Amplify Your Evil Index Tenfold in the World of Imagination

Story of Wu Junyong

Hello everyone, my name is Wu Junyong, and I’m from Putian.

This—

is what people usually think of when they hear “Putian.”

But actually, that place has many other fascinating things — for example, this strongman.

Putian has incredibly rich traditional and folk culture.

The person in red here is me.

I grew up in a temple like this.

My entire family works in the arts — theater, sculpture, making Bodhisattvas, painting murals.

This photo shows a scene that often happened in my home:

a group of people playing traditional instruments.

The bare-chested man is my father, playing the flute.

They were all amateurs, but they gathered to perform almost every day.

(i

I’ve been obsessed with drawing all my life.

Since childhood, I drew everywhere — self-taught, wild, messy.

My friends know this all too well:

anyone who spends time with me ends up in trouble —

their bodies become my canvases,

and any place I’ve been gets covered with my drawings.

(i

This is a mural I painted in Yunnan.

It was a rural area, so I painted many animals,

each one biting the tail of another, walking together in a chain.

As for my paper-cutting — how is it done?

I look at a blank sheet of paper, pick up a knife,

and I don’t know what I’m going to cut —

but as I work, patterns start to appear.

When I finish cutting, I use a brush to outline the shapes.

Then, from the leftover scraps of irregular paper,

I imagine new forms and create something else.

A great artist, Michelangelo, once said:

“Every block of marble contains a perfect human figure inside.

What we need to do is simply wake it up.”

To me, it’s the same in creation.

When I work, I don’t really have specific ideas.

I just look, and things gradually appear —

emerging, surfacing — guiding my imagination to unfold.

You may notice that my Mandarin is a bit off.

It took me more than thirty years to practice it into what it is now —

with a distinct personal style.

Yes, an artist needs style.

But this has caused misalignment.

My “style” in language makes communication difficult.

I repeat myself again and again,

people still don’t understand,

or they just laugh — like you’re laughing now.

So I usually don’t talk much.

I think, I mumble to myself,

and in that process I’ve realized —

language itself contains so many interesting images.

For example, what should Red Hare, Guan Yu’s famous horse, look like?

I thought about it — maybe like this:

A horse with rabbit ears, standing upright like a rabbit.

Or the sculpture “Galloping Horse Treading on a Flying Swallow” —

I imagined it like this:

We often say “Welcoming Pine.”

Then I thought — could there also be a Farewell Pine?

This one looks like it’s straight out of a wartime movie.

We call it “abstract painting.”

So I thought, maybe it should literally look like this:

A person whipping an elephant, and the elephant is painting.

“Flying side by side with shared wings” —

people think of it as a perfect relationship.

But perhaps there’s another version:

(i

Two birds, their legs tied together,

each trying to fly in a different direction.

Now, let me tell you a story —

the kind of environment in which a great idea is born.

One night, I was walking along the river.

There was a moon in the sky, a light breeze over the water, shimmering reflections.

Naturally, the phrase came to me:

“In every river where there is water, there is a moon.”

If countless moons floated on the river all at once —

what a magnificent and enchanting sight that would be.

Then I kept imagining further:

what if beneath every moon was a fish,

and the moon was just the luminous fin of that fish?

As they rose and sank, rose and sank,

the moons would flicker like fish scales —

how wonderful that would be.

Following this thought, I created a work called “A Thousand Moons.”

I hung nine round screens in the exhibition hall,

and the audience could walk among them,

seeing different stories unfold.

Here’s one section.

It still connects to language.

We say “Climbing a tree to catch a fish” —

meaning something absurd, impossible.

But why not create a world in imagination

where everything is possible?

When you imagine, anything can happen.

(image)

A man fishing for a moon.

(image)

We also say “The monkey reaches for the moon in the water.”

Every idiom seems to come with its own fixed meaning —

as if it’s foolish or pointless.

When that man catches the moon,

the moon disappears.

Then it grows full again, then wanes again.

What matters is not permanence, but the process itself.

We, in this world, are like the moon —

we cannot stay forever.

What matters is that we live through the process.

That thought fascinates me —

I often talk to myself about it.

(image)

An eagle and a dog can indeed merge into a monster — an “eagle-dog.”

