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Ai Weiwei's work is an audacious blend of old and new, Western and Eastern, serious and irreverent. He has translated the readymade into a new artistic language, fusing neolithic pottery, fourteenth-century doors and seventeenth-century temple beams into surprising, at times shocking sculptures. He has documented his disdain for authority by giving the finger to the Tiananmen in Beijing, the Reichstag in Berlin and the White House in Washington. And he has captured the mundane urban sprawl of his home city in a 150-hour video (Beijing 2003) that even dwarfs Andy Warhol's notorious eight-hour Empire. What marks Ai as a truly twenty-first-century artist is precisely this multiplicity of roles: not just artist, designer and architect, but also curator, publisher, Web blogger and compass for an entire generation of Beijing artists. His outsize public persona is an integral part of his art. Although his outspoken views have brought him unwanted attention from the State, they have also generated excitement far beyond China's borders. Karen Smith's Survey traces the artist's remarkable career from his early days in Beijing to his discovery of the Western avant-garde in New York and his recent emergence as a celebrated sculptor and architect. In the Interview Hans Ulrich Obrist discusses with the artist his father's artistic training and subsequent exile and the effects they had on his own views on art and authority. Bernard Fibicher's Focus looks at the monumental light sculpture Descending Light (2007). Artist's Choice features a poem by Ai Qing, one of China's most important twentieth-century writers. Artist's Writings include entries from Ai's blog, seen by millions of visitors each year and celebrated for its thoughtful and candid remarks on the subjects of art, politics and culture. [editor summary]

A man falls to earth headfirst, cutting into the ground and resting there, feet up, like an unexploded bomb. A young woman humors a playful pet, an artist's head, as it bites the hem of her skirt. Li Wei, a young Beijing performance artist, has begun to pop up in the American media, and with images like these, it's no wonder. He received his earliest significant public exposure following an impromptu event at the 2000 Shanghai Biennial, in which he put his head through a hole in a mirror and attended (and was ejected from) a crowded reception. Recent pieces, including the public Green Gay Flag and the private It Would Not Die Away Like Such, have been both politically and sexually daring. This first monograph catalogues the artist's perceptive and often funny insights into China today and tomorrow. [editor summary]

Nauru, Tuvalu, Saint-Christophe-et-Niévès, vous connaissez ? Peut-être pas ! Des pays dont on ne parle pas, pourtant reconnus par l'ONU au même titre que l'Inde, le Brésil ou la France. Pour ces 192 pays que parcourt cet ouvrage, du plus grand au petit, à chacun le même nombre de pages, son hymne, son drapeau. Ce livre est un atlas photographique tel que vous n'en avez encore jamais vu. 1200 photographies vous font faire le tour du monde : des images en couleurs pour la géographie du décor et, pour la géographie sentimentale, les plus grands photographes du monde nous ont donné leur image en noir et blanc. L'objectif ? Au-delà des clichés, donner à voir l'humanité dans sa diversité ; sonder l'âme des habitants de la planète, leurs racines, leurs différences. Un tour du monde inédit. Un grand voyage ! [résumé de l'éditeur]

Annie Fratellini est un clown. C'est un auguste. D'abord, je suis certainement son meilleur spectateur - qui rit, qui pleure. Mais aussi, j'ai vu le travail précis, rigourreux, répété. Elle prépare. Elle construit. Je sais d'elle les enthousiasme, ls volontés, les certitudes. Et sa "gentillesse", celle dont parle Copeau dans ce livre.
Un clown ne peut ni mentir, ni tricher. Elle donne et partage. Cela commence avec son audace dans le miroir, ce partenaire exigeant et complice.
Je voudrais être un trait d'union entre elle et d'autres, par mes images saisies - avec un trac fou - dans les instants fragiles et intenses d'un rond de lumière.
Alors je ne suis plus seulement le spectateur qui applaudit, je descends moi aussi dans la piste, et je suis - peut-être - un contrepitre. [Résumé de l'auteur]