作者：江雪

By Jiang Xue

The English translation follows below.

四月的一天，北京昌平，地铁13号线龙泽站附近的天慧园小区。几位来访者穿过小区五号楼的一角，来看望居住在这里的朱春柳。她今年82岁，是两年前去世的艺术家严正学的遗孀。

这里是铁玫瑰园——是严正学夫妇的家，也是安放林昭和张志新——两位中国最著名的女性抗争者雕塑的地方。1968年，林昭被枪杀于上海；1975年，张志新死于文革中的沈阳——因为怕她在临刑前喊出声，当局安排的行刑者割断了她的喉咙。

两座高达2.5米的半身铜像（包括钢制的底座），经历多年的风吹雨淋，不复有2010年9月最初安放时的崭新光亮，多了一些沧桑的印痕。两名女性坚毅的目光投向远处，她们的铜像身躯上，雕刻着象征囚禁的铁链、齿轮，以及被折断的一把小提琴，还有林昭的狱中血书等意象。严正学夫妇是这两尊雕塑的创作者。

两年前的2024年5月28日，80岁的严正学在铁玫瑰园家中离世。他在2023年9月突发脑梗，引发原有的多种疾病。缠绵病榻九个多月后，他在家人的环绕中离世，没有留下遗言。即使在他病重的时候，当局也没有放松对他的监控。也因为临近“六四”这个敏感日子，被允许去参加他葬礼的人寥寥无几。

在北京，铁玫瑰园自2010年面世以来，一度是本世纪初中国维权运动的标志性地点。

2006年左右，独立导演胡杰的纪录片《寻找林昭的灵魂》面世，因《星火》案被牵连入狱、最终惨遭杀害的林昭的故事被越来越多的人知道。据一些文章介绍，林昭当年的北大挚友张元勋、甘粹等人，以及多年来一直参与祭奠林昭、网名“祭园守园人”的朱毅等人，都呼吁能有林昭和张志新的纪念雕塑，并曾发起向社会的募捐。而完成雕塑的重任，最终落在了艺术家严正学和他的妻子朱春柳身上。

最初，两尊雕塑是由纯白的玻璃钢制作，设计方案征求了众人的意见，曾几易其稿。2010年雕塑完成之后，在严正学家里举行了揭幕仪式。为了避开警方骚扰，他们特意绕开了4月29日林昭忌日这个“敏感日子”，改在2010年5月2日举行。

独立导演老虎庙的纪录片《铁玫瑰的守园人》记下了这一幕：当天，这个只有几平米的小院里，来了四五十个人。他们中有82岁的体制内改革派学者杜光（2023年去世），也有退休的北大教授钱理群，还有不少活跃的中青年学者、维权运动参与者。

那天的现场，由甘粹和王书瑶为林昭塑像揭幕。这两位耄耋老人，是林昭当年的北大校友，其中甘粹是林昭的恋人；为张志新像揭幕的，是她的妹妹，还有杜光。当幕布揭开，两尊洁白的塑像出现在人们眼前时，人们沉默了，老人们的眼睛里闪着泪光。

在2010年的北京，这仿佛是为林昭和张志新——也是为许许多多曾在毛时代的中国死去的义人们举办的一场迟到的葬礼。当时的中国，政治环境相对宽松，在北京，活跃着来自全国的维权人士，学者、律师以及记者。人们聚集在这里，缅怀曾经的民主先驱，也聚集起一个小小的基于价值观的共同体。

那次塑像面世之后，征求了大家的意见，严正学又将两座雕塑用青铜浇铸，并在当年9月又举行了一场揭幕仪式。不同于白色的玻璃钢，青铜雕塑更有一种历史的厚重感，也不怕风吹雨淋——从此，林昭和张志新，这两位被严正学比喻为铁玫瑰的女性，就“安家”在这里。

一开始，严正学夫妇和支持者们并没有打算要把两尊雕塑放在家里。他们曾设想，把它们分别送给北京大学和人民大学。这两所著名大学，也分别是林昭和张志新的母校。但计划失败了——他们甚至连这两所学校的校门都进不去。2010年春天，他们计划在北京的798艺术区公开展览，并将两尊雕塑永久安放在那里的雕塑街上，但这一计划被官方干涉叫停。最终，两座雕塑只能存放在严正学家的后院里——这也是铁玫瑰园命名的由来。

