Archive for Poem

My new poem “Confessa In The Present”

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This is my new poem for my sessions at the Common Word.

I have to add the sessions from last year been amazing for me and I performed two times and now I am going through bringing my “Inside Persian Poetry” out to English as a Persian girl  🙂  I am getting there #Feeling Productive Also check the P.S at the end

Confessa In The Present       by Mahboobeh Rajabi

Scene 1:  Confessa In …

Just under the neck
going through the middle of my body
Where it’s called “chest”
Is heavy …

Is so heavy that’s like someone put a heavy rock on it
I can still breathe, but it’s heavy
I punch it while I inhale and exhale deeply
But it’s not working
I close my eyes for just listening to my body and my breathing

My chest is going up, inhaling the universe of thoughts
The plan is to exhale the “Nothing”
And just the thought of breathing

Inhale …. Deeply … Stop …

Stop …
How can I destroy a universe?
I never learned that
The Big Bang didn’t end yet

So how can I expect myself to end it?

My chest is heavy

Full of universes that couldn’t get destroy by exhale

I just need to confess it

And the thought of Confessa and it’s melody

Dragging my soul to the galaxy of broken but healed hearts

My pen is is like an ocean now

Each wave is a word, same time of my breathing
It lands the words on the sands:

I, whom has her name, carved in the stone of Love
Made the sky roar
when that question from the winds
stays with no answer

I teared that way of the oxygen
that made my heart beat
I listened to all person’s words
My heart was just beating
I teared it from what was the Hard Air
My heart was just beating
I teared from those capillaries of quiet

The sky roared in my throat
the clouds rained on my reaped chest
It washed the blood and clots of death
Then I put my heart back to my chest
deep breath finally heard
my beatings

The love is pouring from the sound of the lenses of the camera of the Earth
I submit all the timeless moments full of new existence feelings
and being submitted on this earth
my name was at the top
it was timeless and free

Scene 2:  The Present

The owth to that look,

Staring to the paralyzed far

That tied up to the part part of the soul

To the melody of time and trauma

Every note has a saying

From a love story

The word from the past, incredible memories

Or a paralyzed trauma

From nowhere of drama

I crossed the time

The sky got happy

Universe crossed my soul

The galaxy became a memory

The names began

The words woke up

A journey started

A quiet and far journey

A backpack full of questions

A spite from the past

And a cup of missing feelings and pains

But this journey started

Even though my backpack

Got heavy with pain

I continued the way

Whatever from the capacity of an intense past

My shoulders cried

I continued the way

But got in my way

My full backpack

As the time got heavier

The body got slower

Again had to stop and think

Make a decision, from the beginning

Sometimes at the climax of tolerance

It’s like you were just rounding around yourself

All the way through …

It was hard … It was hard

I asked myself

Where am I in the story?

Where is this part of the drama?

Full of pain …

With “ A 100 No Answer Questions”

With a backpack drawn on to my life stories

With a glance on my backpack

My shoulder couldn’t bare

I felt on my knees

In the climax of pain

I put on the ground

My full backpack

Whatever was the way

Became easier to take

Till today

I didn’t take

Any backpack

For no reason …

I continued the way … the drama … the trauma

I continued

22/05/2016

P.S  The life had been busy but exciting and productive. I will start my Digital and Animation workshops in Rochdale this week that I am looking forward to and I am also going through sorting out some unfair matters which is hard but I believe it’s making me stronger to learn my lessons and fight more and the biggest lesson is that you will help the people in your position and going through similar situation.

“Life is a fighting for a better me and making me feel better by understanding helping people in the similar fight.”  Quote from me today #AllCopyRightsReserved  🙂

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Keep up the power

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Keep up the power

“Rise up the manner

Hold on the power”

Said sky to the water loudly

“Keep up the power

I am the manner

Mirror of your magneficence

For your beauty,

I am the ladder”

Whispered the water

Hoping the sky will listen

Sky still proud,

Showing off the power

And it’s just the clouds

Keeping the secrets

Of water’s whispers

Words by Mahboobeh88

(Mahboobeh Rajabi)

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So This weeks I am on more into getting a production schedule done …

When actually days not helping a lot and Monday and Tuesday nothing didn’t go with plan but I managed what needs to be done!

The thing is that even sometimes your doing good you need to be satisfied yourself that I wasn’t AT ALL … !

The deal is I am not feeling well recently and I have to accept it that I need more rest and take work easier and decrease the amount of stress I am giving my self.

I will definitely try my best this week and I know that I could manage all my schedule and it’s me who need to learn to chillax girl.

I am looking forward for tomorrow’s Do I.T. and getting on with the idea of my website that helps me to focus more and get on better with time management that I need to do.

The “Heart’s core”  and the ideas I am going to work on is the main thing for me now and I am thinking of new skills I got this year like Resolume and keeping up with “Technique at Contact Theatre really helping for my new videos I am going to produce.

The great experience of Co-Design project by Duct Tape university is an on going project too that I will definitely work on more because that’s gonna be a great structure for future projects and that’s what I need specially with our amazing team.

And I have to add these amazing Chinese life proverbs that:

万事开头难 wàn shì kāi tóu nán – All things are difficult before they are easy.

that yeah! … life seems difficult but common! … it’s easy (just repeat as a boost to survive in this life basically)

and last but not least:

花有重开日,人无再少年huā yǒu chóng kāi rì, rén wú zài shào nián, – Flowers may bloom again, but a person never has the chance to be young again. So don’t waste your time.

I may seem working hard but Dah! I am young and I am using these golden times (cool excuses right to be workaholic! .. I am AWESOME I KNOW 🙂  )

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Power of music

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Power of Music

Like a piece of ice

Melting on a boiling lava

Drop by drop …

I drip to the music notes

I can’t stop listening

And as much as it melts me

I listen … over & over again

Then I become a part of lava

In a place that knows me the most

When I’m a stranger to all

I put my heads down

And I melt again …

I listen again …

And Its the lava that start melting

By the power of music

Words by Mahboobeh88

(Mahboobeh Rajabi)

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P.S Amaterasu “Goddess of the sun” animation finished!

I had a dramatic day because of some important things that needed to change at the last moment but I trusted my editing skills and VICTORY!

This is the first step of visualizing my research as part of Japanese mythology that again is the part of my research.

Hopefully by the beginning of 2015 I can came up with more focus research pattern and draft so I can step up for bigger projects.

Specially with starting working on my website it will get all better place.

It’s like giving the works a nice home and it feels good.

But now for the moment lots of projects is going on.

one big digital and graphic video for a massive performance project for the next 5 month

Digging on digital and social media world in DO I.T. this year

beside getting on Business networking

Life couldn’t be much better.

🙂

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Seasonal Imagery in Japanese Art

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From ancient times to the present, the Japanese people have celebrated the beauty of the seasons and the poignancy of their inevitable evanescence through the many festivals and rituals that fill their year—from the welcoming of spring at the lunar New Year to picnics under the blossoming cherry trees to offerings made to the harvest moon. Poetry provided the earliest artistic outlet for the expression of these impulses. Painters and artisans in turn formed images of visual beauty in response to seasonal themes and poetic inspiration. In this way, artists in Japan created meditations on the fleeting seasons of life and, through them, expressed essential truths about the nature of human experience.

This sensitivity to seasonal change is an important part of Shinto, Japan’s native belief system. Since ancient times, Shinto has focused on the cycles of the earth and the annual agrarian calendar. This awareness is manifested in seasonal festivals and activities. Similarly, seasonal references are found everywhere in the Japanese literary and visual arts. Nature appears as a source of inspiration in the tenth-century Kokinshu(Collection of Ancient and Modern Poems), the earliest known official anthology of native poetry (rather than Chinese verse). These poems, produced by courtiers who embraced a highly refined aesthetic sensibility, not only celebrated the sensual appeal of elements of the natural world, but also imbued them with human emotions. Melancholy sentiments, invoked by a sense of time passing, loss, and disappointment, tended to be the most common emotional notes. This attitude can be seen in such visual arts as Buddhist and Shinto paintings of the Heian period that include lovely but short-lived blossoming cherry trees. Autumnal and winter scenes and related seasonal references, such as chrysanthemums and persimmons growing on trees that have already lost their foliage, are eloquent expressions of this same sentiment.

 

A distinctive Japanese convention is to depict a single environment transitioning from spring to summer to autumn to winter in one painting. For example, spring might be indicated by a few blossoming trees or plants and summer by a hazy and humid atmosphere and densely foliated trees, while a flock of geese typically suggests autumn and snow, and barren trees evoke winter. (Because this convention was so common, seasonal attributes could be quite subtle.) In this way, Japanese painters expressed not only their fondness for this natural cycle but also captured an awareness of the inevitability of change, a fundamental Buddhist concept.

 

The confluence of Shinto and Buddhism in the use of seasonal references demonstrates the central position of this practice in Japanese culture. As indicated above, cherry blossoms can be found in pictures illustrating Buddhist as well as Shinto concepts, with both expressing the beauty and brevity of nature. Similarly, folding screens decorated with ink monochrome paintings showing a transition from one season to the next initially were placed in the private quarters of Buddhist monks. Ritual implements and decorative items used in Buddhist temples and practice are often covered with flowers, birds, and other scenes from nature.

 

While the pictorial compositions that encompass all four seasons together present a broad view, more compact versions also appear. During the Momoyama and Edo periods, seasonal flowers and plants such as plum blossoms, irises, and morning glories became the entire focus of painting compositions. Similarly, decorative works such aslacquerware containers, kimonos, and ceramic vessels are frequently ornamented in this way. When natural elements are employed as decorative motifs, they are frequently stylized to heighten the ornamental effect. Once again, these visual scenes often have literary references, heightening the image’s mood and cultural meaning.


Department of Asian Art, The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Resource: Here

East Asian Arts

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East Asian arts

Visual, literary, and performing arts of China, Korea, and Japan. Painting and calligraphy are considered the only true fine arts in China because they alone require no physical labour and have no physical function. Sculpture is considered to be a craft, as are bronze casting, carving, and the making of pottery, textiles, metalwork, and lacquerware. Chinese architecture is characterized by timber buildings, and a building typically consists of a platform, a post-and-lintel frame, a system of roof-supporting brackets, and a heavy, sloping roof. Japanese visual arts have been strongly influenced by three elements: Chinese visual arts, indigenous themes and traditions, and Buddhist iconography.

The Horyu Temple (7th century) initiated the distinctive Japanese architectural approach: asymmetrical layouts following the contours of the land. Japanese artists’ fascination with abstraction from nature is most notable in screen and panel paintings of the 16th–18th centuries and the polychrome woodcut, which evolved into the popular ukiyo-e print. Among the remarkable features of Korean art might be noted the use of stone in architecture and sculpture and the development of an outstanding celadon glaze.

Chinese literature has the longest continuous history of any literature in the world (more than 3,000 years). It is inextricably bound to the development of the characters of the written language it has shared with both Korea and Japan. Korean literature includes an oral tradition of ballads, legends, mask plays, puppet-show texts, and p’ansori (“story singing”) texts and a strong written tradition of poetry (notably hyangga and sijoforms).

Like Korean literature, Japanese literature owes a debt to Chinese, since neither country had its own written language (though Japanese syllabary systems emerged about 1000, and Korean Hangul was developed in the 15th century). The earliest Japanese literature dates to the 7th century; in addition to its several literary monuments such as The Tale of Genji, Japanese poetry (particularly in the haiku form) is known throughout the world for its exquisite delicacy. Despite a different basis for its establishment, the East Asian music system, like Western music, developed a pentatonic scale based on a 12-tone vocabulary.

The preferred size of the East Asian ensemble is small, and compositions emphasize melody and rhythm over harmonics. In the related categories of East Asian dance and theatre, it is noteworthy that in the East Asian countries, music, dance, and drama are typically linked, and there is little evidence of separate evolution of form.

The several forms of East Asian performing arts include both masked and unmasked dances, masked dance theatre (as in Japanese no and Korean sandae), danced processionals, dance opera (jingxi, or “Peking,” and other forms of Chinese opera), shadow theatre, puppet theatre, and dialogue plays with music and dance (e.g., Japanese kabuki). See also Fujiwara styleikebanaJogan style paper foldingscroll paintingshinden-zukurishoin-zukuri;sukiya styleTempyo styleTori style; as well as individual artists such as BashoBo JuyiDu FuHiroshige AndoLu XunMurasaki Shikibu.

Resource: East Asian Arts

The role of calligraphy in Chinese art

One of the great information I read in the relation of calligraphy in Chinese paintings is the information below I got from britannica website.

It needs study and work more and I will add the images and videos too.

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The role of calligraphy in Chinese art

Chinese painting, one of the major art forms produced in China over the centuries. The other arts of China are treated in separate articles. These include Chinese calligraphy, which in China is closely associated with painting; interior design; tapestry; floral decoration; Chinese pottery; metalwork; enamelwork; and lacquerwork; as well as Chinese jade; silk; and Chinese architecture.

The present political boundaries of China, which include Tibet, Inner Mongolia, Xinjiang, and the northeastern provinces formerly called Manchuria, embrace a far larger area of East Asia than will be discussed here. “China proper,” as it has been called, consists of 18 historical provinces bounded by the Plateau of Tibet on the west, the Gobi to the north, and Myanmar (Burma), Laos, and Vietnam to the southwest, and it is primarily painting as it developed in China proper that will be treated here. (See also Central Asian arts; and Southeast Asian arts.) The first communities that can be identified culturally as Chinese were settled chiefly in the basin of the Huang He (Yellow River). Gradually they spread out, influencing other tribal cultures, until, by the Han dynasty (206 bce–220 ce), most of China proper was dominated by the culture that had been formed in the cradle of northern Chinese civilization.

