When young artists talk about their work, one gets increasingly the impression that you were actually a walking private Museum, from the whole of the staff speaks staff, art historians, Art dealers and the press Department. To evaluate the own Actions in a professional manner, and to defend with a lot of diskursivem salt against every attempt at an open conversation at eye level, you learn today at the art College. So many words, you have to do what you think you want to, you can actually also equal to their own art criticism writing.

Kolja Reichert

editor in the Feuilleton section of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Sonntagszeitung in Berlin.

F. A. Z.

The better you can hear, if someone told you that he had absolutely no Plan, neither for his work nor his life. That he did not understand at all what is going on in the art world, with their “rules” and “trumped up allegations”. That his low-income parents to him, as he didn’t make the graduation, and out of pure helplessness from Hong Kong to Australia sent, where he graduated without any deeper reason, a Multimedia Design studies, and then, back in Hong Kong, jobs in a print shop and to make a TV Studio, which were so depressing that he began to be gloomy short stories to publish full-bound, lonely figures on a Blog that nobody read. And then, after he had lost because of an economic downturn, the Jobs and started the stories to colorful animated films to expand on the video platform Vimeo to upload, suddenly, MTV had contacted him and a Clip ordered, and then Prada. And then the Guggenheim Museum in New York, of which he never heard, had, why, he thought at first: funny Name.

And now the 34-year-old Wong Ping sits in his first institutional solo exhibition in the Kunsthalle in Basel, and so open-hearted and unstrategisch his ignorance (“I don’t know the value of my work”), and that the suspicion arises that this Story is from the naive Outsider-Nerd even a particularly savvy mesh, in order to bring the heart to melt. Or, what is of the heart after the Look of his films left. The jump through your unleashed colouring in the eye, bright primary colour contrasts, and the forbidden gradients from Yellow to Green and Orange to Pink. And by the glupschigen figures from Oskar Schlemmer’s “Mechanical ballet” by computer of the eighties games could be moved, and then, in pixels, of the lava swell. They are institution of the frivolous Alternative to the major Bauhaus commemorative. If you look on Wong’s screens, LED towers, and screens as in the glowing Ovens.

Inside of it then the impotent husband in the closet, puts the Finger in front of the mouth: “Schschsch”, his wife will receive just a Free. Since you do not have enough of their sex toys, he agreed to their request to engage in Prostitution. A blackmail of the police officer is for the narrator to identify the figure, until it swings open suddenly to revenge and shaming campaign, including castration, anal sex and poisoning by farts.

the Moment, wait with your judgment a bit.

A greiser father had in his apartment room for son and son-in-law make daughter. The operates from a home a Online-Shop in which the father-in-law, after he stole her moist panties out of the bathroom, to cover up the same panties reordered. Forced to choose between VHS porn and drugs for his Dying reclining woman, the way he throws the old cassettes, to which a young woman explains to him that he had to pull the tapes out, and each part to be sorted into the appropriate recycling containers: “your life is soon to end, but the earth still has a long time.” Finally, he finds himself with amputated legs in a Online cemetery for his son-in user name and password to forget.

Everything is to be sealed in Wong’s films, the characters, even the language of the administrative speak to, always have too little space, and it occurs to you is always a violence that is too big to you at all in the view to get, and mostly in the form of a woman, like the Christian lover, the lonely Bodybuilder with the Stiletto in the eye ausbohrt, and then the child of someone else in a plastic bag handed over. But the figures are closer to a place on back in self-talk and find it in some perverse reversal of the guilt and shame of her happiness, what she’s doing, of course, for salvation is from the outside inaccessible.