Now internationally recognized as an outstanding modern artist, he has to his credit numerous solo exhibitions in major cities in Spain, and important exhibitions in other European countries. His recent exhibition in Taipei—the first in ten years- marked this year's special homecoming from marathon travels.
Dai has become well known for his adaptations of various common materials to art use-cloth, wood, bark, hemp, blades, rope, nails, even shoelaces. Very frequently, his associated paintings are compositions of simple line and pattern, distinguished by their bright colors and intense expression of the vocabulary of modern art. But the spirit of traditional Chinese water-and-ink paintings is discernible in his works, and most notably also, various textures of his homemade papers add unique tactile and other effects.
"Perhaps children more fully understand my work than the adults," Dai offers. "Children see things with the heart—feel rather than think. Adult sight is linked to each specific sense, prejudice, and educational aspect. In fact, that is a major problem for modern men: We think too much and feel too little and, constantly wielding our minds, we tend to be aggressive. And that makes the world a horror."
The spirit of Dai's art defies strict classification as either "traditional" or "modern"; indeed, "All contemporary works are modern," he holds, "no matter what their form. And modern works do not spring out of nowhere. They must have assimilated nutriments from traditional soils."
When he was still a student at the National Taiwan Academy of Arts, his fine arts mentor, Yang San-lang, guided him both in the course of his art and in his everyday life. Since Dai was quite poor, Yang offered him free board at his own home, requiring in return only that Dai sort out the piled manuscripts Yang's late father had left behind.
The elder Yang, who had just passed away before Dai moved in with the family, was an accomplished poet and horticulturist. Browsing through his papers, Dai was particularly taken with the old man's penchant for personifying everything in the universe in a constant effort to seek harmony with nature.
In subsequent years, Dai was to find his own basic artistic motivation in a passionate desire to communicate with nature: "When I set about working, my concern goes directly to the wind, trees, the water... nature. Not that nature exists simply in the wind or trees—they are the paths for my communication. Nature, of course, is a concept, not an object."
When Dai's school years were almost over, Yang San-lang finally told him: "I can't teach you further painting techniques, but perhaps I may be able to show you some rewarding ways to conduct yourself."
At that time, young Dai could not fully comprehend his teacher's intent, though the spirit was clear and edifying. His views on art only gradually came to maturity as he strove, alone in the earlier years, in a foreign land.
Right after his graduation, Dai himself became an instructor, and though pressing on with his own painting, found himself increasingly dissatisfied and aggravated. He knew he painted well, but could identify no unique, personal style nor overall attainment. At this rate, he concluded, he would never become an outstanding artist. He decided to go abroad, to experience the world, especially the country of Picasso, Miró, and Dali. And in 1976, at the age of 28, he left academic life and started wandering.
His originally-selected destination was Madrid. But hardly had he arrived, then he realized that his schooling there, as one of a group of Chinese art students, would be destructive of his prime purpose-to experience, in depth, a sharply different culture which had nourished great art. So he set off alone, roaming, with very limited capital, an even more limited knowledge of Spanish, and a profound ignorance of life in modern Spain.
The only Spanish book he had read was a Chinese translation of Don Quixote. He took it as a guide- bought himself a map, and followed "El Camino de Don Quixote (The Way of Don Quixote)." And in one year's time, he had traveled deep into Spain, visiting numerous small towns in remote areas. The frustrations and difficulties he encountered, his times of excitement and of personal agony, were expressed in his art. The paintings were, in effect, his diaries.
He became infatuated with Llera, a small town in northeastern Spain, and decided to settle down there, in the Emparda, a region that embraces both the Mediterranean and the Pyrenees. For centuries a crossroads of Mediterranean civilizations, it retains indelible traces of voyagers from early Phoenicia, of Carthaginians, Greeks, Romans, and Arabs. Though remote, Llera is not culturally isolated, but is a frequent site for artistic events and an international artists' colony.
Dai located a deserted hut on a suburban hilltop and scrounged wooden crates for furniture, to fit out his studio. He was so obviously destitute that an old lady living nearby dropped by periodically with gifts of food to make sure he didn't starve.
He first tried his hand at small oil paintings, and prints from engravings. Sometimes he would do Chinese water-and-ink paintings on hard-to-get Chinese suan paper. And in time, Dai's art drew attention, and he began to prosper.
Becoming increasingly intrigued with the possibilities for special surfaces in his art, Dai finally headed back to Taiwan to learn, from one of the few remaining old masters, the production techniques for traditional hand-made papers. And with the new knowledge, he established workshops in both the ROC and Spain and plunged into artistic experimentation. He tried numerous combinations of fibers-bark, wood chips, grasses, bamboo, hemp-soaking them in water, mixing them in varying quantities, racking, drying, and pressing them, producing papers of immense diversity.
So Dai's artistic creation now began with preparation of the surface materials themselves-the selection and processing of raw materials to produce particular qualities and textures. The final tints and overall effect of each ultimate work of art is decided in some part during the paper-making process.
Dai's art and his papers received special notice in European artistic circles. Important artists directly sought his unique papers for the ancient, primitive, or other qualities they might provide specific art projects.
In 1977, Pedro Dai's paintings were selected for an international Miró sketch-award exhibition. From then on, his works have been sought for major European art exhibitions and galleries.
In recent years, Dai has frequently returned to the ROC on visits to collect materials and do art research. At the outset of these trips, he was disturbed by the perceived tendency of local young artists he met to set their sights on fancy facades of success, while neglecting the hard processes and basic steps for attaining it. He once specifically expressed this regret in a symbolic painting with an unusually large flower blooming at its top ... and nothing beneath the flower to support it.
Recently, he has discerned a seminal change. Young artists, he says, now ask him how to express themselves in painting, rather than how to gain "success." His invariable response: "Our modern Chinese artists have done too little research into traditional Chinese painting. It's actually from the research works of foreign artists that we have rediscovered such techniques as shadowing, self-portrayal, depicting reflections, and forming perspective within the Chinese painting heritage. I strongly suggest that we better understand our own painting tradition and culture as the basis for better expression."
From a base of increased competence in their own ancient traditions, modern Chinese artists will find self-fulfilling enrichment in their contacts with other cultures, he asserts.