The China Project

260 narratives I’m the principal character, so I can pull it all together. You might as well take on the role of the narrator, and I’m quite comfortable about that now. You once wrote that you have been both in front of and behind the camera, but you prefer the latter. With all of your skills as a photographer, what is it like to be your own subject? Are you able to offer up the ‘vulnerability and truthfulness’ that you aim to reveal in your portraits of others? Since you asked that question about truthfulness — no, actually. There’s a tendency for me to choose the more flattering, not the most revealing, pictures of myself — that’s human nature. I started behind the camera, a comforting position, and I thought I could be objective, and that the camera never lies — those sorts of dialogues were around in the ’70s when I started out. But the more I got into photography I realised that it was very subjective, and that the camera does lie, or the photographer can make the camera lie; it’s very much about making the camera tell your point of view. When I started to do performance pieces I metaphorically stepped in front of the camera: I showed myself and told a story. I’ve probably become more well-known as a photographer through my performances. I’ve observed that when you bare yourself to an audience, either verbally or emotionally, that’s what people come along to see. The performer wants applause for this, but applause is very bad for the ego I think; I’ve noticed that the performer in me is a needy person. When I used to work in the darkroom I was able to balance that by spending weeks in there when I didn’t see another person and I lived the life of a mole. That’s probably the true meaning of being in front of and behind the camera. The exhibition also brings in a series of objects that are of personal value, many of which have been collected or given to you on various visits to China and Taiwan. Your performance Objects for Meditation draws upon Taoism to talk about the beauty of such objects or everyday things. Can you talk more about the significance these objects hold for you? When I did Objects for Meditation , the actual starting point for that was a magazine interview about my ten favourite things. I found that I could actually use the objects to tell aspects of my life. I could put a ‘gay’ object in the pile of favourite things where I could signal that there was gay content in the piece without having to spell it out. It’s all part of a storytelling technique for me because I have already used photos that tell the story, and now I have objects that are telling the story too. They perform a similar function. Your meeting with teacher Yensoon Tsai in the 1980s began your embracing of your previously denied heritage, becoming, as your friends called it, a ‘born-again Chinese’. You then began a long-term project of researching and photographing the Chinese in Australia. Over the 20 years or so that you’ve been involved in that project, have you observed changes in the situation of being Australian–Chinese, or has it shifted your thinking about your identity? I’ll just mention gay identity, because people know that story. It’s probably easier to understand than cultural identity — that there are people who are gay, who were invisible, who were too scared to come out, who hid. During gay liberation people became visible, people became politicised, and opposite Alter ego, 2000 (from ‘GoMA self-portrait’ series) 2008 Digital print, ed. 2/20 / 55.2 x 70.9cm / Collection: The artist right Guan Yin, a statue given to me in Beijing, 1989 Ceramic / 36 x 15 x 10cm / Collection: William Yang Ink stone, given to me in Beijing, 1989 Stone / 1 x 17 x 11cm (irreg.) / Collection: William Yang