Edition: U.S. / Global

Prolific Chinese Painter Is Anonymous No More

Published: September 30, 1999

For 50 years, ever since the Chinese Communist Party came to power, a portrait of Mao has loomed over Tiananmen Square in the heart of the nation's capital.

To the countless millions who have passed under Mao's gaze, the portrait has seemed to preside over the nation unchanged, sturdy as a piece of Communist architecture, no matter how drastically China itself was being transformed.

Until recently, so much about Chinese officialdom was kept secret that even the circumstances surrounding the nation's most prominent painting were considered off-limits to the curious.

Now, in a harmless step away from the zip-lipped past, Wang Qizhi can openly admit that he painted the Mao portrait, for 27 years. (Damage from sunlight and smog requires the portrait to be replaced twice a year.)

Like so many other Chinese in the early years of the People's Republic, Mr. Wang labored behind the scenes like an industrious ant, following orders, suppressing all urge to show any individuality and keeping his mouth shut about what he did.

''I felt I was performing an important task for the good of the country,'' said Mr. Wang, now a slender, white-haired retiree of 72. ''There was no question about what I thought personally.''

Sure, Mr. Wang had pangs of pride when he rode through Tiananmen Square on his bicycle and glanced up to see his painting at the crown of the majestic Gate of Heavenly Peace.

Yet few of his acquaintances knew what he did, because anything to do with Mao or his image was so politically sensitive that he was ordered not to talk about his job. So Mr. Wang insists that his personal achievement was always subsumed by a sense of the burdensome importance of his daily task.

As the 50th anniversary of Communist rule approaches on Oct. 1 and many marvel at the vast changes -- for better and worse -- that China has experienced in a tumultuous half-century, people like Mr. Wang express appreciation for something that has not changed, but offers at least a thread of continuity.

To many Chinese, Mao's portrait is an important political symbol that reflects the strength and independence that China gained in 1949, even if it also embodies the nationalist pride that allowed China to fall into a leftist frenzy in subsequent decades with terrible damage to the nation's economic, social and political fabric.

Mao may have so single-mindedly pursued his vision of an egalitarian state -- and personal political power -- that he did not seem to care how many millions died or were displaced in his wake.

Yet even today, many more Chinese seem to admire Mao than to hate him. A remarkably large number are nostalgic for what they remember as the idealism and collective fervor of his era, despite the poverty they endured at the time.

Mr. Wang has no equivocation; he is a diehard Mao fan.

''He won't let us say a bad word about Mao in the house,'' said Mr. Wang's son, Wang Yan, who is a painter himself. ''We have to go outside if we want to curse Mao.''

The son does indeed curse Mao outside, seeing the political trauma of that era, which ended with Mao's death in 1976, as unnecessarily damaging many of China's finest traditions, like painting, the family avocation.

''I paint in the traditional Chinese style, like my father and my grandfather,'' he said. ''In Mao's era, traditional painting was criticized and banned. How can that make sense?''

Many painters, writers and academics were attacked by the far left during the 1960's, when radical politics engulfed Beijing. But Mr. Wang, the father, was protected by the authorities because there was suddenly so much demand for his work, since Mao's portrait was plastered all over the nation.

Every major workplace in Beijing wanted its own original, and they had to be painted by Mr. Wang or the one other man officially approved to produce portraits of the Great Helmsman.

''When things were really busy, he would paint the bottom half and I would paint the top,'' Mr. Wang said. ''We put a scaffolding across the middle. The wart on Mao's chin marked the halfway point.''

In 1966, after Mr. Wang had already been painting Mao portraits for 15 years, the Central Committee of the Communist Party decreed that the portrait be changed, apparently under pressure from radical Red Guards who objected that the partial side view of Mao showed only one of his ears, suggesting that he was listening to only one political faction.

In retrospect it may sound funny that members of an intensely intolerant group insisted that their leader be portrayed as even-eared. But the portrait that was adopted that year remains the version that has hung in Tiananmen Square for more than 30 years and is still there today.

Mr. Wang said he was deeply upset in 1989, though he was retired by then, when three men in the Tiananmen protest movement splashed paint on Mao's portrait, a move denounced by most student protesters at the time.

''Defacing the portrait is a crime,'' Mr. Wang said gravely. ''They should have received the harshest punishment.''

The three men -- a bus company employee, a journalist and a schoolteacher -- were sentenced to prison terms of 16 years, 20 years and life, respectively.

Lest it be overlooked, Mr. Wang pointed out that the task of painting a 20-foot-high portrait is not easy. The painter must constantly be stepping back far enough to take a look, and with such a huge portrait, Mr. Wang had to step back 100 feet. So he was constantly climbing and descending a scaffolding, for perspective.

This week, as China itself takes a step back to look at itself after 50 years, it may be hard to get a clear perspective or focus on a nation in the middle of wrenching change from a Communist system to a new, ill-defined one. As confusing as the outlook may be, Mr. Wang points out that material life is far more comfortable, just as painting the Mao portrait is.

''Today it's easy,'' Mr. Wang said. ''They have this big automatic contraption that moves up and down. Not in my day. We had it much harder.''

Photo: Wang Qizhi, who for 27 years was one of China's busiest painters, with one of his many Mao portraits. He had to keep his work secret until now. (Seth Faison/The New York Times)