Originally conceived in Beijing in the 1990s, when advertisements were sprayed or pasted across the rapidly developing urban landscape by small private companies, colleges, and individuals seeking to get a phone number in front of consumers, Wang Zhiyuan’s work tapped into a collective desire for recognition. He hired, instructed, and directed two labourers to construct a wall and spray-paint his own advertisement: “157129667 Teach Lie.” The number invited passers-by to call and “learn” from the artist, only for them to be politely told he was “only joking.”

 

This can be seen as another brick in the walls of education, linking in a sense to Machiavelli’s mischievously poetic technique of ‘teaching upwards’ and sardonically teaching leaders how to lead. It's about teaching them to tell lies and telling lies to them himself.

 

Two decades later, Zhiyuan revisits the work in its second iteration, “Dictator Training Centre 独裁者培训中心”, which marks a significant shift in form and intent. Where "Teaching Lies" was a personal joke, centred around the artist’s own phone number, this new version is a collaborative undertaking. Developed with the staff of Passage Gallery, bricklayers, structural engineers, telecommunications teams, signwriters, and the audience, the work now embraces collective authorship.

 

Rather than claiming "Dictator Training Centre" as his own, Zhiyuan describes his role as simply providing the artistic “form.” The final work is intended as a truly participatory piece; one he hopes others may reuse or adapt. This development is reminiscent of the old story of Zhuangzi, who, while fishing, was asked by passing dignitaries if he would like to come and  lead their nation. He replied by questioning whether they still had a glorified and taxidermised turtle in the court, covered in fine garments and shrouded in incense. He then asked if the dignitaries would rather be that turtle, or a live one, flapping about in life and the mud. The dignitaries replied that of course they would prefer the later. So Zhuangzi smiled and went back to his fishing.

 

We are living in a moment vastly different from when the work was first staged. On a micro level, the rise of mobile phones and personalised media means people increasingly consume only the information they prefer. The benefit is customisation; the cost is fragmentation. With everyone receiving different information, meaningful conversation becomes harder. Friends, colleagues, spouses, parents, and children often find themselves speaking past each other. As Zhiyuan puts it, everyone seems to be a "little dictator," believing "I am always right."

 

On a macro level, we are now in a “post-globalisation” era, marked by the rise of populism and increasing polarization. These are fertile conditions for authoritarianism to grow. "Dictator Training Centre 独裁者培训中心" opens a space for reflection, an invitation to consider what the word “dictator” might mean in our present context. And whether it is better to be a dictator, or to be that turtle flapping in the mud.

 

Housed in Haymarket’s Prince Centre, a building home to several private colleges offering vocational-style syllabi, Passage Gallery presents “Dictator Training Centre 独裁者培训中心”, a truly democratic dictatorship experience."

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Arts Writer Michelle Wang in conversation with the artist, Wang Zhiyuan, on Dictator Training Centre 独裁者培训中心

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Michelle Wang (MW): 

You lived and made art in Australia for a long time before returning to China, and have since spent time between both places. I’m curious — how did returning to China after your Master's studies impact the creation of Teaching Lies originally? And even now, how does moving between these two cultures continue to shape your work? You have been described as having "a witness’s practice and thinking on 'Chineseness.'" What does that idea mean to you personally?

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Wang Zhiyuan (WZY):

Thank you for your thoughtful questions.

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At the end of 1989, I came to Sydney from Beijing. Eleven years later, at the end of 2001, I returned to Beijing. After spending 18 years there, I came back to Sydney in 2019 and have been here ever since. During this period, I was fortunate to experience two major historical opportunities: The first was the wave of Chinese artists going abroad after the "Reform and Opening Up" era. This coincided with the West’s strong push for globalization, during which Chinese artists overseas enjoyed the benefits of being accepted and “integrated” into Western societies.

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The second opportunity spanned from China's entry into the WTO in 2001 to around 2018 — the best period in China’s history for “integration into the world.” I happened to be living in Beijing during that time. Unfortunately, all of this now belongs to the past.

During these years, I experienced life and art-making in both Australia and China. The most profound realization I had was this: in Australia (and the West more broadly), because of language barriers and unfamiliar environments (I arrived in Sydney at the age of 32), I believe that almost all immigrant artists find it hard to fully integrate into local life (like novelist Milan Kundera described). Let alone "intervene" in it — we remain outsiders at best.