没有人有理由再驱赶他们——从那时起，铁玫瑰园不再只是严正学夫妇的家，也成了一个半公开的场所。前些年，在中国公民社会尚有存在可能的时候，在林昭和张志新的这两座雕塑下，举办过很多活动——包括纪念1989年后的流亡者刘宾雁（1925-2005），方励之（1936-2012）。

在通往铁玫瑰园的墙边，有一排黑色的钢铁装置，晚年皈依了基督教的严正学，将之命名为上帝的“窄门”。

铁玫瑰园从诞生的第一天起，就成了抗争的象征，为主人带来了荣光，也带来了厄运。严正学屡屡遭遇或明或暗的威胁。在老虎庙的纪录片中，严正学曾无奈地讲述自己的遭遇：一次，当他正在院子里工作时，有人从三楼浇下尿液，试图阻止他继续干下去。

2011年，北京茉莉花事件（指受当年阿拉伯之春影响，中国网民发起的小规模反对集会）后，铁玫瑰园里的两尊雕塑，被官方勒令用塑料布覆盖，长达整整一年。2012年，严正学将塑料布取下时，特意选了一个日子——农历惊蛰，寓意着春天以及万物复苏，和可能带来的变化。

几乎每年四月的林昭忌日前后，都有人来铁玫瑰园献花祭奠。有时，仅仅是因为来这里的访客身份敏感，就让官方如临大敌。对严正学来说，来自国保警察的警告和监控，还有莫名其妙的暴力，一直如影随形。

“中午12点在家中，突然轰隆一声巨响，以为是地震，我跑到门外，发现是一辆汽车撞了东面的墙。墙面破裂，三幅画被损坏。四点左右，才来了一个公安。”这是2013年3月2日发生在铁玫瑰园的一幕，一辆汽车撞上了严正学家位于一楼的墙壁。在场的目击者、访民徐崇阳写下了这份证言。当时，铁玫瑰园的屋子里还有二、三十个来客。幸亏外面有“窄门”的钢架，挡住了一部分汽车的撞击，否则后果不堪设想。

这次突如其来的车祸，对铁玫瑰园损坏不小，事后严正学报警，要求调查原因，并把北京交警告上法庭，最终虽然获得赔偿，但肇事原因始终没有真正查明。

或许是性格和命运使然，作为艺术家的严正学，一生似乎都在和一种看不见的东西对抗。他“出身”不好，1957年就遭遇父亲被抄家的厄运。后来他考上浙江美院附中，受到专业训练。文革爆发后，他离开家乡，流浪新疆等地，九死一生。彼时的朱春柳，从千里之外的浙江赶到新疆，与他结婚。两人从此相濡以沫，无论如何艰困，他们从未分离。

文革结束后的严正学有过一段舒畅的日子。他和同样在浙江美院附中毕业，考入中国美术学院国画系的女儿严隐鸿一起，在中国美术馆举办了“两代人”画展。严隐鸿后来成为中国颇有名气的当代艺术家，一直理解和支持着父亲。

1992年前后，北京的圆明园废墟附近，慢慢聚集起一批年轻的艺术家，他们代表着一种先锋与新锐的精神。那时候的严正学，也“北漂”到了北京。49岁的他，成了画家村年龄最大的画家，并被推举为“村长”。1994年，因为维权，他和公安对抗，不肯屈服，结果遭遇更大的牢狱之灾，被北京市公安局送往黑龙江双河农场劳教两年。

他在劳教所遭遇了电击酷刑，他的朋友以“向国际媒体曝光”要挟狱方，为他争取来了可以在劳教所里使用画具的权利。他背着管教，在这里创作了数十幅抽象派画作，并且在亲友帮助下，千方百计地把这些作品带了出来。后来，他把这段劳教经历，写成了自传《阴阳陌路》。

2006年，严正学为家乡台州的人维权，同时也因为自己的言论，被指控颠覆国家政权罪，入狱三年。出狱后不久，他就和开始和妻子酝酿创作林昭雕塑。

2018年，74岁的严正学在北京举办了一场“北大荒画展”。他在劳教所创作的几十幅大画得以面世。他使用大块水墨作画，画面诡异怪诞，充满冲击力。他给作品命名为“地火”、“与狼共舞”、“恶之花”等，表达反抗极权、追求自由的主题。因为怕被干扰，画展只能低调举行，独立导演老虎庙的纪录片里，记下了对他画展的讨论。

