely comforting. As Martin Heidegger eloquently put it, “Face death squarely” shows us what emerges from chaos may not be devoid of warmth, love, or the vibrant pulse of existence — perhaps it is, indeed, the eternal island of our dreams.

Reflecting on my father’s journey and contemplating my own future, I see a parallel — a gradual descent toward an inevitable end, becoming part of the submerged majority. But what of it?

II. Throwing Myself into Turmoil

For an artist, having a stable studio is a true luxury.

My creative journey commenced in a small room within my uncle’s apartment. While he rested in one room, I turned the adjacent one into my very first studio. Before long, I relocated to an abandoned office in an old building near the Bund in Shanghai. This new setting brought greater challenges — next door was a shared dormitory for migrant workers, and outside was the bustling East Nanjing Road. Starting in 2015, my life became a series of relocations. Nearly every other year, I found myself packing up and moving, transitioning between various places along both sides of the Huangpu River.

This lingering instability subtly influenced my artistic style. My initial obsession with the form and detail of painting gradually faded. I began experimenting with unfamiliar tools: palette knives, scrapers, lint brushes, rags, and even adopted a near-destructive technique — pouring oil paints directly onto nearly finished works. This spontaneous approach caused the paint to flow and erode across the surface, much like a river carving its path through layers of sediment. Sometimes the flowing paint was obstructed by layers of colors; other times, it dissolved the thin, unstable layers.

What emerged from this “chaos” was a revitalizing embrace of unpredictability. I became fascinated with the experience of wandering through unease and surrendering control.

III. The Horizon within Reach

The year 2020 marked a particularly significant chapter in my life. Just as I settled into a new studio, the COVID-19 pandemic struck. The scarcity of paint and canvases forced me to rummage through small frames tucked away in the corners of my studio and even rework some old sketches.

During the peak of the pandemic in Shanghai, I spent an extended period indoors. My high-rise apartment offered an unobstructed view, and I often found myself standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing at the distant horizon. At dawn, it appeared as a delicate red line stretching across the sky. As night fell, it transformed into a faint, flickering glow resonating from afar.

I often feared that an uncontrollable catastrophe might confine us eternally behind our windowsills, leaving us to yearn for an unattainable horizon. To me, the horizon became a potent symbol of hope, infinity, and the romanticized distant shore. It evolved into a poetic existence.

I painted horizons on small canvases, capturing fragments of my memories and the vivid, colorful images that filled my mind during that time. Those small pieces of canvas represented me — a solitary island confronting an unreachable horizon. Within the limited expanse of the canvas, I endeavored to touch the infinite — embodying my yearning for freedom and the boundless.

IV. My Personal Renaissance

In life, I have always been an avid observer. I meticulously listen and watch the speeches, gestures, and behaviors of those around me. I often imagine the friends they have or the childhoods they experienced. It seems that something in the process of growing up diminishes our innate ability to understand each other without uttering a word.

I am also deeply fascinated by past painting styles. When I gaze upon these works, regardless of their interpretations or presentations in books, I am convinced there is a simpler, almost childlike narrative lying behind them. My love for painting is deeply rooted in this belief, as a brush, to me, is an instrument of truth. Each time I pick up the brush, it feels as though I dissolve into it, and it into me.

Today, people often judge the contemporaneity of a work based on its appearance, with many artists preoccupied with whether their work is sufficiently modern. In contrast, I worry whether my paintings might seem too classical or traditional to be embraced. Yet, I find profound joy in this tension — it becomes a gradual process of self-discovery.

Art, I have always believed, is inherently personal. In its very individuality, it transcends into something universal — like an island belonging to the vast ocean. Through my art, I engage with the world using my own distinctive language, creating a dialogue. This is my personal renaissance, a period of rebirth where everything within my universe takes on new life.