Over this area there slowly spread a common written language, a common belief in the power of heaven and the ancestral spirits to influence the living, and a common emphasis on the importance of ceremony and sacrifice to achieve harmony among heaven, nature, and humankind. These beliefs were to have a great influence on the character of Chinese painting, and indeed all the arts of China. Chinese civilization is by no means the oldest in the world: those of Mesopotamia and Egypt are far older. But, while the early Western cultures died, became stagnant, or were transformed to the point of breaking all continuity, that of China has grown continuously from prehistoric settlements into the great civilization of today.

The Chinese themselves were among the most historically conscious of all the major civilizations and were intensely aware of the strength and continuity of their cultural tradition. They viewed history as a cycle of decline and renewal associated with the succession of ruling dynasties. Both the political fragmentation and social and economic chaos of decline and the vigour of dynastic rejuvenation could stimulate and colour important artistic developments. Thus, it is quite legitimate to think of the history of Chinese painting primarily in terms of the styles of successive dynasties, as the Chinese themselves do.

General characteristics Aesthetic characteristics and artistic traditionsArt as a reflection of Chinese class structure One of the outstanding characteristics of Chinese art is the extent to which it reflects the class structure that has existed at different times in Chinese history. Up to the Warring States period (475–221 bce), the arts were produced by anonymous craftsmen for the royal and feudal courts. During the Warring States period and the Han dynasty (206 bce–220 ce), the growth of a landowning and merchant class brought new patrons. After the Han there began to emerge the concept of “fine art” as the product of the leisure of the educated gentry, many of whom were amateur practitioners of the arts of poetry, music, calligraphy, and, eventually, painting.

At this time a distinction began to arise between the lower-class professional and the elite amateur artist; this distinction would have a great influence on the character of Chinese art in later times. Gradually one tradition became identified with the artists and craftsmen who worked for the court or sold their work for profit. The scholarly amateurs looked upon such people with some contempt, and the art of the literati became a separate tradition that was increasingly refined and rarefied to the point that, from the Song dynasty (960–1279) onward, an assumed awkwardness in technique was admired as a mark of the amateur and gentleman. One effect of the revolutions of the 20th century was the breaking down of the class barriers between amateur and professional and even, during the Cultural Revolution of 1966–76, an emphasis on anonymous, proletarian-made art like that of the Tang dynasty (618–907) and earlier.

The role of calligraphy in Chinese art Since the 3rd century ce, calligraphy, or writing as a fine art, has been considered supreme among the visual arts in China. Not only does it require immense skill and fine judgment, but it is regarded as uniquely revealing of the character and breadth of cultivation of the writer. Since the time when inscribed oracle bones and tortoise shells (China’s oldest extant writing) were used for divination in the Shang dynasty (c. 1600–1046 bce), calligraphy has been associated with spiritual communication and has been viewed in terms of the writer’s own spiritual attunement. It is believed that the appreciation and production of calligraphy requires lofty personal qualities and unusual aesthetic sensitivity. The comprehension of its finer points is thought to require experience and sensibility of a high order. The Chinese painter uses essentially the same materials as the calligrapher—brush, ink, and silk or paper—and the Chinese judge his work by the same criteria they use for the calligrapher, basically the vitality and expressiveness of the brushstroke itself and the harmonious rhythm of the whole composition. Painting in China is, therefore, essentially a linear art.

The painters of most periods were not concerned with striving for originality or conveying a sense of reality and three-dimensional mass through aids such as shading and perspective; rather, they focused on using silk or paper to transmit, through the rhythmic movement of the brushstroke, an awareness of the inner life of things. The aesthetics of line in calligraphy and painting have had a significant influence on the other arts in China. In the motifs that adorn the ritual bronzes, in the flow of the drapery over the surface of Buddhist sculpture, and in the decoration of lacquerware, pottery, and cloisonné enamel (wares decorated with enamel of different colours separated by strips of metal), it is the rhythmic movement of the line, following the natural movement of the artist’s or craftsman’s hand, that to a large extent determines the form and gives to Chinese art as a whole its remarkable harmony and unity of style. Characteristic themes and symbolsIn early times Chinese art often served as a means to submit to the will of heaven through ritual and sacrifice.

Archaic bronze vessels were made for sacrifices to heaven and to the spirits of clan ancestors, who were believed to influence the living for good if the rites were properly and regularly performed. Chinese society, basically agricultural, has always laid great stress on understanding the pattern of nature and living in accordance with it. The world of nature was seen as the visible manifestation of the workings of a higher power through the generative interaction of the yin-yang (female-male) dualism. As it developed, the purpose of Chinese art turned from propitiation and sacrifice to the expression of human understanding of these forces, in the form of painting of landscapes, bamboo, birds, and flowers.

This might be called the metaphysical, Daoist aspect of Chinese painting. Particularly in early times, art also had social and moral functions. The earliest wall paintings referred to in ancient texts depicted benevolent emperors, sages, virtuous ministers, loyal generals, and their evil opposites as examples and warnings to the living. Portrait painting also had this moral function, depicting not the features of the subject so much as his or her character and role in society. Court painters were called upon to depict auspicious and memorable events. This was the ethical, Confucian function of painting. High religious art as such is foreign to China. Popular folk religion was seldom an inspiration to great works of art, and Buddhism, which indeed produced many masterpieces of a special kind, was a foreign import.

Human relationships have always been of supreme importance in China, and a common theme of figure painting is that of gentlemen enjoying scholarly pursuits together or of the poignant partings and infrequent reunions that were the lot of officials whose appointments took them across the country. Among the typical themes of traditional Chinese art there is no place for war, violence, the nude, death, or martyrdom. Nor is inanimate matter ever painted for art’s sake: the very rocks and streams are felt to be alive, visible manifestations of the invisible forces of the universe. No theme would be accepted in traditional Chinese art that was not inspiring, noble, refreshing to the spirit, or at least charming. Nor is there any place in most of the Chinese artistic tradition for an art of pure form divorced from content: it is not enough for the form to be beautiful if the subject matter is unedifying. In the broadest sense, therefore, all traditional Chinese art is symbolic, for everything that is painted reflects some aspect of a totality of which the painter is intuitively aware.

At the same time, Chinese art is full of symbols of a more specific kind, some with various possible meanings. Bamboo suggests the spirit of the scholar, which can be bent by circumstance but never broken, and jade symbolizes purity and indestructibility. The dragon, in remote antiquity perhaps an alligator or rain deity, is the wholly benevolent symbol of the emperor; the crane symbolizes long life; and paired mandarin ducks symbolize wedded fidelity. Popular among the many symbols drawn from the plant world are the orchid, a Confucian symbol of purity and loyalty; the winter plum, which blossoms even in the snow and stands for irrepressible purity, in either a revolutionary political or a spiritual sense; and the gnarled pine tree, which may represent either survival in a harsh political environment or the unconquerable spirit of old age. Characteristics of paintingThe character of Chinese painting, like that of Chinese calligraphy, is closely bound up with the nature of the medium.

The basic material is ink, formed into a short stick of hardened pine soot and glue, which is rubbed to the required consistency on an inkstone with a little water. The painter uses a pointed-tipped brush made of the hair of goats, deer, or wolves set in a shaft of bamboo. He paints on a length of silk or a sheet of paper, the surface of which is absorbent, allowing no erasure or correction. He must therefore know beforehand what he intends to do, and the execution demands confidence, speed, and a mastery of technique acquired only by long practice. For example, to broaden the brushstroke, the painter applies downward pressure on the brush. Such subtle action of the highly flexible but carefully controlled brush tip determines the dynamic character of the brushwork and is the primary focus of attention of both the artist and critical viewers.

In painting, colour is added, if at all, to make the effect more true to life or to add decorative accent and rarely as a structural element in the design, as in Western art. Brighter, more opaque pigments derived from mineral sources (blue from azurite, green from malachite, red from cinnabar or lead, yellow from orpiment or ochre, all produced in various intensities) are preferred for painting on silk, while translucent vegetable pigments predominate in painting on paper (indigo blue, red from safflower or madder, vegetable green, rattan and Sophora yellow) and produce a lighter, more delicate effect. Whereas painting on dry plaster walls or screens is an ancient art in China, more common formats in the past millennium have been the vertical hanging scroll, perhaps derived from the Buddhist devotional banner, and the horizontal hand scroll, which may be of any length up to about 15 metres (50 feet).

Other forms are fan painting and the album leaf. The artist’s carefully placed signature, inscription, and seals are an integral part of the composition. In Chinese eyes a picture may gain considerably in interest and value from the colophons added by later connoisseurs on the painting itself or, in the case of a hand scroll, mounted after it. The mounting of paintings is a highly skilled craft and, if carefully done, will enhance the appearance of a scroll and ensure its preservation for many centuries. From the Shang dynasty to 220 ce Zhou dynasty (1046–256 bce)The arts of the Zhou dynasty, the longest dynasty in Chinese history, reflect the profound changes that transformed Chinese society during this period of nearly 800 years. The first Zhou rulers virtually took over the Shang culture; indeed, the earliest bronze vessels bearing Zhou inscriptions might, from their style, have been made in the Shang dynasty.

The Zhou kings parceled out their expanding territory among feudal lords, each of whom was free to make ritual objects for his own court use. As the feudal states rose in power and independence, so did the central Zhou itself shrink, to be further weakened by the eastward shift of the capital from sites in the Wei River valley near modern-day Xi’an to Luoyang in 771 bce. Thereafter, as the Zhou empire was broken up among rival states, many local styles in the arts developed. The last three centuries of the Zhou dynasty, known as the Warring States period (475–221 bce), saw a flowering of the arts in many areas. The breakdown of the feudal hegemony, the growth of trade between the states, and the rise of a rich landowning and merchant class all brought into existence new patrons and new attitudes that had a great influence on the arts and crafts. Practically nothing survives of Zhou painting, although from literary evidence it seems that the art developed considerably, particularly during the period of the Warring States.

Palaces and ancestral halls were decorated with wall paintings. Late Zhou texts tell of a craftsman working for the Zhougong (duke of Zhou) who covered the stock of a whip with minute paintings of dragons, snakes, horses, chariots, and “all the ten thousand things” and of another painter who told the king of Qi that spirits and ghosts were easier to draw than dogs and horses, whose precise appearance is known to all. The rhetorical questions or riddles in the Tianwen (“Questions to Heaven”), attributed to the poet Chu Yuan, are traditionally thought to have been inspired by wall paintings.

The most significant development of the late Zhou, one among the most revolutionary of all moments in Chinese art, was the emergence of a representational art form, a departure from the ritualized depiction of fanciful and usually isolated creatures of the Shang and early to middle Zhou that is evident in the bronzes of this period. In decorating ceremonial objects, artists began to depict the ceremonies themselves, such as ancestral offerings in temple settings, as well as ritual archery contests (important in the recruitment and promotion of officials), agriculture and sericulture, hunting, and the waging of war—all activities vital to a well-ordered state.

Such representations were cast with gold or silver inlay or engraved onto the sides of bronze vessels, most notably the hu, where all these themes might be combined on a single vessel. This conceptual transformation began by the late 6th century bce, at about the same time Confucius and other philosophers initiated humane speculation on the nature of statecraft and social welfare. The early representation of landscape, indicated only crudely on bronzes, appears in more sophisticated fashion on embroidered textiles of the 4th–3rd centuries bce from south-central Chinese sites such as Mashan, near Jiangling in the state of Chu (modern Hubei province).

There, as in the Han dynasty art that followed, landscape is suggested by rhythmic lines, which serve as mountain contours to organize spatially a variety of wild animals in front and back and which, while structurally simple, convey in linear fashion a sophisticated concept of mountain landscape as fluid, dynamic, and spiritual. Further indications of the subject matter of Dong (Eastern) Zhou pictorial art are given by objects in lacquer, chiefly from the state of Chu and from Sichuan, on which hunting scenes, chariots and horsemen, and fantastic winged creatures drawn from folklore were painted in a simple but lively style natural to the fluid character of the medium. Large painted lacquer coffins with such creatures depicted were present in the 5th-century-bce royal tomb of Marquis Yi of Zeng.

The labour required for these coffins is suggested by the set of nested coffins from the Han dynasty found at Mawangdui (two bearing exquisite landscape designs, described below), which are said to represent one million man-hours. A painted lacquer storage box from the Zeng tomb bears the earliest depiction of two of the Chinese directional animals (formerly thought to date from the later Han), together with the names of the 28 stars used in Chinese astrology (previously believed to have been introduced at a later time from Iran or India). Some of these motifs and, perhaps, the early treatment of landscape itself may derive in both theme and style from foreign sources, particularly China’s northern nomadic neighbours.

Those scenes concerned with ceremonial archery and ritual offerings in architectural settings, sericulture, warfare, and domestic hunting, however, seem to be essentially Chinese. These renditions generally occur with figures in two-dimensional silhouette spread evenly over most of the available pictorial surface. By the very late Zhou, however, occasional examples—such as the depiction of a mounted warrior contending with a tiger, executed in inlaid gold and silver on a bronze mirror from Jincun (c. 3rd century bce, Hosokawa collection, Tokyo)—suggest the emerging ability of artists to conceive of two-dimensional images in terms of implied bulk and spatial context.