和他的行为以及作品给人的印象不同，在能看到的一些视频资料上，严正学看起来并不是咄咄逼人的形象。他留着灰白蓬乱的长发，经常穿一件摄影师的马夹，语调平和，神色中总有一丝悲苦。

他去世后，他的一位基督徒朋友、北京家庭教会的长老徐永海第一时间赶到，协助家人为他处理后事。但最后的告别仪式，徐被阻止前往。与此同时，一些朋友收到他家人发出的讣告，第一句话就是：“余心之所善，虽九死犹未悔。”

这句话出自战国时期楚国诗人屈原的作品《离骚》，表达的是一种为了理想而永不言悔的人生志向。他的朋友说，这“正是他一生所行的真切概括。”

如今的铁玫瑰园，朱春柳一个人平静地生活着。小院里，林昭和张志新的雕塑，还有朱正学在北大荒农场创作的那些惊世骇俗的画，陪伴着她。斯人已逝，精神不息，2026年5月28日，她和家人，将在深切的缅怀中，回望丈夫的一生——亦如那一枝永远带刺的铁玫瑰。

本期推荐档案：

中国民间档案馆线上展览：严正学画展

严正学：《阴阳陌路》

老虎庙：《铁玫瑰的守园人》

延伸阅读：

严正学、朱春柳：《铁玫瑰的中国记忆》

【本文为中国民间档案馆首发，转载时请务必在正文之前注明“本文首发于中国民间档案馆”，并加上原文在中国民间档案馆网站或者中国民间档案馆Substack的链接。】

【作者观点不代表中国民间档案馆立场。】

The Thorns of the Iron Rose Remain Sharp: Commemorating the Second Anniversary of Artist Yan Zhengxue’s Passing

By Jiang Xue

On an April day in Changping, Beijing, near the Longze station on Subway Line 13, lies the Tianhuiyuan residential community. A few visitors walked to a corner of Building 5 to visit Zhu Chunliu. Now 82 years old, she is the widow of the artist Yan Zhengxue, who passed away two years ago.

This is the Iron Rose Garden—the home of Yan Zhengxue and his wife, and the resting place for the sculptures of Lin Zhao and Zhang Zhixin, two of China’s most iconic female dissidents. In 1968, Lin Zhao was executed by firing squad in Shanghai. In 1975, Zhang Zhixin was killed in Shenyang during the Cultural Revolution; fearing she might shout out slogans before her execution, the authorities ordered the executioners to slit her throat.

The two bronze busts, standing 2.5 meters tall including their steel bases, have weathered years of wind and rain. They have lost the pristine gleam they had when first installed in September 2010, taking on a more weathered, historic patina. The two women gaze resolutely into the distance. Etched onto their bronze figures are symbols of imprisonment—chains, gears, a broken violin, and imagery representing the letters Lin Zhao wrote in prison using her own blood. Yan Zhengxue and Zhu Chunliu were the creators of these two sculptures.

Yan suffered a sudden stroke in September 2023. Two years ago, on May 28, 2024, the 80-year-old passed away at his home in the Iron Rose Garden, surrounded by his family and leaving no final words. Even during his severe illness, the authorities never relaxed their surveillance. Because his passing fell close to the politically sensitive anniversary of June 4, few people were permitted to attend his funeral.

Since its unveiling in 2010, the Iron Rose Garden in Beijing served for a time as a landmark site for China’s civil rights defense movement at the turn of the century.

Around 2006, independent director Hu Jie released his documentary In Search of Lin Zhao’s Soul, bringing the story of Lin Zhao—who was implicated in the Spark case, imprisoned, and ultimately executed—to a wider audience. According to contemporary articles, Lin Zhao’s close friends from her days at Peking University, such as Zhang Yuanxun and Gan Cui, alongside long-time memorial organizers like Zhu Yi (who went by the online moniker “Guardian of the Memorial Garden”), called for the creation of commemorative sculptures for Lin Zhao and Zhang Zhixin, and even launched a public fundraising campaign. The responsibility of bringing these sculptures to life ultimately fell to Yan and Zhu.

Initially, the two sculptures were crafted from pure white fiberglass. The design process was collaborative, with the drafts undergoing several revisions based on public feedback. Following their completion in 2010, an unveiling ceremony was held at Yan Zhengxue’s home. To avoid police harassment, they deliberately sidestepped the sensitive anniversary of Lin Zhao’s death on April 29, choosing instead to hold the event on May 2, 2010.