(image)

This one you can guess — “blowing cow” — boasting.

(image)

This one, kids probably won’t get.

It’s called “pulling nonsense” — like what I’m doing now, talking nonsense.

(image)

“Tongue-tied” — kind of a self-portrait.

(image)

“Breathing through one nostril” —

a mistake we all make sometimes.

(image)

“Dragging someone’s leg” — holding others back.

(image)

You know this one — a famous Stephen Chow character.

(image)

“So-so.”

(image)

These were part of a project I made in 2008, called “Slang Dictionary.”

I discovered so many fun expressions in spoken Chinese

and decided to collect and visualize them.

(image)

Calling it a “dictionary” is an exaggeration —

there weren’t that many entries.

But I gradually organized them,

turning it into a long-term project.

There was one problem with those images —

maybe you noticed:

you all understood them immediately.

To me, that wasn’t enough.

That’s too superficial — too humorous.

The real power of images wasn’t there.

Because in those works, the image served the word.

But images and words each have their own expressive power.

When an image exists just to illustrate language,

its strength is weakened.

So I invented a new term: “dark images.”

A dark image is something you find fascinating, powerful —

but you can’t explain why.

You don’t need to.

You simply feel its force —

and that’s what makes it meaningful.

This one is more complex.

I titled it “Zhuangzi Dreaming of Kafka.”

Zhuangzi dreamt he was a butterfly;

Kafka dreamt he was a beetle.

(image)

Both became insects in dreams —

so maybe there’s a dream passage connecting them.

In that passage, East meets West,

ancient meets modern.

In dreams, in imagination,

things should be different from reality.

This picture — I can’t quite explain it —

it’s a bit like playing the violin.

I don’t really know what it means,

but it has something,

like music — something that simply draws you in.

(image)

Now I’ll share another fun series — the Language Class Series.

When I draw, I often start from one image,

and that image leads to another.

For example, I wanted to draw an Arhat taming a tiger,

so I drew the tiger.

Then I thought of the phrase “The fox borrows the tiger’s might,”

so I added a fox.

Then I thought of The Fox and the Crow —

so the fox held a piece of meat,

and above it perched a crow.

(image)

I think our way of storing memories and forming thoughts

is rooted in early childhood — like our old Chinese language classes.

Each lesson was different —

one might be an ancient poem,

the next The Song of the Stormy Petrel by Gorky,

then something about Bethune.

Each page was a leap,

yet between those leaps, connections formed.

Here’s another in the same series:

a snake swallowing an elephant.

It’s hard to recognize because of a special technique I used.

The snake has a trumpet for a tail —

I thought, then it must be a rattlesnake.

(image)

While drawing the elephant,

I thought of Cao Chong Weighing the Elephant.

While drawing the boat,

I thought of Carving a Mark on the Boat to Seek a Sword.

While painting the sea,

I thought of Zhou Chu Slaying the Water Dragon.

This is how imagination and association flow —

one image linking endlessly to another.

Now that we’ve talked about what I paint,

let’s talk about where I paint.

Since 2003, I’ve been creating works online.

Back then, I was still in school.

No one invited you to exhibitions,

and I had no money for physical installations.

But what I had was time and energy.

So I sat at my computer all day making interactive works —

I loved it.

People anywhere in the world could view them anytime —

though in reality, almost no one did.

Here’s one —

an image that reacts to your mouse.

Touch it, and a single dot on the screen expands into something else.

(image)

Another project I did on Weibo —

for two years, I made one image a day

based on current events or news stories.

(image)

Then came the WeChat era,

and I realized — wow!

Those things I’d made for my Slang Dictionary

could totally become emoji.

So I made a bunch:

And of course, don’t ask me what every one of them means.

Because we use emojis precisely when we don’t know what to say.

Because I believe art shouldn’t only exist in galleries —

it should be usable.

It should live in public spaces,

on bodies, bags, T-shirts, posters, graffiti.

That’s why I put my work on the Internet.

I even think WeChat itself is an artwork.

And today’s talk —

it’s a kind of live artwork too.

Only in this live space

can you feel that energy —

it’s not the same as watching a video later.

Earlier we saw my more public works —

those in galleries, museums, online.

But in recent years I’ve been working on something more personal.