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As a result, Chinese artists (myself included) often adopted a strategy of referencing Chinese traditions in content (legends, scriptures, herbal medicine, motifs), while aligning with Western popular artistic styles in form. This made the work feel both "fresh" and distinct from local artists. For example, my 7 pieces of  work “Two from One” (1998) was collected by the National Gallery of Australia, and my 2000 graduate project “Fragments“ — consisting of 40 pieces — was collected by the Queensland Art Gallery | Gallery of Modern Art (QAGOMA). These both followed this hybrid strategy.

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However, after I returned to Beijing in 2001, the situation changed completely. As a Han Chinese living in a majority Han country, there were no issues of "multiculturalism." With time, through language and cultural immersion, I naturally became emotionally involved and could truly engage with the environment. This led to more reality-facing works like “Teaching Lies” in 2005.

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It’s interesting to compare the works I created in Sydney and those in Beijing. In Sydney, my works often contained Chinese or Eastern cultural elements and symbols; in Beijing, they did not. One approach conformed to the Western strategy of “multiculturalism,” while the other confronted the lived environment directly.

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During my Beijing years, aside from “Teaching Lies”, all my works essentially revolved around one central question: What does " situatedness " mean? For instance, in my 2013 work “Close to the Warm”, I was exploring this. From modern to contemporary art, Chinese artists have primarily been in a process of learning from the West — in both concept and materials. I believe the key is to transform what we’ve learned into our own language, so that the artwork can exist within local problems and environments, and even become part of people’s everyday lives. That is the meaning of “situatedness” and why I think art can survive — even thrive — in the long term.

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MW: 

What are your thoughts on the existence of galleries or interventions like Passage in Sydney’s art scene? And more broadly, how do you feel about contemporary Australian art and society today — is there anything you find particularly exciting, or anything you’re more critical of?

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WZY: 

The cycle of artwork — gallery — market is a structure that the global art world, including Australia, is familiar with and accepts. We are all used to it. But even as early as 2005 with “Teaching Lies”, I already wanted to step outside this cycle. Back then, I had a vague feeling that this art world had become a self-contained loop — a small, closed circle of self-amusement. I felt I needed to step out. But to where? I wasn’t sure yet. Still, many of my works since then have been attempts to explore and search for that direction.

In May last year, I received an invitation from Passage Gallery. After learning about their past exhibitions, I was genuinely pleased. It felt like the gallery also wanted to break out of that “closed loop.” I felt as though I had found new friends.

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MW: 

Tell me about how you curated “Dictator’s Training Centre” with Passage Gallery. Why did you choose to revive Teaching Lies now, and what does the new title suggest — either about the work itself, or the times we’re living through?

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WZY: 

The difference between “Teaching Lies” (2005) and the recent “Dictator’s Training Centre” is not only the subject matter. There is also a significant shift in the work’s structure. In “Teaching Lies”, I included my personal phone number in the work — it was, in a way, a personal joke. But this new work was created together with several of the organisers at Passage Gallery. They helped build the installation and now maintain a communication platform for the audience. The contact information on the work is the gallery’s, not mine. This excites me because it shows I’m no longer focused on “authorial rights.”

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So rather than calling this an artwork of mine, I would say I merely provided an artistic “form”. The final work is truly a collective piece, and that makes me very happy. In fact, I hope this format can be reused by anyone, in many places, to teach different “subjects.” That is the potential of art — to re-enter people’s lives and take on a role no other field can: to enable real communication.

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We are living in a time utterly different from the past. On a micro level: with mobile phones and the spread of personal media, people now receive only the information they prefer. The benefit is personalization, but the downside is fragmentation — everyone gets different information, and as a result, meaningful conversation becomes nearly impossible. Friends, spouses, parents and children — often all they can do is argue. Everyone seems to be a “little dictator” — believing “I am always right”.

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On a macro level: we are now in a “post-globalisation” era, where populism is increasingly visible across regions and nations, often through media manipulation. This is fertile ground for the rise of dictators. Polarisation will only worsen.

The “Dictator Training Centre” is meant to offer a space for conversation — for people to share and reflect on what “dictator” might mean in our current context.