LIMITATION IS THE BEST CONDITION
New York, 2024
Twelve days before the U.S. elections, during a moment of intense tension, I sat down with the iconoclast artist AI WEIWEI, one of the most provocative and transformative figures in contemporary art, ahead of the opening of his show Child’s Play at the Vito Schnabel Gallery in New York City. The new exhibition transforms toy bricks into monumental works that reimagine seminal images with wit and precision. We met on the gallery’s lower floor. Ai spoke with a magnetic, intimate energy—his low voice drawing you in, his focus unwavering, his humour and curiosity palpable.
[...] A mess.
Such a mess, right?
Beautiful country, but a big mess, yes. [Referring to Lebanon, my home country, where Ai has worked extensively on refugee-related projects.]
But the human conditions there, especially on the border with Syria, are extraordinary. It’s crazy. You know, I donated money to build a school there—it’s named after me, I think—for the kids. The hardest part of refugee situations is the impact on babies, they have no chance. My God. But I understand it—I grew up in similar difficulties. I had to move homes multiple times because of my father. I was living in this precarious structure. This black spot is the door to our house.
He gestures toward his iPhone on the table, showing his lock screen: a monochromatic, pixelated image of a desert-like landscape with what looks like a trench or a semi-sunken structure resembling a house surrounded by wheat branches scattered on the ground. This is an image of where Ai Weiwei grew up—his childhood home during his father Ai Qing’s exile in China’s Cultural Revolution. Ai Qing, a renowned poet, was labelled a dissident, forcing the family to live in harsh, remote conditions.
And why do you keep it as your lock screen?
I don’t like imagery. I really don’t. But this memory is too precious to forget. Every experience has a meaning beyond my understanding. You cannot fabricate it—it’s like fate.
It’s just the way it is…
This is the same thinking behind why I included this door in Monet’s Water Lilies.
In Water Lilies #4 (2022), Ai Weiwei reinterprets Monet’s iconic work, adding the outline of the door to the underground dugout his family once lived in, as depicted in the image on his phone. This door amidst Monet’s flowers alludes to the hardships of his family’s exile, blending personal history with global art history.
You pointed out to me earlier your cat in Thérèse Dreaming (2023) hanging in the gallery, a reinterpretation of Balthus’s 1938 painting. In the original, a young girl, Thérèse Blanchard, is depicted in a relaxed, daydreaming pose, which sparked controversy for its provocative and ambiguous portrayal of adolescence. In your version, the cat of Thérèse is replaced with your own.
I work with what is around me, my direct experience. I never do something just for the sake of beauty. I want to play with art history. The original paintings I reference are all considered icons for their high aesthetic value. I want to play with this idea of the icon. I love Warhol who has worked extensively on the icon, and I just play with it.
Speaking of Warhol, the toy bricks you use become readymades in your work. I know another important reference for you is Marcel Duchamp and his work from 1913, when he first introduced the idea of the “readymade”, challenging traditional notions of what could be considered art.
The toy bricks have a trick, they play with your eye. Your eye tries to make sense of the portrait, and it’s precise but not quite precise. So your eye keeps adjusting, constantly searching. You don’t realize it, but subconsciously your eye is trying to help your brain recognize the image. It creates uncertainty, and anything that creates uncertainty challenges our mental judgment.
In Last U.S. Soldier Leaving Afghanistan (2022), you recreated a powerful image of the final U.S. service member leaving Kabul, captured with a night vision camera. What draws you to specific images like this, and how do you decide on the themes for your work?
I saw this photo in the news and thought it would be interesting to explore. With toy bricks, I’m not sure what the result will be. This image seems completely green at first, but if you look closer, it is not totally green, and you see the result using the toy bricks where a few greens and blacks are used to recreate the image. It’s more like a language—the digital process, the language of artificial intelligence. It goes beyond human judgment, using logic and scientific certainty in a brutal way. AI has its own logic, which is convincing but also harsh. This creates a manifesto of something humans can’t replicate. That’s the beauty of AI, though many artists use it wrong, just trying to make something amusing.
Can you tell me more about choosing the toy brick as a medium and the process that led you to start working with it?
I start by collecting images that interest me, and then, with my team, we work on a regular computer—we don’t use high-tech equipment. Funny enough, for a complex show like this, we only use about 40 colours in total. Each work uses about 20 colours. It’s interesting because if you stand in front of the portrait, you can count the colours—there are only a few. Changing the orientation of the toy bricks creates different possibilities, and your eye will perceive it differently.
Why toy bricks?
