Fairey didn't simply mimic Cultural Revolution posters—he deconstructed them. Red stars, clenched fists, and glorified soldiers are transformed into cautionary tales. These works show how symbols of power can simultaneously represent fear and obedience. By embedding his Obey logo within the visuals of state authority, Fairey casts doubt on the very images he's repurposing.

Among the most striking pieces is the Ai Weiwei portrait, a red-and-gold tribute to the dissident artist, crafted with subtle reverence. It's a print that balances dignity with quiet resistance—highlighting Ai's courage under censorship. Another essential entry is Obey Mao, a letterpress portrait of Chairman Mao with Fairey's trademark star emblazoned on his cheek. This is not an homage; it's a question: What happens when icons become unquestioned?

Other key works include Red Shoulder, featuring a child soldier with a clenched fist and a Maoist patch, and Guns and Roses, where a rifle sprouts a delicate rose beneath a rising dove. These juxtapositions form a visual vocabulary: war and peace, obedience and rebellion, truth and distortion.

Collectors prize these pieces not only for their scarcity—many editions were capped between 200 and 450—but for their evolving relevance. The letterpress variants, such as the sepia-toned Young Soldier, have become especially desirable due to their vintage aesthetic and deeper sense of fragility.

Market Snapshot (2025 Estimates)

Fairey's CHINA series doesn't deliver answers—it poses layered questions. It's not pro-China or anti-China. It's anti-authoritarian. These works challenge us to decode the aesthetics of control, to ask why certain images endure, and to recognize when design becomes doctrine.

In a geopolitical era dominated by surveillance, nationalism, and mass messaging, these prints remain chillingly on point. Whether viewed in a gallery or a collector's studio, they force us to confront how power is packaged—and how art can defuse it.