Art Spaces in Flux: The Balancing Act of 798 Art District
The 798 Art District, otherwise known as Dashanzi Art District, is located to the northeast of central Beijing and stands as one of China’s most prominent centres for contemporary art and culture. Nestled within the Chaoyang District – Beijing’s most cosmopolitan area and home to numerous international companies and foreign embassies – 798 is a vibrant collection of galleries, studios, cafes, restaurants, and bars. It regularly hosts exclusive events, exhibitions, and performances, making it both a dynamic cultural playground and a powerful tool for placemaking in a post-industrial context.[1] Despite its enduring struggle for survival, the district has withstood destruction amidst Beijing’s rapid urbanisation and has emerged as a prestigious status symbol used to promote Beijing as a global city and enhance China’s international image. This underscores the importance of cultural and ideological appeal in global placemaking and how these elements are strategically leveraged to elevate Beijing’s global stature. The district is a testament to how the formation of art spaces impacts the work produced and provides a lens through which to view the changing role of the artist in a commercial context.
Birds eye view of 798 District, 2008. Photograph courtesy of Ren Shulin.
Chinese contemporary artists have long faced political and social marginalisation due to their work frequently diverging from or challenging mainstream political ideology. Consequently, artists frequently live and work together in self-organised communities that operate outside of the conventional art system, reflecting the inception and growth of the contemporary art movement in China, which developed independently of official systems.[2] During the post Cultural Revolution era, numerous self-organised art groups emerged. These included art collectives in the 1985 movement, experimental art groups throughout the 1990s, and artist-run spaces and exhibitions in the 2000s led by the younger generation of Chinese artists. These self-organisation practices gave rise to many art villages and districts, where artists could practice amongst a community of like-minded individuals and mobilise resources and social influence. These areas were a strategic response to recurrent suppression by the Chinese government and constituted a re-evaluation of the institutionalised art system.[3] Among these art districts, 798 is the most celebrated, garnering recognition both across China and internationally. By effectively weaving its unique history into a broader campaign for modernisation, 798 has quickly become a defining symbol of Beijing and reshaped both local and global perceptions of the city’s evolving art scene.
Early 798:
Part of Communist Beijing’s inaugural five-year plan, and one of the first steps in the process of nation-building, 798 originated in the 1950s as a state-run industrial factory complex producing military equipment for the Chinese government and international trade. Financed by both the Chinese and the Soviets and designed by East German architects in the Bauhaus style, the district boasted low-rise buildings with high ceilings and sky lights that provided ample natural light. Its layout and form were successful, and many other factories were modelled off its design. Originally named the 718 District after its primary factory, the area stood as a symbol of pride for Beijing, reflecting the glory of factory life and exemplifying the successes of Communist China.[4] By the mid-1990s, the factories had become defunct, and the area began to attract numerous artists drawn by its affordable living costs and unique architecture, along with students and professors from the nearby Central Academy of Fine Arts. The spacious and easily adaptable interiors of the repurposed industrial buildings made them ideal for studios, workshops, and galleries, further contributing to the growth of 798’s artistic community.[5] Similarly, the Bauhaus style continues to define the visual identity of 798, imbuing the area with a distinctive historical and cultural atmosphere that sets it apart from other heritage sites in Beijing.
Architecture of 798. Photographs courtesy of Mei Yuangyi and Jennifer Currier.
