At Tai Kwun, Tao Hui Questions Fate and Free Will

For Tao Hui, romance necessarily comes with melancholy or suffering. “Amid moments of exhilarated joy, you’re already anticipating the melancholic feeling that comes after it,” says the artist, who is known for his narrative-driven films that capture the zeitgeist of modern life. This interplay between joy and sorrow isn’t novel, but it is conveyed in unusual ways in In the Land Beyond Living, Tao’s latest solo exhibition at Tai Kwun. 

In the striking work “Embrace,” (2014) a snake wraps its sinuous form around a toilet, as if embracing it. Yet, the relationship is fraught with tension, as visible cracks appear on the surface of the toilet. “The snake wants to love the toilet so much it’s destroying it,” says Tao. At the exhibition entrance, a colourful curtain of chicken feet beckons visitors in. Served braised or deep-fried at restaurants nationwide, Tao’s chicken legs are made out of glass. “I love eating chicken feet. The essence of chicken feet is you can chew it, but here, they are fragile glass, like they’re going to break any second. I find that transformation a bit melancholic.” 

The chicken feet find its way into “Chilling Terror Sweeps the North” (2024), a multi-layered film that delves into themes of identity, migration and love. At the heart are two lovers grappling with the choice to stay and reform their frigid homeland, or migrate to the more comfortable city in the south. For the female protagonist, her existence is closely interwoven with the barren land of the north; for her boyfriend, migration is a given. “I love this land. I love this cruelty,” the woman says. Over a plate of chicken feet, she tells her boyfriend how miserable she would be in the south.

The “chilling terror” doesn’t only reference the harsh weather in the north, it is also a nod to the abyss that’s opened up between the lovers, and the terror of leaving one’s homeland. The video was inspired by Tao’s visit to Xihai Gu, long regarded as one of the most unliveable areas in China due to its harsh terrains and climate, during one of his artist residences in northwestern China. “You couldn’t find any greenery for miles and miles. The diet consists almost exclusively of starch. We had potatoes, and more potatoes,” he says. 

But there were also unexpected moments of joy. One day, while on a walk in the mountains, a villager asked Tao and other artists to smell the bottom of their shoes.  “The mountain is filled with these tiny, yellow flowers,” he notes. “Our shoes did smell like flowers afterwards.” 

“The villagers there live a very hard life, but I asked if they’d move elsewhere, they all said it was their home,” he adds. 

Indeed, while the dialect is different, the dress and setting unfamiliar, one could also imagine the conversation in “Chilling Terror Sweeps the North” happening in post-2019 Hong Kong. Or in Beijing, where Tao is based. “A lot of artists thought of moving during the pandemic, to the US, or to Japan,” he recalls. 

Tao has lived in Beijing since 2010, when he left his hometown of Chongqing as a fresh eyed graduate from the Sichuan Fine Arts Institute. In those days, the entire country was undergoing rapid modernisation and Beijing was at the forefront of the change. “The city had a free-spiritedness to it, and 798 was the “place to be” if you were in the arts, he says. Converted from old factory buildings, the 798 Art Zone comprised galleries, studios, cafes and restaurants. 

Tao says he is still a Chongqinger at heart. “We are quite direct and stubborn. We were the first to rebel against Covid testing during the early days of the pandemic,” he notes matter-of-factly when asked what the Chongqing character is. That’s reflected in the food, too. “In Chongqing, we cook our food to the point of obscurity,” says Tao, alluding to the bold and pungent flavours that define his hometown’s cuisine. “When I’m in the UK, and I get served some salad, I always want to make a stir fry,” he grins. The day before the opening, during a dinner at a Sichuan restaurant, Tao commented, “This isn’t spicy at all!” while other diners were gulping down copious amounts of water.

Tao’s parents were teachers, and he grew up outside the city in a small village in Yunyang County, whose misty, picturesque landscapes would later find their way into some of his works. As a child, he was hooked on popular variety TV shows such as “Kangsi Coming” and period dramas like “My Fair Princesses.” He had his heart set on attending film school. “I thought, if I worked in TV, I’d be able to meet a lot of celebrities,” he says. But his teacher advised him to apply to the prestigious fine art department at Sichuan Fine Art Institute instead. “My teacher told me, ‘You could also learn filmmaking in the fine art department,’” he recalls. 