The few surviving Zhou period paintings on silk—from about the 3rd century bce, the oldest in all East Asia—were produced in the state of Chu and unearthed from tombs near Changsha. One depicts a woman, perhaps a shaman or possibly the deceased, with a dragon and phoenix; one depicts a gentleman conveyed in what appears to be a dragon-shaped boat; and a third, reported to be from the same tomb as the latter, is a kind of religious almanac (the earliest known example of Chinese writing on silk) decorated around its border with depictions of deities and sacred plants. Qin (221–206 bce) and Han (206 bce–220 ce) dynastiesIn 221 bce the ruler of the feudal Qin state united all of China under himself as Qin Shihuangdi (“First Sovereign Emperor of Qin”) and laid the foundation for the long stability and prosperity of the succeeding Han dynasty. His material accomplishments were the product of rare organizational genius, including centralizing the Chinese state and legal system, unifying the Chinese writing script and its system of weights and measures, and consolidating many of the walls of northern China into an architectural network of beacon towers able to spot any suspicious military movement and relay messages across the territory in a single day. However, his means were brutal and exhausted the people, and the dynasty failed to survive his early death.

The Xi (Western) Han (206 bce–25 ce), with its capital at Chang’an (near modern Xi’an), reached a climax of expansive power under Wudi (ruled 141/140–87/86 bce), who established colonies in Korea and Indochina and sent expeditions into Central Asia, which made Chinese arts and crafts known abroad and opened up China itself to foreign ideas and artistic influences. After the period of the usurping Xin dynasty (9 to 25 ce), the Dong (Eastern) Han (25–220 ce), with its capital at Luoyang, recovered something of the dynasty’s former prosperity but was increasingly beset by natural disasters and rebellions that eventually brought about its downfall.

The art of the Han dynasty is remarkable for its variety and vigour, which resulted from its foreign contacts, from the contemporary sense of being a united nation within which many local traditions flourished, and from the patronage of a powerful court and the new, wealthy landowning and official classes. Literature and poetry indicate that the walls of palaces, mansions, and ancestral halls were plastered and painted. Themes included figure subjects, portraits, and scenes from history that had an ethical or didactic purpose. Equally popular were themes taken from folk and nature cults that expressed the beliefs of popular Daoism. The names of the painters are generally not known.

Artists were ranked according to their education and ability from the humble craftsmen-painters (huagong) up to the painters-in-attendance (daizhao), who had high official status and were close to the throne. This bureaucratic system lasted into the Qing dynasty (1644–1911/12). In addition to wall paintings, artists painted on standing screens, used as room dividers and set behind important personages, and on long rolls of silk. Paper was invented in the Han dynasty, but it is doubtful whether it was much used for painting before the 3rd or 4th century ce. Surviving Han paintings include chiefly tomb paintings and painted objects in clay and lacquer, although incised and inlaid bronze, stamped and molded tomb tiles, and textile designs provide further indications of the painting styles of the time.

The most important painted tombs have been found at Luoyang, where some are decorated with the oldest surviving historical narratives (1st century bce); at Wangdu in Hebei (Dong Han), where they are adorned with figures of civil and military officials; and at Liaoyang in Liaoning, where the themes include a feasting scene, musicians, jugglers, chariots, and horsemen. The Liaoyang paintings are in a crude but lively style, with a feeling of space and strong lateral movement. On the celebrated bricks taken from a tomb shrine of the Dong Han (now in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston), elegant and individualized gentlemen engaged in animated conversation are rendered with a sensitive freedom of movement. Funerary slabs also reflect the variety of Han pictorial art.

The most famous are those from tomb shrines of the Wu family at Jiaxiang in Shandong, dated between about 147 and 168 ce. The subjects range from the attempted assassination of the first Qin emperor to feasting and mythological themes. Although they are depicted chiefly in silhouette with little interior drawing, the effect is lively and dramatic. These well-known works have been generally taken as representative of Han painting style since their discovery in 1786. They are now understood, however, to be very conservative in style, even archaic, perhaps with the intent of advertising the sponsoring family’s chaste attachment to the pure and simple virtues of past times.

A far earlier painting, a funerary banner from about 168 bce, excavated in 1972 at Mawangdui, reveals how much more sophisticated early Han and even late Zhou painting must have been. Painted with bright, evenly applied mineral pigments and fine, elegant brush lines on silk, the banner represents a kind of cosmic array, with separate scenes of a funerary ceremony, the underworld, and the ascent of the deceased (the Lady Dai mentioned above) to a heavenly setting filled with mythic figures. It contains stylistic features not previously seen before the 4th century ce, creating spatial illusion through foreshortening, overlapping, and placement upon an implied ground plane, as well as suggesting certain lighting effects through contrasting and modulated colours.

Han landscape painting is well represented by the lacquer coffins of Lady Dai at Mawangdui, two of which are painted with scenes of mountains, clouds, and a variety of full-bodied human and animal figures. Two approaches are used: one, more architectonic, uses overlapping pyramidal patterns that derive from the bronze decor of the late Zhou period (1046–255 bce); the other continues the dynamic linear convention already noted on the embroidered textiles from Jiangling, in the Warring States period (475–221 bce), as well as on late Zhou painted lacquers, on inlaid bronze tubes used as canopy fittings for chariots, and on woven silks found at Noin-ula, in Mongolia. Elsewhere, in the late Han, a new feeling for pictorial space in a more open outdoor setting appeared on molded bricks decorating tombs near Chengdu; these portrayed hunting and harvesting, the local salt-mining industry, and other subjects. From 220 to 1206 ce Three Kingdoms (220–280) and Six Dynasties (220–589)For 60 years after the fall of Han, China was divided between three native dynasties: the Wei in the north, Wu in the southeast, and Shuhan in the west.

It was briefly reunited under the Xi (Western) Jin; but in 311 Luoyang and in 316 Chang’an fell to the invading Xiongnu, and before long the whole of northern China was occupied by barbarian tribes who set up one petty kingdom after another until, in 439, a Turkish tribe, the Tuoba, brought the region under their rule as the Bei (Northern) Wei dynasty. They established a capital at Pingcheng (modern Datong) in Shanxi that they populated through the forced immigration of tens of thousands of Chinese. The Chinese they recruited into their service influenced the Tuoba until they became completely Sinicized. In 495 the Wei moved their capital to Luoyang in the heartland of ancient Chinese civilization, where they lost what little Turkish identity they still possessed.

They were succeeded in 535 by other petty barbarian dynasties who held the north until the reunification of China in 581. The barbarians adopted Buddhism as a matter of state policy, for Buddhism was an international religion with a concept of kingship that helped them to equate their earthly power with their spiritual authority and thus to legitimize their control over the Chinese. Moreover, in the devastated land that was northern China in the 4th and 5th centuries, when the Confucian system was in ruins and Daoism a refuge for the few, the Buddhist doctrine of salvation through faith and good works acted as a powerful consoling and uniting force, much like the role the Christian church played in the Middle Ages in Europe.

Therefore, when the Bei Wei embarked on great projects of temple building and the carving of colossal images, the people supported them, and Buddhist art flourished in the north. The Six Dynasties of South China, which ruled from Nanjing, were slower to respond to the Buddhist message, partly because they were less accessible to the missionaries entering China from Central Asia and partly because Confucianism and Daoism had been kept alive among the refugees from the north. Buddhist missionaries and art came to Nanjing by way of Indochina, but this cultural traffic did not become important before the 4th century. Although the rulers (with few exceptions) were weak, corrupt, or cruel and the court a maze of intrigue, it was chiefly in Nanjing that the great poets, calligraphers, painters, and critics flourished, and they in turn greatly influenced the arts of the occupied north.

The breakdown of the Confucian system after the Han dynasty (206 bce–220 ce) was reflected in painting and painting theory: increasingly, Daoist and Buddhist themes and theoretical reasons for painting were emphasized. This period saw the first activity by the courtier class, who painted as amateurs and who were far better remembered in the written record of the art than were their professional, artisan-class counterparts. Among the first named painting masters, Cao Buxing and Dai Kui painted chiefly Buddhist and Daoist subjects. Dai Kui was noted as a poet, painter, and musician and was one of the first to establish the tradition of scholarly amateur painting (wenrenhua).

He was also the leading sculptor of his day, almost the only instance in Chinese history of a gentleman who engaged in this craft. The greatest painter at the southern court in this period was Gu Kaizhi, an amateur painter from a family of distinguished Dong (Eastern) Wei dynasty scholar-officials in Nanjing and an eccentric member of a Daoist sect. One of the most famous of his works (which survives in a Tang dynasty copy in the British Museum) illustrates a 3rd-century didactic text Nüshizhen (“Admonitions of the Court Instructress”), by Zhang Hua. In this hand scroll, narrative illustration is bound strictly to the text (as if used as a mnemonic device): the advice to imperial concubines to bear sons to the emperor, for instance, is accompanied by a delightful family group.

The figures are slender and fairylike, and the line is fine and flows rhythmically. The roots of this elegant southern style, which then epitomized the highest Nanjing court standard, can be traced back to Changsha in the late Zhou (1046–256 bce)–early Han period, and it was later adopted as court style by the Bei Wei rulers (e.g., at Longmen) when they moved south to Luoyang in 495. Gu Kaizhi also was noted as a portraitist, and, among Buddhist subjects, his rendering of the sage Vimalakirti became a model for later painters.

The south saw few major painters in the 5th century, but the settled reign of Wudi in the 6th produced a number of notable figures, among them Zhang Sengyao, who was commissioned by the pious emperor to decorate the walls of Buddhist temples in Nanjing. All his work is lost, but his style, from early accounts and later copies, seems to have combined realism with a new freedom in the use of the brush, employing dots and dashing strokes very different from the fine precision of Gu Kaizhi. He also painted “flowers in relief” on the temple walls, which were much admired. Whether the effect of relief was produced by chiaroscuro or by the thickness of the pigment itself is not known.

Painters in northern China were chiefly occupied in Buddhist fresco painting (painting on a freshly plastered wall). While all the temples of the period have been destroyed, a quantity of wall painting survives at Dunhuang in northwestern Gansu in the Caves of the Thousand Buddhas, Qianfodong, where there are nearly 500 cave shrines and niches dating from the 5th century onward. There are also wall paintings in the caves of Maijishan and Bingling Temple. Early Dunhuang paintings chiefly depict incidents in the life of the Buddha, the Jatakas (stories of his previous incarnations), and such simple themes as the perils from which Avalokiteshvara (Chinese Guanyin) saves the faithful.

In style they show a blend of Central Asian and Chinese techniques that reflects the mixed population of northern China at this time. Painters practicing foreign techniques were active at the northern courts in the 6th century. Cao Zhongda painted, according to an early text, “after the manner of foreign countries” and was noted for closely clinging drapery that made his figures look as though they had been drenched in water. At the end of the 6th century, a painter from Khotan (Hotan), Weichi Bozhina, was active at the Sui court. A descendant of his, Weichi Yiseng, painted frescoes in the temples of Chang’an using a thick impasto (a thick application of pigment) and a brush line that was “tight and strong like bending iron or coiling wire.” Those foreign techniques caused much comment among the Chinese but seem to have been confined to Buddhist painting and were eventually abandoned.

The beginning of aesthetic theory in China was another product of the spirit of inquiry and introspection that characterized these restless years. About 300 ce a long, passionate poem, Wen Fu (“Rhymeprose on Literature”), was composed by Lu Ji on the subject of artistic creation. Also from this period, the Wenxin Diaolong (“Literary Mind and Carving of Dragons”) by Liu Xie has long remained China’s premier treatise on aesthetics. It offers insightful consideration of a wide range of chosen topics, beginning with a discussion of wen, or nature’s underlying pattern. Set forth as central to the mastery of artistic expression are the control of “wind” (feng, emotional vitality) and “bone” (gu, structural organization).

In the Nan (Southern) Liang dynasty critical works were written on literature and calligraphy; and, about the mid-6th century, the painter Xie He compiled the earliest work on art theory that has survived in China, the Guhuapinlu (“Classified Record of Painters of Former Times”).

In this work he grades 27 painters in three classes, prefacing his list with a short statement of six aesthetic principles by which painting should be judged. These are qiyun shengdong (“spirit resonance, life-motion”), an enigmatic and much debated phrase that means that the painter should endow his work with life and movement through harmony with the spirit of nature; gufa yongbi (“structural method in use of the brush”), referring to the structural power and tension of the brushstroke in both painting and calligraphy, through which the vital spirit is expressed; yingwu xianxing (“fidelity to the object in portraying forms”); suilei fucai (conforming to kind in applying colours); jingying weizhi (planning and design in placing and positioning); and chuanyi moxie (transmission of ancient models by copying). The last principle seems to refer to the copying of ancient paintings both for technical training and as a means of preserving them and hence the tradition itself. Of the “six principles,” the first two are fundamental, for, unless the conventional forms are brought to life by the vitality of the brushwork, the painting has no real merit,

however carefully it is executed; the latter principles imply that truth to nature and tradition also must be obtained for the first two to be achieved. The six principles of Xie He have become the cornerstone of Chinese aesthetic theory down through the centuries. The integration of spirituality and naturalism is similarly found in the short, profoundly Daoist text of the early 5th century, Huashanshuixu (“Preface on Landscape Painting,” China’s first essay on the topic), attributed to Zong Bing. Zong suggests that if well-painted—that is, if both visually accurate and aesthetically compelling—a landscape painting can truly substitute for real nature, for, even though miniaturized, it can attract vital energy (qi) from the spirit-filled void (dao) just as its real, material counterpart does. This interplay between macrocosm and microcosm became a constant foundation of Chinese spiritual thought and aesthetics. Sui (581–618) and Tang (618–907) dynastiesThe founding of the Sui dynasty reunited China after more than 300 years of fragmentation. The second Sui emperor engaged in unsuccessful wars and vast public works, such as the Grand Canal linking the north and south, that exhausted the people and caused them to revolt.