Independent director Laohu Miao (Tiger Temple) captured the moment in his documentary The Guardian of the Iron Rose Garden. On that day, forty to fifty people crowded into the tiny courtyard, which measured only a few square meters. Among them were Du Guang, an 82-year-old reformist scholar within the establishment who passed away in 2023, retired Peking University professor Qian Liqun, and numerous active younger scholars and civil rights activists.

At the ceremony, Gan Cui and Wang Shuyao unveiled Lin Zhao’s statue. These two octogenarians were Lin Zhao’s former classmates at Peking University, and Gan Cui had been her lover. Zhang Zhixin’s statue was unveiled by her younger sister alongside Du Guang. When the drapes were lifted and the two pristine white statues were revealed, the crowd fell silent, and tears welled in the eyes of the elderly guests.

In the Beijing of 2010, the event felt like a long-delayed funeral for Lin Zhao and Zhang Zhixin—and for the countless other righteous souls who perished during China’s Mao era. When the artworks were made, China’s political climate was relatively permissive. Civil rights activists, scholars, lawyers, and journalists from across the country were active in Beijing. People gathered not only to honor early pioneers of democracy but also to foster a small community bound by shared values.

Following the initial unveiling, Yan took feedback into account and recast the two sculptures in bronze, hosting a second unveiling ceremony in September of that year. Unlike the white fiberglass, the bronze statues carried a sense of historical weight and could withstand the elements. From then on, Lin Zhao and Zhang Zhixin—the two women Yan likened to iron roses—had officially made their home in the Iron Rose Garden.

Originally, Yan, Zhu, and their supporters had no intention of keeping the sculptures at their home. They had envisioned donating them to Peking University and Renmin University, the respective alma maters of Lin Zhao and Zhang Zhixin. However, the plan failed; they were barred from even entering the campus gates. In the spring of 2010, they planned to display the statues publicly at Beijing’s 798 Art Zone and permanently install them on the district’s sculpture street, but government intervention halted the project. Ultimately, the backyard of Yan Zhengxue’s home became their only sanctuary—which is how the Iron Rose Garden earned its name.

With no legal grounds left for the authorities to evict them, the Iron Rose Garden evolved from a private residence into a semi-public space. In earlier years, back when a Chinese civil society still had room to exist, many events were held beneath the sculptures of Lin Zhao and Zhang Zhixin—including memorials for post-1989 exiles like Liu Binyan (1925–2005) and Fang Lizhi (1936–2012).

Along the wall leading into the Iron Rose Garden stands a row of black iron installations. Yan Zhengxue, who embraced Christianity in his later years, named this structure God’s “Narrow Gate.”

From its inception, the Iron Rose Garden stood as a symbol of resistance, bringing its owners honor but also immense misfortune. Yan faced frequent threats, both overt and covert. In Laohu Miao’s documentary, Yan helplessly recalled an incident where someone poured urine down from a third-floor window while he was working in the courtyard, attempting to force him to stop.

In 2011, following the Beijing Jasmine Rallies (small-scale pro-democracy protests inspired by the Arab Spring), authorities ordered that the two sculptures in the Iron Rose Garden be covered in plastic sheeting. They remained hidden for an entire year. When Yan Zhengxue finally removed the plastic in 2012, he chose a highly symbolic date: Jingzhe (the Awakening of Insects) on the lunar calendar, a day signifying spring, renewal, and the promise of change.

Almost every year around the anniversary of Lin Zhao’s death in April, visitors would come to the Iron Rose Garden to lay flowers and pay their respects. Sometimes, the mere presence of high-profile or sensitive visitors would put the authorities on high alert. For Yan, warnings and surveillance from the domestic security police, alongside random acts of intimidation, followed him like a shadow.

“At 12:00 PM while at home, there was suddenly a thunderous crash. Thinking it was an earthquake, I ran outside and discovered that a car had smashed into the eastern wall. The wall cracked open, and three paintings were destroyed. A public security officer didn’t arrive until around four o’clock.”

This incident took place at the Iron Rose Garden on March 2, 2013, when a vehicle within the residential compound plowed into the first-floor wall of Yan Zhengxue’s home. Xu Chongyang, a civil rights petitioner and eyewitness, wrote down this testimony. At the time, there were roughly twenty to thirty guests inside the house. Fortunately, the steel framework of the “Narrow Gate” outside absorbed some of the vehicle’s impact; otherwise, the consequences would have been catastrophic.

