Wang Tiezhu does needlework all day. He sits outside his closet-sized shop on Liulichang Street in Beijing, stitching colored thread onto a swath of pink cloth. He wears gloves without fingertips, but doesn't seem to notice the cold. His stitching doesn't slow as he talks, and talk he can. A visit to Wang's shop is never quick; the 52-year-old self-taught artist likes to lecture his customers on everything from Buddhist theories of the cosmos to Han dynasty politics.

"I think this is the best work I've ever done," Wang says of the mural-sized cloth he is working on. It depicts characters from the classic Chinese novel, "Outlaws of the Marsh." Set during the Song dynasty, the collection of stories is about a band of enlightened outlaws who try to bring down a corrupt government; a sort of Robin Hood with Chinese characteristics. Wang has been working on the needlework for two months, but he's only on the 67th hero of 108. He's in no rush to finish because business is slow on the antique shopping street.

"This is going to be worth a lot of money one day," he says, "but you can't buy it. It belongs to a French friend who will pay a lot of money for it."

Like the heroes in the needlework, Wang is in the business of taking from the rich. He chuckles as he describes how the vice-president of Panama came to his shop and bought paintings for ¡ä300 each. "He can afford it," he says, "I don't charge other people that much."

Two years ago, Wang opened the shop to sell the usual Chinese souvenir knickknacks to foreign tourists: fake Ming dynasty vases, Mao pins and chipped lacquer boxes. It was like the other stalls lining the street until he set up an easel outside and started painting. Using bright colors and plain, rough wood instead of canvas, he made portraits of famous figures from Chinese history and literature. People stopped by to watch and soon he was making more money selling the paintings than he ever did with the pseudo-antiques.

Wang has no pretensions about being an artist: "I started painting to make a living." But unlike the mass-produced ink paintings available at other Liulichang shops, Wang's quirky paintings go beyond hackneyed symbols and images. His figures may sometimes look like sinister cartoon characters, but his subtle irony breaths new life into historical subjects. Wang uses these references, which would be familiar to most educated Chinese, to hint at the country's modern reality.

Hanging outside the shop this week are portraits of Chairman Mao, the writer Lu Xun and the last emperor Puyi. Another features a dapper young Deng Xiaoping during his student days in Paris. Wang also does foreigners: Dr. Norman Bethune bandaging a soldier's wounds, a chubby President Clinton holding Monica Lewinsky's hand, and Stalin addressing Party members. There is even a menacing Hitler seated at a desk.

"Some customers ask me why I paint terrible people like Hitler. But history is filled with the good and bad. You have to paint both so people don't forget," says Wang.

Wang's philosophical attitude may come from the difficulties he has had. At age 16, during the Cultural Revolution, he was sent to work in the countryside. For two years, he built pigsties, laid bricks, and farmed. Since then, he has worked in various jobs, but he always made time to read.

"Good books, bad books; I'll read anything," Wang says. He has managed to cobble together a wide-ranging education. His only complaint is that many people who come into his shop these days don't recognize the references to classic Chinese literature, folk tales, and dynastic history.

Wang doesn't mind explaining these subjects to foreign tourists. "Don't worry," he says, "Most Chinese people don't even know who these characters are anymore because they don't bother to read books. People today only watch movies."