The succeeding Tang dynasty built a more enduring state on the foundations the Sui rulers had laid, and the first 130 years of the Tang was one of the most prosperous and brilliant periods in the history of Chinese civilization. The empire at the time extended so far across Central Asia that for a while Bukhara and Samarkand (now in Uzbekistan) were under Chinese control, the Central Asian kingdoms paid China tribute, and Chinese cultural influence reached Korea and Japan. Chang’an became the greatest city in the world; its streets were filled with foreigners, and foreign religions—including Zoroastrianism, Buddhism, Manichaeism, Nestorianism, Christianity, Judaism, and Islam—flourished. This confident cosmopolitanism is reflected in all the arts of this period.

The splendour of the dynasty reached its peak between 712 and 756 under Xuanzong (Minghuang), but before the end of his reign a disastrous defeat caused Central Asia to enter the control of the advancing Arabs, and the rebellion of General An Lushan in 755 almost brought down the dynasty. Although the Tang survived another 150 years, its great days were over, and, as the empire shrank and the economic crisis deepened, the government and people turned against foreigners and foreign religions.

In 845 all foreign religions were briefly but disastrously proscribed; temples and monasteries were destroyed or turned to secular use, and Buddhist bronze images were melted down. Today the finest Buddhist art and architecture in the Tang style is to be found not in China but in the 8th-century temples at Nara in Japan. While the ancient heartland of Chinese civilization in the Henan-Shaanxi area sank in political and economic importance, the southeast became ever more densely populated and prosperous, and in the last century of the Tang it was once again the cultural centre of China, as it had been in the Six Dynasties (220–589).

The patronage of the Sui and Tang courts attracted painters from all over the empire. Yan Liben, who rose to high office as an administrator, finally becoming a minister of state, was also a noted 7th-century figure painter. His duties included painting historical scrolls, notable events past and present, and portraits, including those of foreigners and strange creatures brought to court as tribute, to the delight of his patron, Taizong. Yan Liben painted in a conservative style with a delicate, scarcely modulated line. Part of a scroll depicting 13 emperors from Han to Sui (in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston) is attributed to him.

His brother Yan Lide was also a painter. Features of their style may possibly be preserved in wall paintings in recently discovered 7th- and early 8th-century tombs in northern China, notably that of Princess Yongtai (reburied 706) near Xi’an. The royal tombs near Xi’an (706) show the emergence of a more liberated tradition in brushwork that came to the fore in mid- to late 8th-century painting, as it did in the calligraphy of Zhang Xu, Yan Zhenqing, and other master writers. The greatest brush master of Tang painting was the 8th-century artist Wu Daoxuan, also called Wu Daozi, who not only enjoyed a career at court but had sufficient creative energy to execute, according to Tang records, some 300 wall paintings in the temples of Luoyang and Chang’an. His brushwork, in contrast to that of Yan Liben, was full of such sweeping power that crowds would gather to watch him as he worked. He painted chiefly in ink, leaving the colouring to his assistants, and he was famous for the three-dimensional, sculptural effect he achieved with the ink line alone.

His work (e.g., a mural at the Datong Hall of the imperial palace, representing almost 500 km [300 miles] of Sichuan’s Jialing River, produced in a single day without preliminary sketches) survives only through descriptions and very unreliable copies. Wu Daozi had a profound influence, particularly on figure painting, in the Tang and Song dynasties. His style may be reflected in some of the 8th-century caves at Dunhuang, although the meticulous handling of the great paradise compositions in the caves increasingly came to approximate the high standards of Chinese court artists and suggests the inspiration of earlier and more conservative Buddhist painters, who included Zheng Fazhi and Dong Boren.

This more restrained style can also be seen in the Japanese temple murals at Hōryū Temple near Nara, executed about 670–710 in the Chinese “international” manner. Figure painters who depicted court life in a careful manner derived from Yan Liben rather than from Wu Daozi included Zhang Xuan and Zhou Fang. The former’s Ladies Preparing Silk survives in a Song dynasty copy (in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston), while later versions of several compositions attributed to Zhou Fang exist.

Eighth-century royal tomb murals and Dunhuang Buddhist paintings demonstrate the early appearance and widespread appeal of styles that these court artists helped later to canonize, with individual figures (especially women) of monumental, sculpturesque proportion arranged upon a blank background with classic simplicity and balance. Horses played an important role in Tang military expansion and in the life of the court; riding was a popular recreation, and even the court ladies played polo. Horses also had become a popular subject for painting, and one of the emperor Xuanzong’s favourite court artists was the horse painter Han Gan.

A damaged and much restored 8th-century painting of the emperor’s favourite charger, Zhaoyebai (Shining White in the Night, in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City), attributed to Han Gan, gives a hint of that artist’s vital talent. The other great horse-painting master was the army general Cao Ba, said by the poet Du Fu to have captured better the inner character of his subjects and not just the flesh.

Most later horse painters claimed to follow Han Gan or Cao Ba, but the actual stylistic contrast between them was already reported in Bei (Northern) Song times as no longer distinguishable and today is hardly understood. The more than three centuries of the Sui and Tang were a period of progress and change in landscape painting.

The early 7th- and 8th-century masters Zhan Ziqian, Li Sixun, and the latter’s son Li Zhaodao developed a style of landscape painting known as qinglübai (“green, blue, white”) or jinbi shanshui (“gold-blue-green landscape”), in which mineral colours were applied to a composition carefully executed in fine line to produce a richly coloured effect.

Probably related to Central Asian painting styles of the Six Dynasties period and associated with the jeweled-paradise landscapes of the Daoist immortals, this “blue-and-green” type readily appealed to the Tang court’s taste for international exotica, religious fantasy, and boldly decorative art.

A painting in this technique, known as Minghuang’s Journey to Shu (that is, to Sichuan; in the National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan), reflects what is considered to be the style of Li Zhaodao, although it is probably a later copy. This style gradually crystallized as a courtly and professional tradition, in contrast to the more informal calligraphic ink painting of the literati. The generally accepted founder of the school of scholarly landscape painting (wenrenhua) is Wang Wei, an 8th-century scholar and poet who divided his time between the court at Chang’an, where he held official posts, and his country estate of Wang Chuan, of which he painted a panoramic composition preserved in later copies and engraved on stone.

Among his Buddhist paintings, the most famous was a rendering of the Indian sage Vimalakirti, who became, as it were, the “patron saint” of Chinese Buddhist intellectuals. Wang Wei sometimes painted landscapes in colour, but his later reputation was based on the belief that he was the first to paint landscape in monochrome ink.

He was said to have obtained a subtle atmosphere by “breaking the ink” (pomo) into varied tones. The belief in his founding role, fostered by later critics, became the cornerstone of the philosophy of the wenrenhua, which held that a man could not be a great painter unless he was also a scholar and a gentleman. More adventurous in technique was the somewhat eccentric late 8th-century painter Zhang Zao, who produced dramatic tonal and textural contrasts, as when he painted simultaneously, with one brush in each hand, two branches of a tree, one moist and flourishing, the other desiccated and dead.

This new freedom with the brush was carried to extremes by such painters of the middle to late Tang as Wang Xia (Wang Mo) and Gu Kuang, southern Chinese Daoists who “splashed ink” (also transliterated as pomo but written with different characters than “broken ink”) onto the silk in a manner suggestive of 20th-century “Action painters” such as Jackson Pollock.

The intention of these ink-splashers was philosophical and religious as well as artistic: it was written at the time that their spontaneous process was designed to imitate the divine process of creation. Their semifinished products, in which the artistic process was fully revealed and the subject matter had to be discerned by the viewer, suggested a Daoist philosophical skepticism.

These techniques marked the emergence of a trend toward eccentricity in brushwork that had free rein in periods of political and social chaos. They were subsequently employed by painters of the southern “Sudden” school of Chan (Zen) Buddhism, which held that enlightenment was a spontaneous, irrational experience that could be suggested in painting only by a comparable spontaneity in the brushwork.

Chan painting flourished particularly in Chengdu, the capital of the petty state of Shu, to which many artists went as refugees from the chaotic north in the last years before the Tang dynasty fell. Among them was Guanxiu, an eccentric who painted Buddhist saints with a weird air and exaggerated features that had a strong appeal to members of the Chan sect. The element of the deliberately grotesque in Guanxiu’s art was further developed during the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period by Shi Ke, who was active in Chengdu in the mid-10th century.

In his paintings, chiefly of Buddhist and Daoist subjects, he set out in the Chan manner to shock the viewer by distortion and roughness of execution. Five Dynasties (907–960) and Ten Kingdoms (902–978)At the fall of the Tang, northern China, ruled by five short-lived dynasties, plunged into a state of political and social chaos. The corrupt northern courts offered little support to the arts, although Buddhism continued to flourish until persecution in 955 destroyed much of what had been created in the 110 years since the previous anti-Buddhist campaign.

The 10 independent kingdoms that ruled various parts of southern China, though no more enduring, offered more enlightened patronage. At first the Qian (Former) Shu (with its capital at Chengdu) and then, for a longer period, the kingdoms of the Nan (Southern) Tang (with the capital at Nanjing) and Wuyue (with its capital at Hangzhou) were centres of comparative peace and prosperity. Li Houzhu (Li Yu), the last ruler of the Nan Tang, was a poet and liberal patron at whose court the arts flourished more brilliantly than at any time since the mid-8th century.

Not only were the southern courts at Chengdu and Nanjing leading patrons of the arts, but they also began formalizing court sponsorship of painting by organizing a centralized atelier with an academic component and by granting painters an elevated bureaucratic stature—policies that would be followed or modified by subsequent dynasties. Landscape painting In northern China only a handful of painters were working. The greatest of them, Jing Hao, who was active from about 910 to 950, spent much of his life as a recluse in the Taihang Mountains of Shanxi. No authentic work of his survives, but it seems from texts and later copies that he created a new style of landscape painting.

Boldly conceived and executed chiefly in ink with firmness and concentration, his precipitous crags, cleft with gullies and rushing streams, rise up in rank to the top of the picture. For 150 years before his time, the centre of landscape painting activity had been in the southeast. Jing Hao’s importance therefore lies in the fact that he both revived the northern spirit and created a type of painting that became the model for his follower Guan Tong and for the classic northern masters of the early Song period (960–1279), Li Cheng and Fan Kuan. An essay on landscape painting, Bifaji (“Notes on Brushwork”), attributed to Jing Hao, sets out the philosophy of this school of landscape painting, one that was consistent with newly emergent Neo-Confucian ideals.

Painting was to be judged both by its visual truthfulness to nature and by its expressive impact. The artist must possess creative intuition and a reverence for natural subject matter, tempered by rigorous empirical observation and personal self-discipline. Consistent with this, in all the major schools of Song landscape painting that followed, artists would render with remarkable accuracy their own regional geography, letting it serve as a basis for their styles, their emotional moods, and their personal visions.

In contrast to the stark drama of this northern style, landscapes associated with the name of Dong Yuan, who held a sinecure post at the court of Li Houzhu in Nanjing, are broad and almost impressionistic in treatment. The coarse brushstrokes (known as “hemp-fibre” texture strokes), dotted accents (“moss dots”), and wet ink washes of his monochrome style, said to be derived from Wang Wei, suggest the rounded, tree-clad hills and moist atmosphere of the Jiangnan (“South of the Yangtze River”) region.

The contrast between the firm brushwork and dramatic compositions of such northern painters as Jing Hao and his followers and the more relaxed and spontaneous manner of Dong Yuan and his follower Juran laid the foundation for two distinct traditions in Chinese landscape painting that have continued up to modern times. The style developed by Dong Yuan and Juran became dominant in the Ming (1368–1644) and Qing (1644–1911/12) periods, preferred by amateur artists because of its easy reduction to a calligraphic mode, its calm and understated compositional nature, and its regional affiliation.

While the few figure painters in northern China, such as Hu Huai, characteristically recorded hunting scenes, the southerners, notably Gu Hongzhong and Zhou Wenju, depicted the voluptuous, sensual court life under Li Houzhu. A remarkable copy of an original work by Gu Hongzhong depicts the scandalous revelries of the minister Han Xizai. Zhou Wenju was famous for his pictures of court ladies and musical entertainments, executed with a fine line and soft, glowing colour in the tradition of Zhang Xuan and Zhou Fang. Flower painting Flower painting, previously associated chiefly with Buddhist art, came into its own as a separate branch of painting in the Five Dynasties. At Chengdu, the master Huang Quan brought to maturity the technique of mogu hua (“boneless painting”), in which he applied light colours with delicate skill, hiding the intentionally pale underdrawing and seeming thereby to dispense with the usually dominant element of a strong brush outline.

His great rival, Xu Xi, working for Li Houzhu in Nanjing, first drew his flowers in ink in a bold, free manner suggestive of the draft script, caoshu, adding a little colour afterward. Both men established standards that were followed for centuries afterward. Because of its reliance on technical skill, Huang Quan’s naturalistic style (also referred to as xiesheng, or “lifelike painting”) was mainly adopted by professional painters, while the scholars admired the calligraphic freedom of Xu Xi’s style (referred to as xieyi, or “painting the idea”). Both men were also noted painters of bamboo, an object that had symbolic associations for the scholar-gentleman and at the same time posed a technical challenge in the handling of the brush.