In reality, he had little idea what video art was. He had a big awakening when curator Pi Li — now head of art at Tai Kwun Contemporary — taught a class at the institute. Li introduced Tao and the class to the likes of Cao Fei, whose narrative-driven works explores the impact of China’s rapid modernisation, and Kan Xuan, whose experimental works explore the quotidian of everyday life. “I remember thinking: so this is video art,” Tao says. “When I paint, I want to paint what I see. My style is very realist. So I thought, why don’t I just film what I see? I mean, I still love painting. Whenever I smell turpentine, I get emotional” he laughs. 

One of his most important mentors is documentary filmmaker Li Yifan, who is known for his socially-conscious oeuvre, including Before the Flood (2005), a heartrending documentation of the social ramifications of the construction of the Three Gorges Dam, heralded as the epitome of China’s infrastructure building. “Teacher Li and I rarely just talk about art, but society and life,” says Tao. “Whereas he looks at the bigger picture, my films often look at [social issues] through a more personal lens.”

In the last decade, Tao has built a reputation for works that probe the modern female psyche. His films always feature ambitious women who live beyond the mainstream, whether it’s the Iranian actress speaks of the unrelenting pressure on women to get married (“The Dusk of Tehran,” 2014), the Mongolian princess who left her hometown to seek love (“Mongolism,” 2010), or the girl with the revolutionary spirit who insists on staying in her unlivable hometown (“Chilling Terror Sweeps the North,” 2024). 

“I grew up in a household of very strong women. All my closest friends are women,” says Tao. His obsession with period dramas featuring strong female characters also play a role. “The fighting, the revenge, the melodrama [in the films] are fun, but their struggles are also a reflection of the reality of living under patriarchy.”

Free will and fate are often seen as opposites, but Tao is more interested in illuminating the interplay between the two. While one cannot defy fate, one can also exercise a certain amount of free will. Instead of simply narrating the lives of these characters, his films ingeniously evokes resonances between the real and fictional, the past and present. 

In “The Dusk of Tehran,” the words spoken by the protagonist, an Iranian actress, are lifted from famed Hong Kong singer Anita Mui’s remarks at her farewell concert in 2003. Similar to the fictional character in Tao’s film, Mui spoke about her journey of finding love and, dressed in a wedding gown, declared that she was getting married to the stage. 

Tao’s references are unabashedly mainstream, but when transposed to a different context, familiar sentiments and struggles are reimagined and infused with fresh universality. One of Hui’s favourite literary works — “Well, I watched all the television adaptations,” he admits — is Cao Xueqin’s Dream of the Red Chamber, an 18th-century tome in which the tension between free will and fate lies at the heart of the narrative. Set against the backdrop of the excesses of the Qing Dynasty (1644–1911), it explores the desires and losses of the various members of the Jia clan. 

Tao is particularly fond of the character Jia Xichun, who chose to become a nun after her home and possessions were seized, an act both defiant and poignant. “She wanted some control over her life,” he says. Her prophecy is inked on a hanging scroll fragment, accompanied by a scattering of wilted Michelia flowers strewn across the floor. A common sight on the streets of Chongqing every summer, the Michelia flower wilts and dies in Beijing, where it is much colder. The fading flowers echoes the fate of the female protagonist in “Chilling Terror Sweeps the North”, who, struggling to come to terms with living in a foreign land, chose to end her life. 

The notion of control over one’s life is personal to Tao, who, as an artist, has forged his own path, but is also grappling with the reality that things are out of his control. A few years ago, his father was involved in a serious car accident, leading to his passing a few years later. “I mean, I simply couldn’t fathom that something like that could happen to my family…” he says, trailing off. “I believe in destiny, but I don’t need to know what my destiny is, because I’ll still live my life as it is.” 

Perhaps that’s all anyone can aspire to – to live life as freely as possible while accepting the cards they are dealt. 

In the Land Beyond Living runs until February 2, 2025. Click here for more information.