My mind swings like a pendulum —

either this end or that end, never the middle.

You can see here —

I tattooed a man’s ear; he vomited.

It’s real — permanent.

I tattooed the words “Wind in the Ear.”

(image)

This man came to my studio drunk — actually dragged in by friends.

I designed a tattoo for him on the spot:

a fish with two legs, leaving the sea to find land.

Why? Because his name was Lu Xun — “Lu” meaning land, “Xun” meaning to seek.

So — a fish seeking land.

(image)

All my tattoos are improvised — like all my other works,

I never know what will happen.

Here’s another: this man’s name was Zhang Bo — “Bo” meaning wave.

So I drew waves opening up — a made-up idiom, “The waves unfold.”

(image)

Another man wanted a tattoo about Zhuangzi’s “Free and Easy Wandering.”

Perfect for me —

that story begins with a giant fish and a giant bird.

So I combined them into one creature.

(image)

This next photo is blurry.

A friend told me he lacked the “wood” element in Chinese five elements.

So I tattooed him a phoenix — perched on a branch —

so he’d never lack wood again.

He himself, I said, was precious timber.

That friend later left this world —

I’d like to commemorate him here.

(image)

This one was an artist friend.

When I asked what he wanted, he said,

“Just take images from my works — whatever I say, you draw.”

He said, “Hollywood,” so I did Hollywood.

He said, “Mermaid,” so I added a mermaid.

Then he said, “Since we’re talking about Belt and Road,”

so I tattooed ‘One Belt One Road.’

(image)

I do many different things, all following ideas and sparks.

Here’s a clip from my animation “Flying Ark.”

Its origin was Noah’s Ark.

When the flood comes, where do they hide?

So I imagined a crane holding an elephant,

the elephant holding a tree,

and the tree bearing all the animals.

It’s an ecosystem —

but every link is fragile.

If the crane opens its beak,

if the elephant loosens its trunk,

the whole chain breaks.

It’s almost prophetic — like our own planet.

Here’s a piece I made for a magazine.

They said, “We’ll give you some pages to print your works.”

I said, “If it’s just printing, that’s boring.

Let’s make the magazine page itself an artwork — an original piece.”

So I did this — using a brush to write a few letters.

There’s a story behind it.

When I was a student in Hangzhou,

my friends and I organized exhibitions.

We always had to find spaces, raise sponsors.

A friend often sponsored art events in the city.

I always felt indebted — wanting to thank her.

Then I thought of this idea:

I made her a private advertisement in a public magazine.

I texted her,

“Buy this issue — turn to this page — there’s a gift from me.”

It was a work about gratitude.

(image)

Another time, I liked a girl

but was too shy to tell her.

So I did the same thing —

I wrote my most private words

on a public medium.

I messaged her:

“Go to the newsstand, open this issue, this page —

you’ll find what I want to say to you.”

(image)

I have one minute left, so let me summarize.

I believe everyone has an artistic soul —

you just need to wake it up.

Most of the time, our thinking follows habit.

To break that habit,

you must learn to see things from another angle.

From this side or that side —

the scenery changes completely.

That’s what it means to find a unique perspective.

I keep pondering: what is creation?

What makes an artist truly creative?

Creation is not inventing something new —

it’s standing in a unique position,

seeing a different landscape.

Everything I’ve shown you today —

did I really “create” them?

No.

I just saw the connections.

What I offer is another way of seeing.

If each of you finds your own unique viewpoint,

you’ll discover:

life is different.

(image)

In the world of imagination,

amplify your evil index tenfold —

actually, I’d say a hundredfold — infinitely!

Because life often feels dull and ordinary.

Why?

Because we’re afraid to think wildly.

You can imagine an eagle standing on your hand —

so why not imagine an elephant perched there instead?

Put yourself into an imaginary world —

you are a king, a tyrant, a madman.

Test the limits of your imagination —

and you’ll find yourself overflowing with energy.

And finally —

every person’s life is their most important artwork.

We have only one life on this planet,

so make it rich, make it different.

For me,

to live a full and vivid life —

that’s my greatest masterpiece,

greater than all my other works.

When you’re with me,

I want to share my joy with you.

And when your friends are with you,

you should pass your joy to them too.

Thank you, everyone.