After the founding of the Song, xiesheng artists from Sichuan, including Huang Quan and his sons Huang Jucai and Huang Jubao, traveled to the new court at Bianjing (Kaifeng), where they established a tradition that dominated the Bei Song period. Xu Xi found greater favour during the Yuan (1206–1368), Ming, and Qing periods. Song (960–1279), Liao (907–1125), and Jin (1115–1234) dynastiesAlthough reunited and ably ruled for well over a century by the first five Song emperors, China failed to recover the northern provinces from the barbarian tribes. A Khitan tribe, calling their dynasty Liao, held all of northeastern China until 1125, while the Xi (Western) Xia held the northwest, cutting off Chinese contact with western and Central Asia. From the new capital, Bianjing, the Song rulers pursued a pacific policy, buying off the Khitan and showing unprecedented toleration at home. While it brought Chinese scholarship, arts, and letters to a new peak of achievement, this policy left the northern frontiers unguarded. When in 1114 the Juchen Tatars in the far northwest revolted against the Khitan, the Chinese army helped the rebels destroy their old enemy.

The Juchen then turned on the Song: they invaded China, besieged the capital in 1126, and took as prisoner the emperor Qinzong, the emperor emeritus Huizong (who had recently abdicated), and the imperial court. They then established their own dynasty, the Jin, with their capital at the city later to be called Beijing. The remnants of the Song court fled to the south in 1127 and, after several years of wandering, established their “temporary” capital at the beautiful city of Hangzhou. The Nan Song (Southern Song) never seriously tried to recover the north but enjoyed the beauty and prosperity of their new home, while the arts continued to flourish in an atmosphere of humanity and tolerance until the Mongols entered China in the 13th century and swept all before them.

In 1234 they destroyed the Juchen Tatars, and, although the Chinese armies resisted valiantly, Hangzhou fell in 1276. Three years later a loyal Song minister drowned himself and the young emperor. The Bei (Northern) Song was a period of reconstruction and consolidation. Bianjing was a city of palaces, temples, and tall pagodas; Buddhism flourished, and monasteries and temples once again multiplied. The Song emperors attracted around them the greatest literary and artistic talent of the empire, and something of this high culture was carried on by their successors of Liao and Jin. The atmosphere at the Nan Song court in Hangzhou, perhaps even more refined and civilized, was clouded by the loss of the north, and the temptation to enjoy the delights of Hangzhou and neglect their armies on the frontier turned men in on themselves. Power and confidence no longer characterized Nan Song art; instead it was imbued with an exquisite sensibility and a romanticism that is sometimes poignant, given the disaster that befell China in the 13th century.

Song interest in history and a revival of the classics were matched by a new concern with the tangible remains of China’s past. This was the age of the beginning of archaeology and of the first great collectors and connoisseurs. One of the most enthusiastic of these was the Bei Song emperor Huizong (1100–1125/26), whose passion for the arts blinded him to the perils that threatened his country. Huizong’s sophisticated antiquarianism reflects an attitude that became an increasingly important factor in Chinese art. He collected and cataloged pre-Qin bronzes and jades while the palace studios turned out close replicas and archaic emulations of both media. Building his royal garden, the Genyue, was said to have nearly bankrupted the state, as gigantic garden stones hauled up by boat from the south closed down the Grand Canal for long periods.

He was also the most distinguished of all imperial painting collectors, and the catalog of his collection (the Xuanhe Huapu, encompassing 6,396 paintings by 231 painters) remains a valuable document for the study of early Chinese painting. (Part of the collection passed into the hands of the Jin conquerors, and the remainder was scattered at the fall of Bianjing.) Huizong also elevated to new heights the recent process of bureaucratizing court painting, with entrance examinations modeled on civil service norms, with ranks and promotions like those of scholar-officials, and with regularized instruction sometimes offered by the emperor himself as chief academician.

The favours granted throughout the Song to lower-class artisans at court incurred the ire of aristocratic courtiers and provided stimulus for the rise of the amateur painting movement among these scholar-officials (shidafu hua), which ultimately became the literati painting mode (wenrenhua) that dominated most of Yuan (1206–1368), Ming (1368–1644), and Qing (1644–1911/12) history. Settled conditions and a tolerant atmosphere helped to make the Bei Song a period of great achievement in landscape painting. Li Cheng, a follower of Jing Hao who lived a few years into the Song, was a scholar who defined the soft, billowing earthen formations of the northeastern Chinese terrain with “cloudlike” texture, interior layers of graded ink wash bounded by firmly brushed, scallop-edged contours.

He is remembered especially for winter landscapes and for simple compositions in which he set a pair of tall, rugged, aging evergreens against a low, level view of desiccated landscape. As with Jing Hao and Guan Tong, probably none of his original work survives, but aspects of his style have been perpetuated in thousands of other artists’ works. An even more formidable figure was the early 11th-century painter Fan Kuan, who began by following Li Cheng’s style but turned to studying nature directly and finally followed only his own inclinations.

He lived as a recluse in the mountains of Shaanxi, and a Song writer said that “his manners and appearance were stern and old-fashioned; he had a great love of wine and was devoted to the Dao.” A tall landscape scroll, Travelers Among Mountains and Streams (National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan), bearing his hidden signature, depicts peasants and pack mules emerging from thick woodland at the foot of a towering cliff that dwarfs them to insignificance. The composition is monumental, the detail is realistic, and the brushwork, featuring a stippling style known as “raindrop” strokes, is powerful and close-textured.

While the details of the work are based on closely observed geographic reality (perhaps some specific site such as Mount Heng), a profoundly idealistic conception is revealed in the highly rational structure of the painting, which conforms closely to aspects of Daoist cosmology and numerology. Other northern masters of the 11th century who helped to establish the great classical tradition were Xu Daoning, Gao Kegong, and Yan Wengui. The second half of the century was dominated by Guo Xi, who became an instructor in the painting division of the Imperial Hanlin Academy.

His style combined the technique of Li Cheng with the monumentality of Fan Kuan, and he made some advances, particularly in the relief that he attained by shading with ink washes (“cloudlike” texture), a spectacular example of which is his Early Spring (1072; National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan). He was a great decorator and liked to work on such large surfaces as plaster walls and standing screens. His observations on landscape painting were collected and published by his son Gao Si under the title Linquan Gaozhi (“Lofty Record of Forests and Streams”).

In addition to giving ideas for paintings and notes on the rules of the art, in this work he stresses that the enjoyment of landscape painting can function as a substitute for wandering in the mountains, an indulgence for which the conscientious Confucian scholar-official was too busy.

While the monumental realistic tradition was reaching its climax, quite another approach to painting was being expressed by a group of intellectuals that included the poet-statesman-artist Su Shi (Su Dongpo), the landscape painter Mi Fu, the bamboo painter Wen Tong, the plum painter and priest Zhongren Huaguang, and the figure and horse painter Li Gonglin. Su and Mi, together with their friend Huang Tingjian, were also the foremost calligraphers of the dynasty, all three developing the tradition established by Zhang Xu, Yan Zhenqing, and Huaisu in the mid-8th century.

The aim of these artists was not to depict nature realistically—that could be left to the professionals—but to express themselves, to “satisfy the heart.” They spoke of merely “borrowing” the literal shapes and forms of things as a vehicle through which they could “lodge” their thoughts and feelings. In this amateur painting mode of the scholar-official (shidafu hua, later called wenrenhua), skill was suspect because it was the attribute of the professional and court painter.

The scholars valued spontaneity above all, even making a virtue of awkwardness as a sign of the painter’s sincerity. Mi Fu, an influential and demanding connoisseur, was the first major advocate and follower of Dong Yuan’s boneless style, reducing it to mere ink dots (Mi dian, or “Mi dots”).

This new technique influenced many painters, including Mi Fu’s son Mi Youren, who combined it with a subdued form of ink splashing. Wen Tong and Su Dongpo were both devoted to bamboo painting, an exacting art form very close in technique to calligraphy. Su Dongpo wrote poems on Wen Tong’s paintings, thus helping to establish the unity of the three arts of poetry, painting, and calligraphy that became a hallmark of the wenrenhua. When Su Dongpo painted landscapes, Li Gonglin sometimes executed the figures. Li was a master of baimiao (“plain line”) painting, without colour, shading, or wash. He brought a scholar’s refinement of taste to a tradition theretofore dominated by Wu Daozi’s dramatic style.

The northern emperors were enthusiastic patrons of the arts. Huizong, perhaps the most knowledgeable of all Chinese emperors about the arts, was himself an accomplished calligrapher (he developed a unique and extremely elegant style known as “slender gold”) and a painter chiefly of birds and flowers in the realistic tradition stretching back to Huang Quan and developed by subsequent court artists such as Cui Bai of the late 11th century. While meticulous in detail, his works were subjective in mood, following poetic themes that were calligraphically inscribed on the painting. A fine example of the kind of painting attributed to him is the minutely observed and carefully painted Five-Coloured Parakeet on Blossoming Apricot Tree (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston).

He demanded the same qualities in the work of his court painters and would add his cypher to pictures of which he approved. It is consequently very difficult to distinguish the work of the emperor from that of his favoured court artists. Among the distinguished academicians at Huizong’s court were Zhang Zeduan, whose extraordinarily realistic Qingming Festival scroll (Palace Museum, Beijing) preserves a wealth of social and architectural information in compellingly artistic form, and Li Tang, who fled to the south in 1127 and supervised the reestablishment of the northern artistic tradition at the new court in Hangzhou. Although Guo Xi’s style remained popular in the north after the Jin occupation, Li Tang’s mature style came to dominate in the south.

Li was a master in the Fan Kuan tradition, but he gradually reduced Fan’s monumentality into more refined and delicate compositions and transformed Fan’s small “raindrop” texture into a broader “ax-cut” texture stroke that subsequently remained a hallmark of most Chinese court academy landscape painting. In the first two generations of the Nan Song, however, historical figure painting regained its earlier dominance at court. Gaozong and Xiaozong, respectively the son and grandson of the imprisoned Huizong, sought to legitimize their necessary but technically unlawful assumption of power by supporting works illustrating the ancient classics and traditional virtues. Such works, by artists including Li Tang and Ma Hezhi, often include lengthy inscriptions purportedly executed by the emperors themselves.

They represent the finest survival today of the ancient court tradition of propagandistic historical narrative painting in a Confucian political mode. Subsequently, in the late 12th and early 13th centuries, the primacy of landscape painting was reasserted. The tradition of Li Tang was turned in an increasingly romantic and dreamlike direction, however, by the great masters Ma Yuan, his son Ma Lin, Xia Gui, and Liu Songnian, all of whom served with distinction in the painting division of the imperial Hanlin Academy. These artists used the Li Tang technique, only more freely, developing the so-called “large ax-cut” texture stroke. Their compositions are often “one-cornered,” depicting a foreground promontory with a fashionably rusticated building and a few stylish figures separated from the silhouettes of distant peaks by a vast and aesthetically poignant expanse of misty emptiness—a view these painters must have seen any summer evening as they gazed across Hangzhou’s West Lake.

The Ma family’s works achieved a philosophically inspired sense of quietude, while Xia Gui’s manner was strikingly dramatic in brushwork and composition. The Ma-Xia school, as it came to be called, was greatly admired in Japan during the Muromachi and Azuchi-Momoyama periods, and its impact can still be found today in Japanese gardening traditions. Toward the end of this period, Chan (Zen) Buddhist painting experienced a brief but remarkable florescence, stimulated by scholars abandoning the decaying political environment of the Nan Song court for the monastic life practiced in the hill temples across the lake from Hangzhou.

The court painter Liang Kai had been awarded the highest order, the Golden Girdle, between 1201 and 1204, but he put it aside, quit the court, and became a Chan recluse. What is thought to be his earlier work has the professional skill expected of a colleague of Ma Yuan, but his later paintings became freer and more spontaneous. The greatest of the Chan painters was Muqi, or Fachang, who reestablished the Liutong Monastery in the western hills of Hangzhou. The wide range of subjects of his work (which included Buddhist deities, landscapes, birds and animals, and flowers and fruit) and the spontaneity of his style bear witness to the Chan philosophy that the “Buddha essence” is in all things equally and that only a spontaneous style can convey something of the sudden awareness that comes to the Chan adept in his moments of illumination. Perhaps his best-known work is his hastily sketched Six Persimmons (preserved and idolized in Japan), while a somewhat more conservative style is seen in his triptych of three hanging scrolls with Guanyin flanked by a crane and gibbons (Daitoku Temple, Kyōto, Japan). Chinese connoisseurs disapproved of the rough brushwork and lack of literary content in Muqi’s paintings, and none appear to have survived in China. However, his work, and that of other Chan artists such as Liang Kai and Yujian, was collected and widely copied in Japan, forming the basis of the Japanese suiboku-ga (sumi-e) tradition.

Chan Buddhism borrowed greatly from Daoism, both in philosophy and in painting manner. One of the last great Song artists was Chen Rong, an official, poet, and Daoist who specialized in painting the dragon, a symbol both of the emperor and of the mysterious all-pervading force of the Dao. Chen Rong’s paintings show these fabulous creatures emerging from amid rocks and clouds. They were painted in a variety of strange techniques, including rubbing the ink on with a cloth and spattering it, perhaps by blowing ink onto the painting.

From 1206 to 1912 Yuan dynasty (1206–1368)Although the Mongol conquest made China part of an empire that stretched from Korea to Hungary and opened its doors to foreign contacts as never before, this short-lived dynasty was oppressive and corrupt. Its later decades were marked by social and administrative chaos in which the arts received little official encouragement.

