夏意兰，毕业于上海戏剧学院戏剧文学专业，并于巴黎文化艺术管理学院深造文化产业管理。曾先后就职于中法政府文化、旅游、教育等相关部门，现为上海得译文化艺术交流咨询有限公司负责人，致力于推动发展中法文化艺术交流工作。
保罗?德沃图（Paul DEVAUTOUR），曾任法国布尔日国立高等艺术学院院长，法国尼斯国立美院教授，马赛艺术学院“无相学院”研究生导师。2008-2023年期间，担任上海离岸学院联合研究项目“创造力与全球化”负责人。该项目由法国南锡国立高等艺术与设计学院发起，联合法国各大国立美院共同参与，中方合作院校为上海视觉艺术学院。1984-2004年期间，作品参加众多展览，合作画廊包括巴黎桑塔画廊等。其作品被多家公共机构收藏（巴黎蓬皮杜艺术中心、日内瓦现代艺术博物馆、巴黎国家现代艺术基金会及法国各地区现代艺术基金会等）。
XIA Yilan a étudié l‘écriture de scénario à l’Académie de théatre de Shanghai et la gestion culturelle à l‘IESA arts&culture à Paris. Elle a travaillé au consulat fran?ais de Shanghai pour la promotion des échanges universitaires franco-chinois. Elle dirige DeYi Culture Consultants， qui accompagne les projets interculturels entre la France et la Chine.
Paul DEVAUTOUR a été responsable de l’école offshore à Shanghai， programme de recherche ”création et mondialisation” de l‘école Nationale Supérieure d’Art et de Design de Nancy， de 2008 à 2023. Il a été auparavant enseignant à la Villa Arson à Nice， coordinateur du Collège Invisible à Marseille， et directeur de l‘école Nationale Supérieure d’Art de Bourges. De 1984 à 2004 il a réalisé de nombreuses expositions et son travail a été représenté par plusieurs galeries， notamment Chantal Crousel à Paris. Ses oeuvres figurent dans de nombreuses collections publiques (Centre Pompidou Paris， Mamco Genève， Fonds National d‘Art Contemporain， Fonds régionaux d’art contemporain).
Art， of course， can take place anywhere. But so accustomed have we become to encountering art in places devoted to declaring it to be art， or performing it and showcasing it as art — be they museums， galleries， sculpture parks or what have you — that when art crops up elsewhere， let’s say in a bustling bazaar in an urban centre， we tend to see it under very different auspices， if we see it at all. Even if the art is not deliberately hidden amongst the cell phones， kitchenware， cleaning utensils， herbs， spices and fresh vegetables， we may well not see it as art. In the course of modernity， art has largely become context specific， rather than context compatible. We might say that outside of the declarative frame upon which art has become reliant， art loses its self-evidence; its coefficient of specific visibility (which allows art to look specifically like art rather than a mere object or action) becomes impaired， as it becomes relatively compatible with its surroundings. In the highly competitive attention economy of a bazaar， where everything is seeking customers’ attention， we may well see whatever it is， but only incidentally as art.
Walking through the long halls of the bazaar， looking for a gallery， without any idea what it might look like， passing by tiny stores next to tiny stores. Took some dark photos of a bicycle in front of a rice shop. A photo of a long， blue-shadowed pathway between shops of golden hanging things， dried things， piled things， household things. Stopped in a brightly-lit part of a long， narrow corridor， overflowing with stacked items for sale. Sat down on something and took out some paper and a small paint set. A sign looked interesting. Did a painting of it. Not sure which stall was the gallery， still not exactly sure what to look for. Painted the letters， without being able to read them， simply because of their shape and the colors (yellow and red) and the way the letters moved like calligraphy， though the sign was plastic.
It was precisely to test their intuition that ‘compatibility’ had replaced ‘specificity’ as the key operator of contemporary art practice that Paul Devautour and Xia Yilan developed their extraordinary Bazaar Compatible Program as a kind of full-scale thought experiment， which for six years they operated in a vibrant Shanghai market， as a kind of test site for what they refer to as ‘non-declarative’ and ‘bazaar compatible’ art， hosting some 152 projects in the stall they leased between 2011 and 2017. The art-historical importance of their initiative is noteworthy; and it is inversely proportionate to the artworld attention it received while it was running (since it operated under the radars of the artworld attention economy)， which is precisely what makes DeYi Studio’s publication so essential as a vector to bring into the broader conversation an initiative which prefigures a new modus operandi for art beyond the exhibition format.
Years later， talking to Yilan， it turns out that she and Paul walked through that bazaar all the time， since it was close to their house， and one day they saw a for-rent sign， which is how they got the idea to lease it and show art there， undeclared， in the bazaar alongside all the traders. Since it was close to their house， it was easily accessible， within walking distance. Local. Available. And from this they invited artists to use the space. They gave them a key. The artists installed or performed or watched or waited or hung things and talked with the neighbors and shared the space of the bazaar. With art and with selling and with doing and shaping and making some noise. Or some color. Some strangeness and some fun and bringing unexpected experiences into the busy space of the bazaar. All the invitations and the program’s very longevity created conversations and relations， and the shoe vendor had opinions on which artworks he liked， which he didn’t.
And later， too， it emerged that the sign that became a painting that day did not belong to a merchant in the bazaar， was not linked to any of the shops along the alleyway， but stemmed from an invitation years before when an artist called Clément de Gaulejac had came to the Bazaar Compatible Program and installed the sign a few stalls down， where it had remained ever since. It was the one and only thing that became a watercolor that day in the bazaar， who knows why. Interesting that the space of the gallery in the bazaar had so blurred the delineation between art and merchandise， between looking for art and looking for a pot — yet the spontaneous temptation was to record the record of an earlier artist making a sign.
In the atmosphere of a bazaar， one might not expect to see any art. But suppose one knew there was some art there; one just didn’t know what exactly it was， nor exactly where. At least four scenarios are possible. 1. One fails to see any art whatsoever， only non-art， the art being incorrectly assimilated into the category of non-art. An understandable， albeit boring， case of indiscriminateness. 2. One correctly distinguishes between the art and the non-art. An improbable but equally boring scenario only likely to befall the experts of art administration. 3. One fails to see any non-art at all and sees everything as art， since the very suggestion that there is art somewhere casts a kind of invisible glow on everything. This is definitely a more felicitous scenario， as it draws attention to the transformative potential of art. 4. One sees the art as non-art and the non-art as art. This scenario of inverted recognition is by far the most amusing and thought-provoking， since it underscores that art is not something given but merely a cluster of context-compatible properties， energies， and stories. Indeed it reveals that the very distinction between art and non-art is misplaced， and that art is entirely incidental. We knew there was art in the cathedral. In the bazaar， there just happens to be more art， incidentally.
Stephen Wright Tamarind Rossetti
Artistic Directors， Künstlerhaus Stuttgart
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