As Chinese contemporary art continued to gain international prestige, 798 increasingly gathered attention, particularly following its first international exhibition in 2002. The number of galleries expanded rapidly, accompanied by a surge in restaurants, cafes, studios, shops and nightclubs, transforming the area into a flourishing real estate destination. At the core of 798’s rebirth was an evolving cultural sensibility shaped by shifting perceptions of wealth and status in China. As a new better educated, more socially ambitious and globally attuned generation emerged, the markers of success shifted. International travel became more accessible, and many had gained exposure to life abroad through study or work, leading to a growing appetite for global aesthetics and a deeper understanding of the soft power embedded in art, fashion, and design.[6] A defining feature of this new era was the shift in official attitudes toward contemporary art, which was no longer seen as a symbol of dissent but increasingly embraced as a source of international pride, as reflected in state-endorsed initiatives like the launch of the Beijing Biennial in September 2003. This was particularly notable considering that the shows of the earlier Shanghai Biennial were hold across dispersed and temporary venues, whereas Beijing was able to provide an entire, purpose-defined space for its Biennial in that of 798.[7]
While redevelopment plans were initially supported by government officials, they faced strong resistance from both local and international arts communities. At the same time, the influx of tourism during major events like the Biennial demonstrated the district’s growing economic value, making its preservation not only a cultural concern but a financial incentive as well. In 2006, the area was officially recognised as a Cultural Creative Industry Cluster thus receiving state protection. This coincided with Beijing’s preparations for the 2008 Olympics, highlighting 798’s pivotal role in elevating Beijing’s global profile.[8] Today, 798 is both a time capsule of China’s socialist heritage and a symbol of the international avant-garde – a delicate balancing act between past and present.
Aesthetics of Dissidence:
Like 798, the reuse of former industrial sites for cultural regeneration is a trend visible in many Western cities, such as London’s Bankside Power Station turned Tate Modern and Paris’s Musée d’Orsay, housed in a repurposed train station of the same name. Such transformations not only revitalise the image of the area in question but, particularly in the case of Beijing, contribute to reshaping broader perceptions of the city itself. The perception of the artist’s role also plays a significant part in how these urban transformations are received. In the tradition of the Western art historical canon, the artist is often romanticised as a solitary and visionary figure, whose work is driven by aesthetic expression and intellectual value. In China, however, the role of the artist is deeply informed by a fraught ideological legacy, rooted in a Maoist past where artistic production was inherently political – either mobilised as a tool of state propaganda or closely monitored for any perceived counter-revolutionary expression.
Though avant-garde stirrings began as early as the 1950’s, it was not until Deng Xiaoping’s economic reforms and opening-up policies in the late 1970’s that the long-standing period of social and artistic control began to ease significantly, ushering in a new era for Chinese artists. The sweeping socio-economic transformations of these years resulted in many artists using their work as a form of self-examination into Chinese culture and politics. Freed from the need to work in secrecy and subject to a growing convergence of Chinese and Western cultural influences, a new generation of artists emerged which was more experimental, open, and less bound by ideological constraints than those of previous eras.[9] As China entered the 1990’s, doubts arose about whether Western modern intellectual and conceptual vocabularies could truly serve as the saviour to reconstruct Chinese cultural identity and heal the spiritual fragmentation caused by profound sociopolitical change. Really, the complex challenges these artists were facing could only be resolved through the creation of new artistic ontologies.
The Cynical Realism and Political Pop trends emerged in response to this, reflecting the apathy and disorientation felt by many young Chinese artists amid this period of turbulent cultural redefinition. Both terms coined by Li Xianting in 1992, these styles came to be the most recognisable and emblematic expressions of early 798 aesthetics and identity.[10] To use Li’s original description of the characteristics of Cynical Realism and Political Pop: “The two are twin brothers in contemporary Chinese culture. They are both interested in the dissolution of certain systems of meaning and both attend to reality. Cynical Realism focuses on the senseless reality of the self, whereas Political Pop directly portrays the reality of dissolved meanings. Both adopt a comical approach yet are distinguishable in their sources of inspiration. Cynical Realism tends more to the experience of the artist’s surrounding reality, while Political Pop experiences reality within the expanded framework of society and culture.”[11]
The erosion of traditional value systems, precipitated by the influx of Western modern culture and the upheaval of the May Fourth New Culture Movement, prompted many young artists to abandon the idealistic realism of the Cultural Revolution in favour of this new visual language. With nationalism replacing Marxism as China’s dominant governing ideology, art was no longer the crystallisation of an effort to construct an ideal socialist environment. Instead, as these young artists confronted their relative powerlessness amid the marketisation of China, art became a means to explore the self and to examine both the mundanity and absurdities of life.[12] The visual language of this phase of 798 art is marked by a distinctive sense of apathy and sardonic humour, with both Cynical Realism and Political Pop employing exaggerated motifs and repetitive iconography as aesthetic veneers for incisive social and political commentary. In the works of artists like Fang Lijun and Yu Minjun, lurid colours and distorted smiling figures run rampant, their self-portraits reflecting the existential fatigue and disillusionment felt by many artists during China’s rapid sociopolitical shifts.
