Hidden in the basement of a gated residential community on Huashan Lu resides one of the more subversive art exhibitions in China: The Shanghai Propaganda Poster Art Center. In order to access the museum, you must explain your purpose to a guard, who will then hand you a small card with a map of the buildings covered with cryptic arrows that eventually lead to a small entrance at "Building 4." From there, a dingy elevator takes you down to the basement where you and a few other foreigners discover Mao's world of propaganda poster art.

Covering every inch of three rooms, propaganda posters and other paraphernalia assert the reality of the recent past and of Mao himself. In Shanghai it is rare to encounter a native willing to converse about Mao, or about politics in general, a fact that lends a surreal quality to the years 1949—1976.

When first questioned, the curators insisted that financial reasons dictate the museum's underground location. Given the fact that the thousands of pieces from this era belong to a single collector, Yang Pei Ming, it seemed unlikely that budget problems forced this exhibit below ground. Upon further inquiry, one curator admitted that although China is now "open" and this museum operates within its legal rights, it's savvy to keep a low profile when dealing with such a controversial subject. To ensure that the museum remains open, the collector shies away from mainstream tourist spots and relies on being sought out rather than advertising.

Like most strong leaders, Mao emerged at a time in China's history when external oppression and internal conflict combined to create a desperate need for unity and of single-minded purpose.

One way to affect this mental shift was through art. Mao insisted that all Chinese artists participate in painting propaganda posters, which initially offered positive reinforcement to a disconsolate people. However, during the 30 years—that China remained closed, the tone and content of the posters shifted from Mao's desire to strengthen the country to an apparent desire to boost his own image. Because surviving posters are rare—most were destroyed after the Cultural Revolutionand this particular collection is privately owned, the museum offers a small slice of propaganda rather than a representative subset.

Posters painted during the early years of Mao reveal considerable artistic freedom. Western stylistic influences and colors infiltrate the posters and the artists signed their names to the works. However, subject matter from these first few years embraces violence and gore as a means to unify the population.

A poster from 1950 called "Resist U.S. and Support Korea," calls on the Chinese populus to the assist the Soviet occupation of North Korea and help communism spread throughout the entire country. A proportionally gargantuan Chinese soldier, flanked by dozens of zooming Chinese fighter jets, reaches one leg from mainland China onto a barely visible South Korea. The King-Kong sized foot sends American troops scattering from the country. Another rendering calls for resistance to U.S. support of South Korea and depicts the Korean population as a boar-like creature draped in an American flag that has a "$" where the stars should be. This artist makes the visual claim that the South Koreans, too beast-like and ignorant to think clearly, find themselves draped in "capitalist-pig" American garments.

Some of the later 1950s propaganda posters depict less violent, more bucolic scenes of everyday life. After 5-7 years of the Mao regime some of the internal and external disorder had stabilized and many artists were commissioned to produce scenes that promoted scientific and technological advancement as well as philosophically-minded posters that extolled the virtues of a fictional Marx, Lenin, Mao triumvirate.
During these years, the posters also reflect China's sense of triumph in isolating itself from the rest of the world. A 1955 poster called, "Looking for the Dead Outlet" depicts a middle-aged blond man wearing a black tie that says, "U.S.," attempting to breach Chinese borders. The man precariously crosses the ocean on a flimsy piece of wood: he sweats, he flails, he fails.

By the 1960s the artistic focus had shifted to unabashed promotion of Mao. Additionally, by this time all Western artistic influences were shed in favor of Russian styles, and ultimately, a distinct Chinese style. Artists' names and personal touches are noticeably absent from posters created in this decade. Printed and distributed by mass organizations with simple designs, the posters had all but ceased to function as "art."

Why are the Chinese so reluctant to talk about the leadership of the past? Does this refusal to talk about such a significant 30 years reflect embarrassment at the past or an attempt to guard quiet support of those years? Even if the name "Mao" does not frequent the lips of the current Chinese population, his shadow exists on every bill passed between hands in exchange for food and clothing, and many of his ideas and ideals permeate the country that has since become open.

As hushed as it remains, the Shanghai Propaganda Poster Art Centre recalls what should be an unforgettable period in Chinese history. On his web site, collector Yang Pei Ming notes: "each poster exhibited here is a piece of art with history when all the people in China sacrificed for the greatness of one person." While the museum's founder writes "shame will it be to forget the recent past," the curator noted that just 20 years ago, such a museum would have resulted in imprisonment.

-Melanie McGanney


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