The Mongols distrusted the Chinese intelligentsia, relying primarily on Central Asians for government administrative functions. Nevertheless, some influential Chinese writers recognized that the Mongols brought a sense of martial discipline that was lacking in the Song (960–1279), and after 1286 an increasing number of Chinese scholars were persuaded to enter government service, undoubtedly hoping to influence their rulers to adopt a more benign policy toward the Chinese people. One school that flourished under Yuan official patronage was that of Buddhist and Daoist painting; important wall paintings were executed at the Yongle Temple in Shanxi (now restored and moved to Ruicheng).

A number of royal patrons, including Kublai, the emperors Buyantu and Tog-temür, and Kublai’s great-granddaughter Sengge, built an imperial collection of important early works and also sponsored paintings that emphasized such themes as architecture and horses. Still, their activities were not a match for Song royal patronage, and it was in this period that the amateur art of painters of the scholar class (in the tradition of Su Dongpo and his late Bei Song colleagues) first came to dominate Chinese painting standards. The restriction of the scholars’ opportunities at court and the choice of many of them to withdraw into seclusion rather than serve the Mongols created a heightened sense of class identity and individual purpose, which in turn inspired their art.

Eremitic rather than courtly values now shaped the art of painting as never before, and a stylistic gulf sprang up between literati painters and court professionals that was not bridged until the 18th century. Whereas most painting had previously displayed technical refinement and had conservatively transmitted the heritage of the immediate past, gradually evolving through modest individual departures, the literati thenceforth typically based their styles on a wide-ranging knowledge of distant stylistic precedents, selectively chosen and radically transformed by means of expressive calligraphic brushwork. Style and subject were both intended to reflect closely the artist’s own personality and mood rather than conforming to the wishes of a patron.

Typical were the simply brushed orchid paintings of Zheng Sixiao, who painted this traditional symbol of political loyalty without any ground beneath as a comment on the grievous loss of China to foreign domination. Qian Xuan was among the first to define this new direction. From Wuxing in Zhejiang, he steadfastly declined an invitation to serve at court, as reflected in his painting style and themes. A conservative painter before the Mongol conquest, especially of realistic flowers and birds, he altered his style to incorporate the primitive qualities of ancient painting, favouring the Tang blue-and-green manner in his landscape painting, stiff or peculiarly mannered renditions of vegetation and small animals, and the archaic flavour of clerical script in his brushwork. Calligraphy became a part of his design and frequently confirmed through historical references a link between subject matter and his eremitic choice of lifestyle.

Like many Chinese scholars who espoused this amateur ideal, Qian Xuan was obliged by demeaning circumstances to exchange his paintings in return for his family’s livelihood. The most distinguished of the scholar-painters was Zhao Mengfu, a fellow townsman and younger follower of Qian Xuan who became a high official and president of the imperial Hanlin Academy. In his official travels he collected paintings by Bei Song masters that inspired him to revive and reinterpret the classical styles in his own fashion. A notable example is Autumn Colours in the Qiao and Hua Mountains (1296; National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan), a nostalgic, deliberately archaistic landscape in the Tang manner.

The hand scrolls Twin Pines and Level View (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City) and Water Village (1302; Palace Museum, Beijing) exemplify his reinterpretation of past masters (Li Cheng and Dong Yuan, respectively) and furthered the new direction of scholarly landscape painting by applying the standards and techniques of calligraphy to painting. The Yuan produced many fine calligraphers, including Zhao Mengfu, who was the most influential, Yang Weizhen, and Zhang Yu. The period was less innovative in calligraphy than in painting, however, and Zhao’s primary accomplishment was to sum up and resynthesize the past. His well-studied writing style was praised in his time for its breadth of historical understanding, and his standard script became the national model for book printing, but he was later criticized for a lack of daring or expression of personality, for a brush style too sweet and pleasing. 

Other gentlemen-painters who worked at the Yuan court perpetuated more conservative Song styles, often rivaling or even surpassing their Song predecessors in the process. Ren Renfa worked in great detail and was perhaps the last of China’s great horse painters; he defended his court service through both the style and theme of his paintings. Li Kan carefully studied the varieties of bamboo during his official travels and wrote a systematic treatise on painting them; he remains unsurpassed as a skilled bamboo painter. Gao Kegong followed Mi Fu and Mi Youren in painting cloudy landscapes that symbolized good government.

Wang Mian, who served not the Mongols but anti-Mongol forces at the end of the dynasty, set the highest standard for the painting of plums, a symbol of irrepressible purity and, potentially, of revolutionary zeal. In retrospect, however, it was the ideals of the retired scholars that had the most lasting effect on later Chinese art. This may be summed up as individuality of expression, brushwork more revealing of the inner spirit of the subject—or of the artist himself—than of outward appearance, and suppression of the realistic and decorative in favour of an intentional plainness, understatement (pingtan), and awkwardness (zhuo), which marks the integrity of the gentleman suspicious of too much skill.

Four masters of the middle and later Yuan, all greatly influenced by Zhao Mengfu, came to be regarded as the foremost exponents of this philosophy of painting in the Yuan period. Huang Gongwang, a Daoist recluse, was the oldest. His most revered and perhaps only authentic surviving work is the hand scroll Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains (National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan), painted with dynamic brushwork during occasional moods of inspiration between 1347 and 1350. Unlike the academicians, Gongwang did not hesitate to go over his brushwork, for expression, not representation, was his aim.

The cumulative effect of his masterpiece is obtained not by its fidelity to visible forms but by a profound feeling of oneness with nature that set an ideal standard for later scholarly painting. This scholarly serenity was also expressed in the landscapes of Wu Zhen, a poor Daoist diviner, poet, and master painter who, like Huang Gongwang, was inspired by Dong Yuan and Juran, whose manner he rendered, in landscapes and bamboo painting alike, with blunt brushwork, minimal motion, and utmost calm.

His bamboo paintings are also superb, and, in an album in the National Palace Museum (Taipei), he pays tribute to his Song dynasty predecessors Su Dongpo and Wen Tong. The third of the Four Masters of the Yuan dynasty was Ni Zan, a prosperous gentleman and bibliophile forced by crippling taxation to give up his estates and become a wanderer. As a landscapist, he eliminated all depictions of human beings. He thus reduced the compositional pattern of Li Cheng (symbolizing lofty gentlemen in isolation from the court) to its simplest terms, achieving, as Wu Zhen had, a sense of austere and monumental calm with the slenderest of means. He used ink, it was said, as sparingly as if it were gold.

Quite different was the technique of the fourth Yuan master, Wang Meng, a grandson of Zhao Mengfu. His brushwork was dense and energetic, derived from Dong Yuan but tangled and hoary and thereby imbued with a feeling of great antiquity. He often drew heavily from Guo Xi or from what he perceived as Tang traditions in his landscape compositions, which he filled with scholarly retreats. He sometimes used strong colours as well, which added a degree of visual charm and nostalgia to his painting that was lacking in the other three masters’ work.

The combination in the Four Masters of a consistent philosophical and political attitude and a wide range of ink techniques made them models for later scholar-painters, both in their lives and in their art. It is impossible to appreciate the work of the landscape painters of the Ming and Qing (1644–1911/12) dynasties unless one is aware of how acutely conscious they were of their debt to the Yuan masters and how frequently they paid tribute to them both in their style and in their inscriptions.

From this point on, indeed, the artist’s own inscription, as well as the colophons of admirers and connoisseurs, became an integral part of the total work of art. Ming dynasty (1368–1644)The restoration of a native dynasty made China once again a great power. The Ming dynasty felt a kinship with the heyday of the Tang dynasty (618–907), a connection reflected in the vigour and rich colour of Ming arts and crafts. Early in the 1400s, China again expanded into Central Asia, and maritime expeditions brought Central Asian products around the Indian Ocean to its own shores. Chinese pottery exports also greatly increased.

The 15th century was a period of settled prosperity and great achievement in the arts, but the last century of the dynasty was marked by corruption at court and a deep discontent among the scholar-gentry that is reflected in their painting. The first Ming emperor, Hongwu, was a highly distrustful personality whose vengeful focus fell upon Suzhou, the local base of his chief rival for the throne as well as home to the Yuan period (1206–1368) literati painting movement.

So many artists became victim to his recriminations, typically for political rather than artistic reasons, that a novel movement in Chinese painting history was nearly halted. Among those literati painters who lost their lives during this period were Wang Meng, Zhao Yuan, Xu Ben, Chen Ruyan, Zhang Yu, Zhou Wei, and Sheng Zhu. Rejecting the individualist standard of literati painting, early Ming emperors who revived the custom of summoning painters to court sought instead to create a cultural bridge to the last native regimes, the Tang and Song.

Although they revived Song professional court styles, they never organized their painters into a central teaching academy and indeed sometimes dealt quite harshly with them. Scholar-painters, increasingly few in number in the early Ming, stayed at home in the south, further widening the gulf between themselves and court artists. Early Ming court painters such as Xie Huan and Li Zai at first revived the Tang blue-and-green and Bei Song court styles of Guo Xi.

Bian Wenjin and his follower Lu Ji carried forward the bird-and-flower painting tradition of Huang Quan, Cui Bai, and the Song emperor Huizong. Gradually, however, the Nan Song styles of the landscape artists Li Tang, Ma Yuan, and Xia Gui came to hold sway, beginning with Dai Jin, who served under the fifth emperor, the Xuande emperor (himself a painter of moderate ability). Nevertheless, Dai Jin, who was opposed in the Beijing capital by jealous court rivals and who found the restrictions there intolerable (as did many others who followed), was affected by the calligraphically inspired scholars’ art: his brushwork shows far greater freedom than is found in his Nan Song models.

Like Dai Jin, many professional painters went to Beijing from the old Nan Song capital region around Hangzhou, and they were said to belong to the Zhe school of painting. Many of the so-called Zhe school artists were in fact scholars disgruntled with the autocratic Ming politics and drawn to Daoist eremitic themes and eccentric brushwork. Most dazzling among them, perhaps, was Wu Wei, from Jiangxia in Hubei, whose drunken bouts at court were forgiven out of admiration for his genius with the brush.

Among the few important amateur painters to hold a scholarly position at the early Ming court was Wang Fu, who survived a long period of banishment to the frontier under the first emperor to return as a court calligrapher. He became a key figure in the survival and transmission of Yuan literati style and was the first to single out the masters Huang Gongwang, Wu Zhen, Ni Zan, and Wang Meng as models. Other early Ming scholar-official painters in the Yuan tradition were the bamboo painter Xia Chang and Liu Jue, who retired to Suzhou at the age of 50 after having been president of the Board of Justice.

In his landscapes Liu Jue gives to the cool, often austere style of the Yuan masters a looser, more genial character, thus making them more accessible to the large number of amateur gentlemen-painters who flourished in the Jiangnan region—notably those in and around Suzhou, during the settled middle years of the 15th century. The Wu district of Jiangsu, in which Suzhou lies, gave its name to the Wu school of landscape painting, dominated in the late 15th century by Shen Zhou, a friend and pupil of Liu Jue.

Shen Zhou never became an official but instead devoted his life to painting and poetry. He often painted in the manner of the Yuan masters, but his interpretations of Ni Zan and Wu Zhen are more clearly structured and firmer in brushwork. His work is unsurpassed in all Chinese art for its humane feeling; the gentle and unpretentious figures he introduced give his paintings great appeal. Shen Zhou commanded a wide range of styles and techniques, on which he impressed his warm and vigorous personality.

He also became the first to establish among the literati painters a flower painting tradition. These works, executed in the “boneless” fashion developed by 10th-century court artists but with the freedom of such late Song Chan painters as Muqi, were followed with greater technical versatility by Chen Shun and Xu Wei in the late Ming and then by Shitao (Daoji) and Zhu Da of the early Qing. Their work, in turn, served as the basis for the revival of flower painting in the late 19th and the 20th century.

Shen Zhou’s younger contemporary and friend Wen Zhengming showed an even greater interest in the styles of the past, which he reinterpreted with a refined and scholarly precision. He, too, had many styles and was a distinguished calligrapher. He was an active teacher of painting as well, and among his gifted pupils were his son Wen Jia and his nephew Wen Boren. Their landscapes display a lyrical delicacy in composition, touch, and colour, qualities that in the work of lesser late Ming artists of the Wu school degenerated into a precious and artificial style.

Three early 16th-century professional Suzhou masters, Zhou Chen, Qiu Ying, and Tang Yin, established a somewhat different standard from that of the scholarly Wu group, never renouncing the professional’s technical skills yet mastering the literary technique as well. They achieved a wide range, and sometimes a blend, of styles that could hardly be dismissed by scholarly critics and that won great popular acclaim.

In fact, Tang Yin, who was not only a student of Zhou Chen but also a brilliant scholar and longtime friend of Wen Zhengming, became mythologized in the centuries that followed. In the succeeding generations, other painting masters similarly helped confuse the distinction between amateur and professional standards, and, in the early 17th century, a number of these artists also showed the first influence of the European technique that had been brought to China through engravings and then oil paintings by Matteo Ricci and other Jesuit missionaries after 1600.

Among these painters were the landscapists Wu Bin from Nanjing, Zhang Hong from Suzhou, and Lan Ying from Qiantang in Zhejiang province. The southern painter Chen Hongshou and the Beijing artist Cui Zizhong initiated the first major revival of figure painting since Song times, possibly as a result of their encounters with Western art. Perspective and shading effects appear among other naturalistic features in the art of this generation, along with a newfound interest in saturated colours and an attraction to formal distortion, which may have derived in part from a fascination with the unfamiliar in Western art.