It's a long story. I first started using toy bricks for a show in San Francisco called Trace (2014), which consisted of 175 portraits made from LEGO bricks. These were portraits of individuals who had been imprisoned or exiled for their political beliefs, displayed on the floor of the New Industries Building at Alcatraz Prison. The show explored notions of freedom, and because the prison is a landmark building, I couldn't hang the portraits on the walls, so I placed them on the factory's bare floor. As I worked on this project, I realized the images I had gathered from various prisons in Russia, North Korea, or China—images that were blurry—didn’t meet the level of clarity I wanted. I thought, “This quality isn’t good enough.” So, I decided to use toy bricks to bring more definition to each image, making them clearer and adding cultural context to represent the countries these individuals came from.
Some of your works use the Danish brand LEGO, while others incorporate 'fake' versions. Could you tell me more about the choice of using these as parameters?
For large projects, like Water Lilies #4 (2022), I often need around 100,000 pieces. When I first approached LEGO to place such an order, they refused, saying, “We cannot sell to you.” When I asked why they explained that, “By policy, we don’t sell the works for making political statements.” I told them, “This is a very political statement. Do you even realize that?” In response, I took the LEGOs I had and flushed the bricks down a toilet and signed it “R. Mutt, 2015”. I shared this gesture on social media in 2015, sparking widespread discussion. [This is a reference to Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain (1917), one of the earliest readymade artworks. Duchamp’s signature, “R. Mutt,” was a playful pseudonym that subverted artistic norms, likely inspired by the Mott plumbing company and the German word armut (poverty)]. Soon, over twenty art institutions and countless individuals started donating LEGO bricks to me, even setting up collection boxes in their basements. It became an art movement. Eventually, LEGO apologized and reversed its policy. Around the same time, I was preparing a major exhibition in Australia, Letgo Room (2015), using the donated LEGO bricks highlighting works of political activists like Julian Assange. I also began sourcing LEGO replicas from a Chinese company, which offered the same colours at a lower cost and could deliver millions of pieces almost immediately. I needed a language for the work, and I was struggling to find the right one. I had given up painting.
Why did you give up painting?
I hate the smell of paint. Think about it; at a show like this one, the paint would be so fresh that you can barely walk in because of the smell. And I don’t like the brush either. It's too personal, too stylistic. I wanted a material that was more industrial, detached from my personal taste. Toy bricks felt more like a game. Over time, as I did more museum shows, curators came back to me saying that the walls were always empty, and it was just large sculptural works. So, I thought, okay, I’ll do some wallpapers. But then I realized that's not enough. People can’t really collect wallpapers. Yes, it’s made by someone else. We send them a clear design for each pixel, and they assemble it precisely. When it comes to galleries and museums, that's where I see my work. But I don’t live with it. I never see my work in my studio. I’m not a self-indulgent person. I think the work is great, but once it’s finished, it should belong somewhere else—maybe a restaurant or somewhere people can interact with it. You could put these toy bricks portraits in your shower because they can’t get ruined. [Laughs] I can design showers, custom-made showers… Nudity and whatever.
And what about FAKE Design, the architecture and design studio you established in 2006?
We had the office for many years. It was me and two other friends. We collaborated with Herzog & de Meuron on the design of the Beijing National Stadium for the 2008 Olympics. We did about 60 projects, and then I decided to stop… Architecture is a challenge, but with very limited possibilities and resources. There are too many predefined parameters: who hires you, what it’s used for…and if you don’t follow these, then it just becomes a kind of little art, and that’s too easy. Still, if you think of the toy bricks as an example, limitation is the best condition and parameter for design and creativity.
What do you want people to see when looking at your work?
Art needs surprises—it’s about breaking the rules, not performing within rigid boundaries. Normally, you become known by repeating the same formula. I want to subvert that—I want to surprise myself. People are still trying to explain works—like Rothko’s. Today, his works seem so dull, but people keep insisting on their greatness. To me, that just shows how flawed our judgment can be.
Surprise or provoke? Is there such a thing as too much provocation? Do you ever create something and decide it’s not convincing?
Provocation is tricky. Often, it’s just an attitude and not truly successful. You can’t just create something and expect it to be convincing. If it’s not, you have to destroy it. So far, I have been pretty convinced. [Laughs] Of course, there might be a day when I lack energy or feel the language of a piece isn’t right for the idea.
It seems like you trust your intuition a lot.
Yes, it’s the only thing worth trusting. When something comes from within, and you believe in it, that’s when you can make meaningful work. It’s a game; you have to challenge yourself. I create to surprise myself because I’m very self-critical. Pleasing others is far easier than pleasing myself.
You certainly do please others—galleries, museums, institutions. What are your thoughts on the art market and these systems?
