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Acclaimed critic and curator Li Xianting occupied a dingy dormitory with a gas ring in the corridor and communal bathrooms in the Eighties. Today he lives in a large home with 20ft ceilings, separate quarters for the housekeeper and a garden overgrown with creepers that scramble over sculptures worth thousands of dollars.

Mr Li admits to being anxious about the state of Chinese contemporary art. He refers discreetly to reports that some of Beijing’s premier names may be settling into a rut. This foremost critic knows of what he speaks. He was the doyen of contemporary art in China in the Eighties. His word of approval could make or break a young artist. Today, his influence has been tempered as the number of contemporary artists has exploded. But his views carry as much insight as ever and he is one of many who wonder whether the record-breaking prices reached at auction in the last few years may be distorting or diffusing talent.

A generation of would-bes are tempted into derivative works that they believe could be a passport to riches. Political repression may be less of a factor in stimulating the artists of China today than it was when Mr Li organised China’s first avant-garde show in 1989. That exhibition at the National Art Museum of China was closed after a day when one woman fired a gun as part of her installation.

Brian Wallace, an Australian, owns the Red Gate Gallery that was one of the first in Beijing to show contemporary art. He says: “There are fewer taboos but there are still some subjects that are out of bounds.” One of those is Chairman Mao. Images of the Great Helmsman are banned, for example, in the 798 District that houses probably the highest concentration of galleries in Beijing. Censors fear that depictions of national leaders may show a lack of respect.

Such a moratorium does not deter some artists from pushing beyond the limits set by the authorities. The record-setting oil by Yue Minjun, for example, takes its inspiration from the 1989 Tiananmen Square crackdown and could never be shown in China.

At a recent opening at the Xin Dong Cheng Gallery in 798 District, a bartender poured chardonnay and cabernet sauvignon for guests. Artists, many with heads shaved and in designer black, arrived in BMW and Mercedes SUVs. The girls air-kissed and squealed. The paintings by Chang Zongxian were clever portraits of some of his famous colleagues – including Li Xianting – in the style of the hagiographic image of Mao Zedong that was once de rigueur in every Chinese home and office. And then everyone strolled back to their cars or taxis to find a chic restaurant for dinner. Jane Macartney

Ai Weiwei

Ai Weiwei is one of the most significant cultural figures to emerge in China in the last three decades. From his participation in the Stars Group of artists, which paved the way for contemporary art in China during the late Seventies, to his involvement with Swiss architects Herzog & de Meuron in conceptualising that most iconic of Beijing buildings, the “bird’s nest” Olympic Stadium for the 2008 games, his influence is felt throughout the Chinese art world.

His early Beijing works mostly involve mutations of classical Chinese furniture, tables, and chairs with extra or inverted legs. Around this time he also enacted the photographic and performance work Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn, which consists of three images of the artist doing exactly that.

Later works have taken his appropriation of the “readymades” of Chinese antiques to new heights, notably Fragments (2006), a bizarre temple made of logs taken from destroyed Qing dynasty temples. Perhaps his most widely known “work” in China is his blog, a photographic diary read by nearly 10,000 people each day.

Unmask

Unmask, the group comprised of Kuang Jun, Liu Zhan and Lao Tan, are heroes to undergraduates at their alma mater, the Central Academy of Fine Arts.

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