Beyond the revived interest in naturalism, which seems to have inspired in some artists a renewed attention to Five Dynasties (907–960) and Song painting (as the last period in which Chinese artists had displayed knowledge about such matters), there occurred an even more fundamental questioning of contemporary standards. In the work of Chen and Cui, which exhibits all the aforementioned qualities, an almost unprecedented interest in grotesquerie and satire visually enlivens their work, yet it also reflects something of the restless individualism and deep disillusionment that were part of the spirit of this period of national decline.

The breakdown of orthodoxy reached an extreme form in Xu Wei. In his explosive paintings, chiefly of flowers, plants, and bamboo, he showed an absolute mastery of brush and ink and a total disregard of tradition. Standing above all others of this period in terms of historical impact, the theorist, critic, and painter Dong Qichang saw the proliferation of styles as a symptom of the decline in morale of the scholar class as the Ming became increasingly corrupt.

His aim to reestablish standards in landscape painting paralleled a movement to restore traditional virtue to government. In his brief but influential essay Huashuo (“Comments on Painting”), he set out what he held to be the proper lineage of scholarly painting models, from Wang Wei of the Tang through Dong Yuan and Juran of the Five Dynasties, Su Dongpo and Mi Fu of the Song, Huang Gongwang, Wu Zhen, Ni Zan, and Wang Meng of the Yuan, and Shen Zhou and Wen Zhengming of the Ming.

He labeled these artists as “Southern school” in reference to the Southern school of Chan Buddhism and its philosophy of spontaneous enlightenment, while he rejected such “Northern school” (i.e., gradualist, pedantic) artists as Guo Xi, Ma Yuan, Xia Gui, and Qui Ying. Dong believed that the greatest painters were highly creative individuals who, to be followed effectively, had to be creatively reinterpreted.

Appropriately, his own landscape painting was often quite original, sometimes daringly so, even while based on a systematic reduction and synthetic reintegration of past styles. However, having breathed new life into a troubled tradition by looking inward and to the past, his reinterpretations (particularly of the styles of Dong Yuan and Juran) set an ideal beyond which his contemporaries and followers could not go without either a great leap of imagination, a direct return to nature, or a departure from the historical core of Chinese painting standards. Only a few artists, in the early Qing, could achieve this, primarily through the route of artistic imagination; many more throughout the Qing followed Dong too slavishly in theory without attaining new heights or perspectives in actual practice.

One further feature of late Ming art was the popularity of wood-block printing, including the appearance of a sophisticated tradition of polychrome printing, done in imitation of painting. Among the earliest major examples were the collections of ink designs Fangshi Mopu of 1588 and Chengshi Moyuan of 1606 (“Mr. Fang Yulu’s Ink Catalog” and “Mr. Cheng Dayue’s Ink Garden,” respectively); both catalogs utilized graphic designs by significant artists to promote the products of Anhui province’s foremost manufacturers of ink sticks. The Shizhuzhai Shuhuapu (“Ten Bamboo Studio Manual of Painting and Calligraphy”), produced by Hu Zhengyan between 1619 and 1633, set the highest standard for polychrome wood-block printing and helped influence the development of colour printing in Japan.

Painters such as Chen Hongshou participated in print production in forms ranging from book illustration to playing cards, while others, including Xiao Yuncong, generated high-quality topographical illustrations. Through such artists, the medium came to influence painting as well as to be influenced by it. Qing dynasty (1644–1911/12)The Manchu conquest did not produce a dislocation of Chinese social and cultural life in the same way the Mongol invasion had done. On the contrary, even before their conquest, the Manchus began imitating Chinese ways, and the Qing rulers, particularly Kangxi (1661–1722) and Qianlong (1735–96), were well-educated men who were eager to enlist the support of Chinese scholars.

They were extremely conservative in their political and cultural attitudes; in artistic taste, their native love of extravagance (which the Chinese viewed as barbarous) was tempered, ironically, by an equally strong conservative propensity. The art of the Qing dynasty, even the painting of many of its finest eccentrics and the design of its best gardens, is similarly characterized both by lavish decoration and ornate effects as well as by superb technique and conservative taste. By the 19th century, however, China’s internal weakness and humiliation by the Western powers were reflected in a growing stagnation of the arts.

The dual attraction of the Manchu rulers to unbridled decoration and to orthodox academicism characterized their patronage at court. In regard to the former, they favoured artists such as Yuan Jiang, who, in the reign of Kangxi, combined with great decorative skill the model of Guo Xi and the mannered distortions that had cropped up in the late Ming (1368–1644), partly as a result of Ming artists’ exposure to an unfamiliar Western art. More thoroughly Westernized work, highly exotic from the Asian perspective, was produced both by native court artists such as Jiao Bingzhen, who applied Western perspective to his illustrations of the text Gengzhitu (“Rice and Silk Culture”), which were reproduced and distributed in the form of wood engravings in 1696, and by the Italian missionary Giuseppe Castiglione.

In the mid-18th century Castiglione produced a Sino-European technique that had considerable influence on court artists such as Zuo Yigui, but he was ignored by literati critics. His depictions of Manchu hunts and battles provide a valuable visual record of the times. On the other hand, Manchu emperors saw to it that conservative works in the scholar-amateur style by Wang Hui, Wang Yuanqi, and other followers of Dong Qichang were also well represented at court, largely putting an end to the conflict at court between professional and amateur styles that had been introduced in the Song (960–1279) and that played a significant role in the Ming. In a sense, the amateur style was crowned victor, but it came at the expense of the amateurism that had defined its purpose, given the prominent role these artists enjoyed at court. This politically effective aspect of Manchu patronage was not necessarily a specifically calculated strategy; rather, it was a natural extension of their concerted attempts to cultivate and recruit the scholar class in order to establish their legitimacy.

The Qianlong emperor was the most energetic of royal art patrons since Huizong of the Song, building an imperial collection of more than 4,000 pre-Qing paintings and calligraphy and cataloging them in successive editions of the Shiqubaoji.

The shortcomings of his taste, however, were displayed in his preference for recent forgeries rather than the originals in his collection (notably, copies of Huang Gongwang’s Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains and of Fan Kuan’s Travelers among Mountains and Streams) and in his propensity for covering his collected masterpieces with multiple impressions of court seals and calligraphic inscriptions in a mediocre hand. The conservatism of Qing period painting was exemplified by the Six Masters of the late 17th and the early 18th century, including the so-called “Four Wangs,” Wu Li, and Yun Shouping. In the works of most of these artists and of those who followed their lead, composition became routinized, with little in the way of variation or genre detail to appeal to the imagination; fluency of execution in brushwork became the exclusive basis for appreciation. Wang Shimin, who had been a pupil of Dong Qichang, retired to Taicang near modern Shanghai at the fall of the Ming, making it the centre of a school of scholarly landscape painting that included his friend Wang Jian and the younger artist Wang Hui.

Wang Hui was a dazzling prodigy whose landscapes included successful forgeries of Bei Song and Yuan masters and who did not hesitate to market the “amateur” practice, both among fellow scholars and at the Manchu court; however, the hardening of his style in his later years foreshadowed the decline of Qing literati painting for lack of flexible innovation. In contrast, Wang Shimin’s grandson, Wang Yuanqi, was the only one of these six orthodox masters who fully lived up to Dong Qichang’s injunction to transform the styles of past models creatively, as he did in his tour de force Wang River Villa, After Wang Wei (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City).

At court, Wang Yuanqi rose to high office under the Kangxi emperor and served as chief compiler of the imperial painting and calligraphy catalog, the Peiwenzhai Shuhuapu. Receiving no patronage from the Manchu court and leaving only a minor following before the latter half of the 19th century was a different group of artists, now frequently referred to as “Individualists.” Collectively, these artists represent a triumphant, if short-lived, moment in the history of literati painting, triggered in good part by the emotionally cathartic conquest of China by the Manchus.

They shared a rejection of Manchu political authority and the choice of an eremitic, often impoverished lifestyle that obliged them to trade their works for their sustenance, in spite of their allegiance to amateur ideals. Stylistically, just like their more orthodox contemporaries, they often revealed the influence of Dong Qichang’s systematization of painting method; but, unlike the more conservative masters, they pursued an emotional appeal reflective of their own temperaments.

For example, Gong Xian, a Nanjing artist whose budding political career was cut short by the Manchu conquest, used repetitive forms and strong tonal contrasts to convey a pervasive feeling of repressive constraint, lonely isolation, and gloom in his landscapes (most impressive is his Thousand Peaks and Myriad Ravines in the Rietberg Museum, Zürich, Switzerland; C.A. Drenowatz Collection). He was the most prominent of the artists who came to be known as the Eight Masters of Nanjing.

This group was only loosely related stylistically, though contemporary painters from Nanjing did share solidity of form derived from Song prototypes and, possibly, from the influence of Western art. The landscapes of Kuncan (Shiqi), who became a somewhat misanthropic abbot at a Buddhist monastery near Nanjing, also express a feeling of melancholy.

His works were typically inspired by the densely tangled brushwork of Wang Meng of the Yuan (exemplified by his painting Bao’en Temple, Sumitomo Collection, Ōiso, Japan). Another Individualist artist to join the Buddhist ranks was Hongren, exemplar of a style that arose in the Xin’an or Huizhou district of southeastern Anhui province and that drew on the famed landscape of the nearby Huang Mountains.

The group of artists now known as the Anhui school (including Ding Yunpeng, Xiao Yuncong, Mei Qing, Zha Shibiao, and Dai Benxiao) mostly pursued an emotional extreme opposite from Gong Xian and Kuncan, a severe coolness based on the sparse, dry linear style of the Yuan artist Ni Zan. However individualistic, virtually all these artists reveal the influence of Dong Qichang’s compositional means. In the 17th century, when the Anhui style became popular among wealthy collectors in the area of present-day Shanghai, propagated in part through wood-block catalogs illustrating Anhui’s vaunted ink and painting-paper products, ownership of a Hongren painting became the mark of a knowing connoisseur. Two artists, both members of the deposed and decimated Ming royal family, stood out among these Individualist masters and left, albeit belatedly recognized, the most enduring legacy of all. Known by a sequence of names, perhaps designed to protect his royal identity, Zhu Da, or Bada Shanren, suffered or at least feigned a period of madness and muteness in the 1680s. He emerged from this with an eccentric style remarkable for its facility with extremes, alternating between a wet-and-wild manner and a dry, withdrawn use of brush and ink. His paintings of glowering birds and fish casting strange and ironic glances, as well as his structurally interwoven studies of rocks and vegetation, are virtually without precedent in composition, although aspects of both the eccentric Xu Wei and Dong Qichang are discernible in his work.

His esoteric inscriptions reveal a controlled intent rather than sheer lunacy and suggest a knowledgeable, if hard to unravel, commentary on China’s contemporary predicament. Zhu Da’s cousin Daoji was raised in secret in a Chan Buddhist community. He traveled widely as an adult in such varied artistic regions as the Huang Mountains district of Anhui province and Nanjing and finally settled in the newly prosperous city of Yangzhou, where in his later years he publicly acknowledged his royal identity, renounced his Buddhist status, and engaged in professional practices.

His work has a freshness inspired not by masters of the past but by an unfettered imagination, with brush techniques that were free and unconventional and a daring use of colour. In his essay Huayulu (“Comments on Painting”), he ridiculed traditionalism, writing that his own method was “no method” and insisting that, like nature, creativity with the brush must be spontaneous and seamless, based on the concept of yihua, the “unifying line.”

Daoji’s extreme stand in favour of artistic individuality stands out against the growing scholasticism of Qing painting and was an inspiration to the artists, roughly grouped together as the “Eight Eccentrics” (including Zheng Xie, Hua Yan, Huang Shen, Gao Fenghan, Jin Nong, and Luo Pin), who were patronized by the rich merchants in early 18th-century Yangzhou. The art of Zhu Da and Daoji was not firmly enshrined, however, until the late 19th century, when a new individualist thrust appeared in Shanghai in response to the challenge of Western culture. Their influence on Chinese art since then, especially in the 20th century, was profound.

Since 1912 Painting in China, as with all the arts of China since 1912, has reflected the effects of modernization, the impact of Western art, and the political, military, and economic struggles of the period, including the war with Japan (1937–45), the civil war that ended in the establishment in 1949 of the People’s Republic of China, and the rapid economic changes of the late 20th and early 21st centuries.

Painting and printmakingShanghai, which had been forcibly opened to the West in 1842 and boasted a newly wealthy clientele, was the logical site for the first modern innovations in Chinese art at the turn of the 20th century. A Shanghai regional style had appeared by the 1850s, led by Ren Xiong, his more popular follower Ren Yi (Ren Bonian), and Ren Yi’s follower Wu Changshi. The style drew its inspiration from a series of Individualist artists of the Ming and Qing, including Xu Wei, Chen Shun, Chen Hongshou, Zhu Da, and Daoji.

It focused on birds and flowers and figural themes more than the old landscape tradition did, and it emphasized decorative qualities, exaggerated stylization, and satiric humour rather than refined brushwork and sober classicism. Under Wu Changshi’s influence, this style was passed on to Beijing in the early 20th century through the art of Chen Hengke (Chen Shizeng) and Qi Baishi. The first Chinese artists to respond to international developments in modern art were those who had visited Japan, where the issues of modernization appeared earlier than they did in China.

The Japanese blended native and Western traditions in styles such as Nihonga painting and in establishing an institutional basis of support (under the leadership of Okakura Kakuzō, who founded the Tokyo Fine Arts School in 1889). Among the first Chinese artists to bring back Japanese influence were Gao Jianfu, his brother Gao Qifeng, and Chen Shuren. Gao Jianfu studied art for four years in Japan, beginning in 1898; during a second trip there, he met Sun Yat-sen, and subsequently, in Guangzhou (Canton), he participated in the uprisings that paved the way for the fall of imperial rule and the establishment in 1912 of a republic.