The sudden crash caused significant damage to the Iron Rose Garden. Yan reported it to the police, demanded an investigation, and eventually took the Beijing traffic police to court. While he ultimately received financial compensation, the true cause of the crash was never uncovered.

Perhaps it was a matter of temperament and destiny, but as an artist, Yan spent his entire life fighting against an invisible adversary. Born into a family with a bad class background, he suffered the misfortune of seeing his father’s house ransacked in 1957. He was later admitted to the Affiliated High School of the Zhejiang Academy of Fine Arts, where he received professional training. When the Cultural Revolution broke out, he left his hometown and drifted through places like Xinjiang, narrowly surviving multiple brushes with death. Zhu Chunliu traveled thousands of miles from Zhejiang to Xinjiang to marry him. From that moment on, they shared a lifetime of hardships, never parting regardless of how bleak things became.

Following the end of the Cultural Revolution, Yan Zhengxue enjoyed a period of relative peace. Alongside his daughter, Yan Yinhong—who also graduated from the Zhejiang Academy’s affiliated high school before studying traditional Chinese painting at the China Academy of Art—he held a joint exhibition titled “Two Generations” at the National Art Museum of China. Yan Yinhong later became a well-known contemporary artist in her own right, always maintaining a deep understanding and support for her father’s work.

Around 1992, a community of young artists began to coalesce near the ruins of the Old Summer Palace (Yuanmingyuan) in Beijing, embodying a vanguard, avant-garde spirit. By then, the 49-year-old Yan Zhengxue had joined the ranks of the “Beijing drifters.” He became the oldest resident of the painters’ village and was elected its “village chief.” In 1994, his refusal to back down in a legal dispute with the public security bureau resulted in severe retaliation; he was sentenced by the Beijing Municipal Public Security Bureau to two years of reeducation-through-labor at the Shuanghe Farm in Heilongjiang.

In the labor camp, he was subjected to torture by electric shock. His friends managed to pressure the prison authorities by threatening to expose his treatment to international media, successfully securing his right to use painting materials while incarcerated. Out of sight of the guards, he managed to create dozens of abstract paintings and, with the help of family and friends, smuggled them out of the camp. He later chronicled his grueling experiences in an autobiography titled Strangers in Yin and Yang.

In 2006, Yan championed civil rights causes for residents in his hometown of Taizhou. Because of his activism and writing, he was charged with inciting subversion of state power and sentenced to three years in prison. Shortly after his release, he and his wife began planning the creation of the Lin Zhao sculpture.

In 2018, at the age of 74, Yan Zhengxue held his “Great Northern Wilderness Art Exhibition” in Beijing, finally unveiling the dozens of large-scale paintings he had secretly created in the labor camp. Utilizing heavy, sweeping strokes of Chinese ink, the paintings were eerie, grotesque, and visually arresting. He gave the pieces titles like Subterranean Fire, Dancing with Wolves, and Flowers of Evil, all reflecting themes of resisting totalitarianism and pursuing freedom. To prevent government interference, the exhibition had to be kept low-key, though the discussions surrounding it were captured in Laohu Miao’s documentary.

In contrast to the fierce impression left by his actions and artwork, historical video footage reveals a man who was far from aggressive. With his long, disheveled, graying hair and his habitual photographer’s vest, he spoke softly, his expression carrying a quiet note of sorrow and hardship.

Following his passing, one of his Christian friends, Xu Yonghai—an elder in a Beijing house church—rushed to the home to help the family manage funeral arrangements. However, Xu was barred from attending the memorial service. Meanwhile, friends who received the family’s official obituary noticed its opening line:

“What my heart praises as good, though I die nine times for it, I shall never regret.”

This line, taken from the classic poem Li Sao (The Lament) by the Warring States period poet Qu Yuan, expresses an unyielding commitment to one’s ideals. As his friends noted, the quote serves as “a precise and profound summary of the life he lived.”

Today, the Iron Rose Garden is quiet. Zhu lives there peacefully, kept company by the sculptures of Lin Zhao and Zhang Zhixin, as well as Yan’s stunning, avant-garde paintings. Though the man has passed, his spirit endures. On May 28, 2026, she and her family are looking back on her husband’s life in deep and loving memory—a life just like that iron rose, forever bearing its sharp thorns.

Recommended archives:

China Unofficial Archives online exhibit: “Yan Zhengxue Exhibition”

Yan Zhengxue: Strangers in Yin and Yang

Laohu Miao (Tiger Temple): The Guardian of the Iron Rose Garden