Beijing-based artist Feng Mengbo’s latest solo show, “Museum,” was a tightly curated installation of 12 vertical vitrines arranged in two parallel lines. In appearance, they are similar to the arcade gaming machines of the 1980s, which Feng collects—he is enamored with their simple joystick controls and brightly colored Bakelite buttons—and has used in his early interactive works. However, there are no controls on the static displays of “Museum,” and no interactivity. Feng has long been regarded as the father of digital contemporary art in China, and was one of the first to appreciate the potential of making art with computers. But there was none of the pizzazz of computer games in “Museum,” other than a solitary machine running Long March: Restart (2008) as a nod to the artist’s previous achievements.

The boxes possess a dour and ascetic severity as though appropriated from the darkest recesses of a museum. Over several months in 2010, Feng visited the rundown and soon-to-close Shanghai Natural History Museum, taking dozens of photographs of the dusty neglected exhibits, broken display cases and remaining dioramas. When the institution finally went under, Feng continued his visits clandestinely, climbing over fences and through windows to gain access. (This resulted in the 2012 exhibition “My Private Museum,” which presented a set of lenticular prints that documented the artist’s intrusions at the abandoned location.)

Each box at Shanghai’s MadeIn Gallery, which was about the size of a large computer terminal, contains a brilliantly illuminated diorama compiled from what are essentially playthings. One work, Erotic Prints of the Ming Period (2017), stood out with its erotic shenanigans of the tiny figurines in flagrante delicto. Most of the other model figures, cars, buildings and paraphernalia create imaginative fantasy scenes that are interrupted by short, pithy captions.

Some of the inscriptions are amusing and nonsensical, some are chillingly ironic and need to be deciphered. Many are redolent with political satire. Flood Fighting and Rescue (2017), which shows disaster relief teams surrounded by their equipment, is based on factual accounts of Jiangnan’s floods in 1998. The accompanying caption, with its propaganda overtones, is sourced from Baidu Baike, the web-based Chinese language encyclopedia, and trumpets the heroism of local children who took to “metal boat devices with fearless heroism” to rescue flood victims.

Middle East (2017) shows toy American soldiers facing off against Taliban fighters wearing Pakol hats, overlooked by the iconic statue of Saddam Hussein, which was toppled by American troops in 2003 shortly after they swept through Baghdad. The diorama’s caption bitingly quotes the Code of Hammurabi, which dates back to 1754 BCE and is one of the oldest deciphered writings in the world: “If anyone is committing a robbery and is caught, then he shall be put to death.” This could be read as a dire warning for America to keep its hands off the region’s oil resources.

“Museum” was more than just a satirical and ironic purview chock-full of oblique political statements by Feng. It was a melancholic reflection on the nature of life, on the passage of time, and on mankind’s relationship with the world. It was about the soft metaphorical coverlet of nostalgia deeply situated in the artist’s psyche. Feng’s dioramas form a conceptual thread that link up with his first interactive installation (and China’s first computer-based artwork), My Private Album (1996), which stitched together familial ephemera to present an experience that was shared by many Chinese families.

Feng was born in 1966, just as the Cultural Revolution was kicking off. Regarding his childhood, the artist said by email, “Everything was theatrical and imaginary . . . what I played with as a child I used in later projects.” Feng has carefully retained the toys he had in the 1960s and ’70s, and many of them appear in “Museum.” Last year, when I visited his studio home in Beijing, some of these model figurines were on display, including several of Feng’s idol, Bruce Lee. They have often resurfaced over the years, specifically in the video games that the artist has altered. In physical space, they appear in his “The Loudest is Silent” series of paintings created in 2015.

“Museum” links up with Feng’s earlier works, including My Private Album and those presented in “My Private Museum.” The artist’s memories can be recovered and preserved, and his captions add an element of tension and anxiety. Ultimately, Feng’s latest creations, just like other artworks in his oeuvre, are permeated with a playful sensibility predicated on nostalgia, memory and popular culture. 

Feng Mengbo’s “Museum” is on view at MadeIn Gallery, Shanghai, until July 2, 2017.

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