Loved this line (I worked at the Shanghai Art Museum for twelve years)

Author: Li Xiangyang
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-11-01
Features: The author details how he settled his home in the Shanghai Art Museum and, over 12 years, linked his fate to the museum. Throughout the text, we are constantly immersed in the author's museum passion, carrying glory and pursuing dreams. Having rooted in the world of art for half a lifetime, the author transformed his passion for art into words, sharing it with everyone. This book includes excerpts from his diaries and notes written during his travels over the past decade, reflections on the construction of Chinese art museums, and personal insights into art. The "Sketches from a Strange Land" feature covers global visits to various art museums in multiple countries, offering readers a professional perspective on the cognition and experience of museums and galleries, particularly valuable for professionals.
On the afternoon of July 29, 2005, three days after receiving my transfer order, I packed a few Western items and boxes of art books I would take with me, completed the handover of unfinished work, and left the office that no longer belonged to me. I wandered alone in the museum, from the rooftop restaurant to the basement machine room, from the fourth-floor painting storage to the main hall. I carefully measured every step and stone, which I could once run across in the dark, with trembling steps and lingering gazes. I caressed every object I had cherished and painstakingly created over the years, lost in a trance, almost. I couldn’t tell whether I wanted to freeze everything in my mind or expose the negatives in my heart all at once. As colleagues gathered for farewell, the atmosphere grew awkward. Unable to face their tearful eyes, I hurried out of the south gate and slipped into the white van, coldly telling the driver Xiao Xu, "Home!"
That day, the journey home felt unusually smooth. Before I could catch my breath, the had stopped at the lane entrance. Entering my home, I found it empty. The setting sun hung low, and all was silent. I instinctively glanced at the wall clock—the hour hand was just a sliver away from 5. How many years had passed since I last returned home at this time? This home, once familiar, now felt so strange. Opening the door, I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Should I enjoy the relief from my burdens, or should I drown in the regret of unfulfilled ambitions? Bored, I smoked cigarette after cigarette, reciting the poem "A Light Boat Has Sailed Beyond Ten Thousand Mountains" in my mouth, yet two heavy tears fell from my eyes. I admit, my home is in the Shanghai Art Museum. For 12 years, from the year Guiyu to the year Eiyu, my fate has been intertwined with the museum.
Though job changes are common in administrative work, and success or failure would be erased by time, I couldn’t sever this bond that had once carried glory and dreams. In 1993, I left the military and, thanks to the kindness of my superiors, became the Party Secretary and Executive Director of the Shanghai Art Museum. To this day, I still feel a bit scared about that decision. Apart from the favorable conditions of the reform and opening-up era and the encouragement of leaders at all levels, I had no idea what kind of institution a museum was or what responsibilities it should shoulder. If I were in today’s world, I would never have accepted this challenge.
From the day I reported for duty, with no lesson plans or models to follow, I plunged ahead with youthful arrogance and daring. That year, I turned forty. Though past the age of uncertainty, I grew more aware of my shortcomings and the long road ahead. Today, when "museum administration is an interdisciplinary and cross-domain work requiring employees to possess octopus-like skills" has become common knowledge, how can we imagine the naivety and helplessness of the past?
How many times did I visit employees’ homes during holidays to check in on them? How many times did I scold them as "brothers" for work-related reasons, one-sidedly? How many times did I wander the streets alone after failed fundraising efforts? How many times did I get drunk at celebrations after achieving honors? I didn’t listen to the elders’ advice to "govern without action," but believed in the leaders’ call to "strive and act." I mobilized my colleagues to "dedicate themselves to the museum as if it were their own home," trading effort for the recognition we deserved.
Over the past 12 years, I and my colleagues have devoted all our wisdom and passion to this cause, building this home. Even my wife and daughter’s bank card passwords were changed to the museum’s gate number. Though I don’t know if my methods were right or wrong, I have no regrets about my choices. Unintentionally, I’ve reached the age of destiny. Looking back, the past has turned into clouds and smoke. Today, as all joys, sorrows, and hardships fade like tides, I unexpectedly picked up these facts:
- Shanghai Art Museum was one of the first in China to implement contract-based employment.