In his Great Criticism series (1993), Political Pop artist Wang Guangyi evokes the bold visuals of Cultural Revolution-era propaganda, merging its socialist realism with a Warholian sensibility. Figures are rendered against vibrant backgrounds of solid primary colours, adorned with logos from iconic global brands such as Coca-Cola and McDonald’s. By juxtaposing revolutionary iconography with commercial logos, Wang interrogates the complex tensions between China’s political history and its rapidly globalising present. As Li observes, “[Political Pop] was a turning away from the close attention paid to Western modern ideas and art […], a milestone indicating the starting point of Chinese modern art in a direction of its own choosing.”[13] Though Wang Guangyi, Fang Lijun and Yu Minjun are just few among many artists who pioneered these styles, both in Beijing and other parts of China, their work offers some of the most compelling examples of how these aesthetics emerged and were employed to explore themes such as ideaological disillusionment, the rise of mass consumerism, and the disintegration of collective identity in a post-Maoist, market-driven China.
Wang Guangyi, Great Criticism series, 1992. Courtesy of the artist.
798 Today:
As the influence and demands of global capitalism grow, it is unsurprising that the role and function of 798 will change with time. Art is no longer sacred in the onslaught of capitalism – what was once a government that championed mostly tradition-based work in the formation of national identity now promotes avant-garde art, albeit reluctantly.[14] 798’s identity has changed from a refuge for contemporary art, once orphaned and unmoored, to a place where more mainstream and globalised art dominates. The commercialisation of both the area itself and the work produced reflects bigger shifts in Chinese contemporary art, where the outward appearance of artistic openness is maintained, but its critical depth has become increasingly influenced by outside forces. Chinese artists in the 21st century are empowered, and in part safeguarded, by global exposure and consumer demand, as the cultural capital of art becomes a valuable asset in shaping China’s international image.
As a government-managed district, 798 faces the challenge of balancing authenticity with structure, particularly as its rapid commercialisation guides artists towards alignment with prevailing interests. Rising rents mean that in order to continue living, working, or exhibiting in the area, many artists must cater to potential buyers. While this shift offers greater access to resources and visibility, it often comes at the cost of exclusion from independent art circles, resulting in fragmentation of the community that initially defined the district and artists becoming isolated from the groups they once belonged to. This highlights how state support for the arts is closely linked to broader cultural positioning – the growing presence of market and state influences has reshaped 798 into a space where, as with many global art districts, economic priorities often take precedence over artistic integrity and collective creative belonging. As writer Jonathan Napack notes, “For artists today the question is whether they live in a real ‘place’ – reality as it is actually lived, in all its incompleteness – or in a kind of ‘placeless place’ modelled out of dogma, competing in games of cultural power.” [15] The growing presence of cafes and restaurants, and the decline of galleries and studios, reflects a broader transformation of 798 from an artist-led, production-focused space to one centred on consumption.[16] Likewise, the official sanctioning of the district suggests that similar recognition may be extended to other art villages that align with broader cultural and economic objectives.