We have to work within the system; we can’t just retreat to the mountains or cross rivers without bridges. Life is short, and its meaning is elusive. By engaging with the system, we test our abilities and confront challenges – often even more challenges than we would outside of it.
Challenges from being in the system?
Exactly. The system is the hardware—museums, collections, art fairs, galleries—but it’s meaningless without the software: culture, critical thinking, and redefining our time and aesthetics. The art market? It’s just a basket collecting fruits at the fresh market. [Laughs] That’s all it is. But you don’t need the market to enjoy a fresh bite of fruit—you can pick it straight from the tree by the river.
Yet much of your work—like Human Flow (2017), your moving documentary on the global refugee crisis filmed across 23 countries—isn’t for the market.
No, it’s not. It’s for me. It’s about my curiosity, my judgment, my need to understand the culture and what’s happening in the world. Why do people have to lie, kill, or be displaced? Why do these things happen? For me, it’s essential to understand human behaviour and uncover what’s really going on.
Art as a form of activism?
I wouldn’t call it art activism—I would call it Humanism. It goes beyond just art or activism. It’s about standing up for what makes us human. Too often, we get boxed into labels that diminish our true nature. For me, it’s about our mental state, what it means to really live, and the joy of discovering things. If we fail to defend the essence of life, we fail entirely. Success, then, becomes pointless—you are just a “successful failure.” And is being a successful failure any better than being an unsuccessful one? Resistance is hard, but it’s an obligation to speak out. Not just to convey a message but to affirm one’s integrity as an individual. By expressing yourself honestly—even if it hurts, even if it kills—it gives meaning to being alive. I have come close to being killed more than once. But I’m still here. And as long as I’m alive, I have to make use of it.
With the U.S. elections so close, how do you feel about the current political climate in America? I can't help but think of your Study of Perspective series (1995-2003), where you photographed the middle finger directed at symbols like the White House, Capitol Hill…and the Trump Tower.
It feels surreal. As an outsider, it’s not really for me to say, but after spending twelve years in the U.S., I have some perspective. The United States is the most powerful and influential state – no one can match it. Certainly not China, at least not yet. But the U.S. is starting to feel threatened by China’s rise, which challenges its dominance and can’t be stopped. With its long history, strategic thinking, and one-party system, it operates steadily. Elections in the U.S., by contrast, bring constant change and assumptions that seem almost ridiculous sometimes. But China will keep advancing regardless.
How was New York when you lived here from 1981 to 1993?
I know every corner, every street—nobody walked the city more than me. Coming from a communist society, arriving here felt completely mad. It still does. This is the city of capitalism—beautiful and powerful, but also full of the most desperate and difficult situations. It took me twelve years to decide to go back to China. I didn’t think the city needed me. I was a student with no money, poor English, and all those challenges. I wasn’t a fitting person – an outsider. And being an outsider for twelve years is not so nice.
You didn’t exactly become an insider in China either, did you?
I’m an outsider there too. But my father was sick, which became my excuse to return to China in 1993. I lived there and in 2015, I got my passport confiscated and was detained for 81 days before I was able to leave again. Since then, I have stayed outside. When the high-ranking officers gave me my passport back, they were very sincere and said, “Weiwei, this time we will let you go, but remember, we can always take it back." Some of these officers grew close to me during my detention, telling me, "Weiwei, we have never met anyone like you. Talking to you is the greatest joy of our lives." We used to spend hours talking – about surrealism, Dadaism and beyond…
From this to now living in Portugal?
Yes, I am building a studio there, but I don’t even think I need it anymore. I’m almost 70, travelling here and there… Why would I need a studio? I don’t really need to do more work. I do it because there is a demand, and I have to survive. I’ll never do a show without new work. For me, making something new is about learning, being challenged. Otherwise, why repeat?
One last question about politics and the crisis-as-usual world around us. We talked about the Middle East earlier, and I wanted to hear more from you on this.
War must stop, and we need a ceasefire. In the 21st century, any political or intellectual idea that fails to communicate is a failure. It’s simple: ceasefire and stop the war. Do not bully.
Can we even do anything about it at this point?
That’s the problem. We have these strongmen politicians who deceive everyone. We are not even truly democratic. The U.S. is the worst form of democracy, and other countries are no better. Power and strong interests dominate, and they always win.
What can we do?
We just have to say, “No, you can win the world, but you cannot win me.”
And if we all do that, then maybe…
After winter, there is spring. Maybe the snow will melt, but who knows? Still, we have no other choice. Living every day is an act of resistance. Otherwise, why do we wake up? Why do we keep going? There’s always meaning behind it.
Interview by Ibrahim Kombarji
Photography by Erik Tanner