- It established an Education Department, Development Department, and Art Company.
- It formed a relatively stable volunteer team.
- It built its own exhibition information management system, collection management system, ticketing system, and bilingual official website.
- It set up cloakrooms, first-aid rooms, and wheelchair-friendly facilities in public areas.
- It opened its internal library to the public.
- It changed its operation model from charging rental fees for exhibitions to a different approach.
- It introduced computers into exhibition design and production.
- It developed an alarm system for critical display works.
- It established its own academic brand—the Shanghai Biennial—and introduced contemporary art, including video and installation, into the museum.
- It conducted "all-star" collaborations with world-class museums like the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, and Centre Pompidou.
- It joined the International Association of Modern Museums under UNESCO.
I dare not say these "firsts" are all groundbreaking successes, but I’m confident that these thoughts and practices are the necessary path for museums in China.
In a state of confusion, the idea of writing a book suddenly emerged and grew stronger, often troubling my sleep. Perhaps it could continue my unshakable connection to the museum? Or perhaps it could repay those leaders and colleagues who had always supported, helped, and witnessed the historic transformation of the Shanghai Art Museum from an exhibition hall to a museum? Or perhaps it could leave some experience and lessons for those still working tirelessly for China’s museum cause? Or perhaps it could continue the conversation with those who once lived by the motto "Born an art museum person, die an art museum ghost"? I couldn’t think of a more fitting reason, only that it was not a bad thing, serving both others and myself as a form of closure.
Thus, I collected the various writings I had written over the years and organized them into three sections:
"Sketches from a Strange Land" revised diaries and notes from my travels over the past decade. In truth, I don’t have a habit of keeping diaries, but whenever I traveled to unfamiliar places and was moved by the landscapes, customs, and people, I would jot down my thoughts, recording both my observations and inner reflections. These impressions and feelings may be fleeting and biased, but they were vivid and striking, especially regarding my understanding and experience of museums and galleries. They later became the intuition and consciousness in my work, and many practices at the Shanghai Art Museum were inspired by them.
"Sketches of Museum Affairs" focuses on official documents and notes that I deemed meaningful. These include the Shanghai Art Museum’s practices and insights in business development and administration over the years, as well as speeches and remarks from conferences and interviews I attended. If these can be called experience, then they are the crystallization of collective wisdom. If any views seem inappropriate, they are my personal opinions. As an appendix, I have included several work summaries and organizational charts from different periods of the Shanghai Art Museum, hoping to reflect the evolution of its operational philosophy and functions over the past 12 years, thereby revealing the twists and turns of China’s museum reforms. This section is relatively dry, and the language may be formulaic, lacking readability for most readers. However, I believe it holds some reference and utility for peers in the field, as many of these elements are now being adopted by other museums.
Of course, since conditions and situations vary across regions and museums, there is no universal truth.
"On-the-Spot Sketches" selects fragments of my casual writings after work hours, mostly related to prefaces and afterwords for exhibitions held at the museum. A significant portion is situational and routine, which would taste like chewing wax today. Some were written on invitation, and our relationships were closer, often leading me to write under the warmth of hospitality. But rather than discussing exhibitions and art, I was more seeking opportunities to reminisce about people I had met—these outstanding colleagues, emerging talents, mentors, and friends are truly my blessings, an inexhaustible wealth in this life and beyond. Unfortunately, I’m not cut out for this line of work, except for a little sentimentality, I can’t offer much else.
Originally, as the secretary general of five Shanghai Biennials and the director of the new museum construction project, I wanted to write stories about my experiences and observations in biennial operations and the renovation project. However, after careful consideration, I couldn’t bring myself to start. Perhaps it’s not yet time to write a memoir. I was originally a painter, never having learned to write. Over the years, I haven’t painted a single masterpiece or published a painting album, yet here I am, writing something that lacks theory and coherence, as if putting on a show. With a trembling heart, I hope that all who may encounter this book, especially those who don’t understand why I abandoned painting for a "government career" and am lost in opening ceremonies and celebrations (perhaps even I don’t understand myself?), can forgive me. Once this wish is fulfilled, it will be a complete end. Then, I will return home—to my parents, my wife and daughter, and my long-missed easel and brushes.