Despite its grassroots origins, the district is now Beijing’s third most popular tourist destination after the Forbidden City and the Great Wall.[17] Therefore, the district continues to sustain the construction of the nation-state’s cultural identity, but its alignment has shifted – from solidarity with a fellow communist regime to the demands of global capitalism, a transition perhaps less utopian but equally unforgiving.[18] Set against a regulated environment of repurposed factories, the district offers a distinctive historical backdrop that preserves a collective memory from a pivotal moment in China’s socialist past. This layered sense of communist sentimentality, intertwined with ongoing urbanisation challenges Beijing’s typical preference for either ancient heritage or ultra-modern aesthetics.[19] 798 exists somewhere in between, bridging the city’s industrial legacy with the glamour and buzz of its cosmopolitan present. Napack’s description of the district echoes my own impression of 798 during a visit in the summer of 2024:
“Despite the trendy vibe, there was an appealing village-like feeling […]. Most factories are idle or converted into offices or galleries. There is little traffic by day, almost none at night. In the summer it can feel almost rustic – people dine outside at night, drinking and talking early in the morning, as poplar trees sway in the wind and cicadas hum furiously. All you’re missing is a moon and a mountain”.[20]
The heritage of Beijing’s temples and hutongs coalesce with its high-rise buildings and sleek architecture; in this way, 798’s appeal and value as a tourist destination lies in its fusion of romanticised visions of China with the dynamic aspirations of today’s cultural milieu. China’s long evolution – from folk traditions and dynastic rule, through early modernisation and socialist revolution, to the market-driven frenzy of today – is embodied in 798, a space where cultural nostalgia contends with a resolute drive toward the future, shaped by globalist ambition in the aftermath of cultural cataclysm.[21] While the growth and recognition of 798 may represent both progress and maturation for China’s art scene, it also raises concerns about the potential marginalisation of more experimental voices, as the district is often seen as a space where artistic expression is steered toward alignment with state-sanctioned narratives and institutional priorities.[22] In this context, the Chinese contemporary artist has transitioned from being a martyr for a greater political cause to a commodity, with 798 now functioning as a double-edged sword that embodies the tension between economic opportunity and artistic freedom. Ultimately, the district’s evolution reflects not only the resilience of artists, but also the broader struggle of creative communities worldwide to assert their voices within an increasingly globalised landscape of consumption.
References:
[1] Zhang Yue, “Governing Art Districts: State Control and Cultural Production in Contemporary China,” The China Quarterly 219 (July 2014), 831.
[2] Bao Dong, “Rethinking and Practices within the Art System: The Self-Organization of Contemporary Art in China, 2001-2012,” Journal of Contemporary Chinese Art: 84.
[3]Ibid, 83.
[4] Jennifer Currier, "The Creation and Establishment of Beijing’s 798 Art District," in New Economic Spaces in Asian Cities: From Industrial Restructuring to the Cultural Turn, ed. Peter W. Daniels et al. (Taylor & Francis Group, April, 2012), 187.
[5] John McCarthy and Yan Wang, Culture, “Creativity and Commerce: Trajectories and Tensions in the Case of Beijing’s 798 Art Zone”, International Planning Studies, 21, no.1, (2016), 7.
[6] Jonathan Napack, “New Frontier” in Beijing 798, ed. Huang Rui (Timezone 8 and Thinking Hands, 2004), 27.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Zhang, 835.
[9] Zhang, 830.
[10] Li Xianting, “Apathy and Deconstruction in Post-89 Art: Analysing the Trends of ‘Cynical Realism’ and ‘Political Pop,’” (1992), in Contemporary Chinese Art: Primary Documents, ed. Wu Hung (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 2010), 157-165.
[11] Ibid, 164.
[12] Li, 159.
[13] Ibid, 165.
[14] Richard Vine, “Why China, Why Now?” in New China, New Art (Munich: Prestel Verlag, 2011), 15.
[15] Napack, 31.
[16] McCarthy and Wang, 8.
[17] Currier, 191.
[18] Jeroen de Kloet, "Created in China and Pak Sheung Chuen’s Tactics of the Mundane," Social Semiotics 20, no. 4 (September 2010), 444.
[19] Currier, 199.
[20] Napack, 26.
[21] Vine, 10.
[22] Zhang, 844.