Ai Weiwei's humane conceptualism: with a bevy of new sculptural projects, as well as a massive living intervention at Documenta, Chinese artist Ai Weiwei brings his brand of cunning, humorous—but ultimately compassionate—provocation to the global scene

Fairytale, Beijing artist Ai Weiwei's expansive piece at Documenta, began as a simple idea: invite 1,001 Chinese guests to come and stay temporarily in Kassel, Germany. Yet, as in much of Ai's work, what initially appeared to be an appealing, straightforward project soon took on increasingly elaborate social, political and logistical dimensions.

The growing convergence of China and the West suggested byFairytale--especially the arrival of China as both a commercial and artistic power--makes this a work perfectly suited to our time. Yet Ai's brand of conceptualism does not settle for clever rhetorical provocation; his work is grounded in physical facts. The parameters of Fairytale were as much practical and mundane as they were political: How would the people get visas? Where would they sleep? What would they eat? Beyond that, the project needed serious capital. It cost $4.28 million--which was largely supplied by Galerie Urs Meile, located in Beijing and Lucerne, and two Swiss organizations, the Leister and Erlenmeyer foundations.

For Ai, who is also an architect, designer, writer and curator, devising sensible solutions is integral to every undertaking. His preparations for the influx of the Chinese visitors, brought to Kassel in rotating groups of 200 to 250 between early June and July 9, may be his defining effort. He transformed a former textile mill, located in a lively fringe neighborhood near a university campus, into a living space that was at once grand and inviting. The interior brick walls were painted a soothing white. White sheets hung from translucent string acted as temporary walls, subdividing the open space into a series of rooms. These rooms, each shared by 10 people, were filled with beds covered in colorful fabrics, designed by Ai. The result combined efficiency with an engaging appearance.

Indeed, the warehouse was striking in its warmth. A sense of relaxation was felt through out--on each of the two floors were large areas with communal tables where people could eat or drink tea or play cards (all of winch they were doing when I visited). These, and countless other details of the surroundings, were conceived by Ai. He designed the furniture and the utensils, he hired the cooks; there was a rumor that he was even offering haircuts. He also organized the visitors' travel equipment, winch included cameras and tape recorders to help them document the trip, thus encouraging personal responses to a situation in which they were otherwise relegated, in some measure, to membership in a group. This balance between individualism and group identity was a central theme of Fairytale.

As an amenity for Chinese and others visitors alike, Ai placed 1,001 Qing Dynasty (1644-1911) wooden chairs in the warehouse dorm and around the Documenta exhibition sites. The chairs immediately became a motif of the project, at once familiar to the Chinese visitors and a physical reminder to Kassel residents and Documenta attendees of the presence of the foreign guests.

Yet Ai's physical intervention at Documenta was slight compared to the changes he wrought in the lives of his countrymen, who eagerly took the opportunity to travel abroad and be on the inside of an art spectacle while they were simultaneously apart from it. After discussion of all the logistical concerns, Ai was asked at a press conference if he was worried about his guests adapting to their new surroundings in Germany. He smiled. "If they can survive China," he responded, "they can survive Kassel."

To encounter the project was also to contend with the indelible factualness of it--the piece was not a proposition, these people were here. The participants, who applied for the trip through Ai's blog, varied widely in their ages and personal histories (ranging from peasants to poets to students), their previous travel and their susceptibility to the romance of what, for many of them, would be their first trip outside China. The piece was at once invisible--the public could not enter the living area--and extremely physical. A crucial experience for Western viewers was imagining the reactions of the Asian visitors, which, rare in a conceptual work, created a sense of empathy. The Chinese travelers could be seen bicycling around town, playing soccer games, singing karaoke, or simply taking in the various exhibitions.

If the journey to the West was, ideally, a fairy tale for the participants, it was also something Ai could identify with. The dislocation mirrored his own departure from China in 1981, following his emergence in the late 1970s as a member of the controversial Stars group. Ignoring exhibition vetting protocols, the avant-garde cohort mounted one of the first public challenges to China's cultural authorities after the demise of the Cultural Revolution. With the Stars' open-air shows and other activities largely (though not completely) thwarted, Ai left for New York, where he lived for 12 years. He studied at the Parsons School of Design and admired Duchamp's ready-mades in the Museum of Modern Art. Duchamp would become a lasting influence, particularly for his advocacy of art that was "at perpetual war with itself." Ai's reconfigured wire coat hanger, Hanging Man (1985), in the shape of Duchamp's profile, is a sly nod to the French master.