Inspired by the “New Japanese Style,” the Gao brothers and Chen inaugurated a “New National Painting” movement, which in turn gave rise to a Cantonese, or Lingnan, regional style that incorporated Euro-Japanese characteristics. Although the new style did not produce satisfying or lasting solutions, it was a significant harbinger and continued to thrive in Hong Kong, practiced by such artists as Zhao Shao’ang.

The first establishment of Western-style art instruction also dates from this period. A small art department was opened in Nanjing High Normal School in 1906, and the first art academy, later to become the Shanghai Art School, was founded in the year of the revolution, 1911, by the 16-year-old Liu Haisu. In the next decade he would pioneer the first public exhibitions (1913) and the use of live models, first clothed and then nude, in the classroom. Increasingly, by the mid-1920s, young Chinese artists were attracted not just to Japan but also to Paris and German art centres.

A trio of these artists brought back some understanding of the essential contemporary European traditions and movements. Liu Haisu was first attracted to Impressionist art, while Lin Fengmian, who became director of the National Academy of Art in Hangzhou in 1928, was inspired by the experiments in colour and pattern of Henri Matisse and the Fauves. Lin advocated a synthesis combining Western techniques and Chinese expressiveness and left a lasting mark on the modern Chinese use of the brush.

Xu Beihong, head of the National Central University’s art department in Nanjing, eschewed European Modernist movements in favour of more conservative Parisian academic styles. He developed his facility in drawing and oils, later learning to imitate pencil and chalk with the Chinese brush. The monumental figure paintings he created would serve as a basis for Socialist Realist painters after the communist revolution of 1949. By the 1930s all these modern trends were clearly developed and institutionalized.

Although most of the major artists of the time advocated Modernism, two continued to support more traditional styles: Qi Baishi, who combined Shanghai style with an infusion of folk-derived vitality, and the relatively conservative landscapist Huang Binhong, who demonstrated that the old tradition could still produce great masters. Socialism produced a new set of artistic demands that were first met not by painting but by the inexpensive mass medium of wood-block prints, which had been invented in China and first used in the Tang dynasty (618–907) to illustrate Buddhist sutras.

Initially stimulated by the satiric leftist writer Lu Xun, printmakers flourished during the 1930s and ’40s under the dual influence of European socialist artists like Käthe Kollwitz and the Chinese folk tradition of New Year’s prints and papercuts. Among the most prominent print artists were Li Hua and Gu Yuan, who attained a new standard of political realism in Chinese art.

In 1942, as part of the Chinese Communist Party’s first intellectual rectification movement, Mao Zedong delivered two speeches at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art that laid out the official party dictates on aesthetics for decades to come—namely, the necessity to popularize styles and subjects in order to reach a mass audience, the need for artists to share in the lives of ordinary people, and the requirement that the party and its goals be treated positively rather than subjected to satiric criticism. “Art for art’s sake” was strictly denounced as a bourgeois liberal attempt to escape from the truly political nature of art. Although Mao later defended a place for the artistic study of nude models, a staple of Western naturalism, the tone he set led to severe limitations on the actual practice of this.

The Sino-Japanese War of 1937–45 led many artists of varied persuasions to flee eastern China for the temporary Nationalist capital in Chongqing, Sichuan province.

This exodus brought a tremendous mixing of styles and artistic ferment, but the opportunity for innovation that this promised was thwarted by subsequent events. After the 1949 revolution, Communist Party control of the arts was firmly established by the placement of the academies under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Culture; by the creation of artists’ federations and associations, under the management of the party’s Department of Propaganda, which served as an exclusive pathway to participation in exhibitions and other means of advancement; by the establishment of a strict system of control over publications; and by the virtual elimination of the commercial market for contemporary arts.

Throughout the 1950s, as Socialist Realist standards were gradually implemented, oil painting and wood-block printing were favoured and political cartoons and posters were raised to the status of high art. Artists working in the traditional media—with their basis in the Individualist art of the old “feudal” aristocracy—struggled institutionally for survival, eventually succeeding only as a result of the nationalist fervour that accompanied China’s ideological break with the Soviet Union late in the decade.

The internationalist but relatively conservative Xu Beihong was installed as head of the new Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing, but he died in 1953. Other older-generation leaders died shortly afterward (e.g., Qi Baishi and Huang Binhong) or were shunted aside (e.g., Liu Haisu and Lin Fengmian), and a younger generation soon came to the fore, ready to make the necessary compromises with the new regime. The talented landscapist Li Keran, who had studied with Qi Baishi, Lin Fengmian, Huang Binhong, and Xu Beihong, combined their influences with realistic sketching to achieve a new naturalism in the traditional medium.

A leading figure painter was Cheng Shifa, a descendant of the Shanghai school who utilized that style in politically polished depictions of China’s minority peoples. Many talented artists, including Luo Gongliu and Ai Zhongxin, painted in oils, which, because of their link to the Soviet Union and Soviet art advisers, held a favoured position until the Sino-Soviet split of the late 1950s.

While the early 1960s provided a moment of political relaxation for Chinese artists, the Cultural Revolution of 1966–76 brought unprecedented hardships, ranging from forced labour and severe confinement to death. Destruction of traditional arts was especially rampant in the early years of the movement. Only those arts approved by a military-run apparatus under the sway of Mao’s wife, Jiang Qing, could thrive; these followed the party’s increasingly strict propagandist dictates and were often created anonymously as collective works.

In the early 1970s, when China first reopened Western contacts, Premier Zhou Enlai attempted to restore government patronage for the traditional arts. When Zhou’s health declined, traditional arts and artists again suffered under Jiang Qing, including being publicly denounced and punished as “black arts” after officials saw exhibitions in Beijing, Shanghai, and Xi’an in 1974. The passing of Mao and Maoism after 1976 brought a new and sometimes refreshing chapter in the arts under the leadership of Deng Xiaoping.

The 1980s were characterized by decreasing government control of the arts and increasingly bold artistic experimentation. Three phenomena in 1979 announced this new era: the appearance of Cubist and other Western styles as well as nude figures (although the government covered the nudes) in the murals publicly commissioned for the new Beijing airport; an influential private arts exhibition by the “Stars” art group at the Beijing Art Gallery; and the rise of a truly realistic oil painting movement, which swept away the artificiality of Socialist Realist propaganda.

In the 1980s a resurgence of traditional Chinese painting occurred, featuring the return of formerly disgraced artists, including Li Keran, Cheng Shifa, Shi Lu, and Huang Yongyu, and the emergence of such fresh talents as Wu Guanzhong, Jia Youfu, and Li Huasheng. After 1985, as an increasingly bold avant-garde movement arose, the once-threatening traditional-style painting came to seem to the government like a safe alternative.

In the final months before the June 1989 imposition of martial law in Beijing (see Tiananmen Square incident), an exhibition of nude oil paintings from the Central Academy of Fine Arts at the Chinese National Gallery and an avant-garde exhibition featuring installation art, performance art, and printed scrolls mocking the government both drew record crowds.

The latter was closed by police, and both exhibits were eventually denounced as having lowered local morals, supposedly helping to precipitate the tragic events that followed in June 1989. New limitations on artistic production, exhibition, and publication ensued. At the conclusion of these events, a number of leading artists, including Huang Yongyu, fled China, joining others—including Zhang Daqian, He Huaishuo, and Lin Fengmian—who had previously fled or abandoned China to establish centres of Chinese art throughout the world.

Michael Sullivan Jerome Silbergeld Liu Qiyi Painting at the turn of the 21st centuryMany of the artists who remained in China after the events of Tiananmen Square adopted styles influenced by Western Pop art. In one Chinese variation of the style, “Political Pop,” artists such as Wang Guangyi and Li Shan juxtaposed Red Guard imagery of workers, peasants, and soldiers with capitalist imagery such as the Coca-Cola logo (a favourite image of American Pop artist Andy Warhol).

The image of Mao Zedong was frequently utilized—and ridiculed—in paintings of this style. Other artists used cartoonish portraiture and bright colours (a style reminiscent of American Roy Lichtenstein) in works that explore the banalities of bourgeois life. While such derivations of Pop art often possessed common stylistic elements, they differed in their tendencies either to challenge or to reflect popular culture, politics, and economic realities. Artists representing these movements participated in prestigious international art fairs such as the Venice Biennale. As the 1990s progressed, the Chinese visual arts developed in an environment increasingly characterized by an open-market economy and a relatively liberal political climate. Artists became freer to express themselves than they had ever been in the history of Chinese art. In this democratic atmosphere, different styles and forms of art coexisted.

Changes in government policy allowed artists to study modern art from the West more extensively than ever before. Many canonical writings on aesthetics and art theory were translated and published in China. Chinese artists also greatly enriched their understanding of Western art once elegant catalogs were imported from overseas and once exhibitions of the work of artists such as the German Expressionist painters, Pablo Picasso, and Robert Rauschenberg traveled to China. Inspired by the “art for art’s sake” quality of much of the work they saw, many Chinese artists began to reject the idea—long-standing in China—that art must serve politics and the people.

Increasingly, many Chinese artists faithfully imitated Western styles, exploring such styles as Cubism and Abstract Expressionism. While such experiments shook the Chinese art system and laid a foundation for the birth of new forms, many artists made work that was overly derivative of Western styles; by the mid-1990s, such overtly referential work had decreased in popularity. Realism maintained an important position in China at the end of the 20th century.

Most Chinese artists graduated from academies of fine art that rigorously trained them in realist techniques. In the early 1990s, classical Chinese oil painting, as seen in the work of Jing Shangyi, reached a high degree of excellence. Many artists—including those in the fields of oil painting, traditional Chinese painting, printmaking, and sculpture—depicted realistic scenes of daily life in their works, much like the older generations had done. Artists such as Luo Zhongli followed the tenets of traditional Chinese art while also drawing on the methods of international modern art (and sometimes Chinese folk art) in their work. Others used their skills at realism to adopt contemporary Western trends, including Photo-realism and work inspired by Western artists such as Andrew Wyeth and Balthus.

Many such interpretations of realism also won international attention and prizes. By the late 1990s, in addition to continuing traditional forms, Chinese artists renewed the avant-garde experimentation of the mid-1980s and explored performance art, conceptual art, earth art, installation art, and video art, all chief media of the international art scene. As the art world became increasingly global, China thus became a part of it. At the 2000 Shanghai Biennial, theoreticians, critics, and artists discussed the virtues of retaining traditional Chinese forms as well as the importance of learning from foreign styles.

These two often conflicting themes continued to define Chinese art into the 21st century.

Liu Qiyi

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dditional Reading

General works on the arts in China include Terukazu Akiyama et al., Arts of China, 3 vol., trans. from Japanese (1968–70); Percival David (ed. and trans.), Chinese Connoisseurship: The Ko Ku Yao Lun, the Essential Criteria of Antiquities (1971); Laurence Sickman and Alexander Soper,

The Art and Architecture of China, 3rd ed. (1968, reissued 1991); Dietrich Seckel, The Art of Buddhism, rev. ed. (1968; originally published in German, 1962); Osvald Sirén, A History of Early Chinese Art, 4 vol. (1929–30, reprinted 4 vol. in 2, 1970); Michael Sullivan, The Arts of China, 3rd ed. (1984); and Craig Clunas, Superfluous Things: Material Culture and Social Status in Early Modern China (1991).

Among the numerous works on painting and calligraphy, the following may be recommended: William Reynolds Beal Acker (ed. and trans.), Some T’ang and Pre-T’ang Texts on Chinese Painting, 2 vol. in 3 (1954–74), and a reprint of vol. 1 (1979); Richard M. Barnhart, Peach Blossom Spring: Gardens and Flowers in Chinese Painting (1983); Mario Bussagli, Painting of Central Asia (1963); Susan Bush, The Chinese Literati on Painting: Su Shi (1037–1101) to Tung Ch’i-ch’ang (1555–1636) (1971); Susan Bush and Christian Murck (eds.), Theories of the Arts in China (1983); Susan Bush and Hsio-yen Shih (compilers and eds.), Early Chinese Texts on Painting (1985); James Cahill, Chinese Painting (1960, reissued 1985), “Confucian Elements in the Theory of Painting,” in Arthur F. Wright (ed.),

The Confucian Persuasion (1960, reissued 1983), pp. 115–140, Hills Beyond a River: Chinese Painting of the Yüan Dynasty, 1279–1368 (1976), Parting at the Shore: Chinese Painting of the Early and Middle Ming Dynasty, 1368–1580 (1978),

The Distant Mountains: Chinese Painting of the Late Ming Dynasty, 1570–1644 (1982), and The Compelling Image: Nature and Style in Seventeenth-Century Chinese Painting (1982); Victoria Contag and Wang Chi-ch’ien, Seals of Chinese Painters and Collectors of the Ming and Ch’ing Periods, rev. ed. (1966); Tseng Yu-ho Ecke (Yu-ho Tseng), Chinese Calligraphy (1971); Wen C. Fong, Beyond Representation: Chinese Painting and Calligraphy, 8th–14th Century (1992); Marilyn Fu and Shen Fu, Studies in Connoisseurship, 3rd ed. (1973),

paintings from the Ming and Ch’ing dynasties; Shen Fu, Traces of the Brush: Studies in Chinese Calligraphy (1977); Roger Goepper, The Essence of Chinese Painting (1963); R.H. van Gulik, Chinese Pictorial Art as Viewed by the Connoisseur (1958, reprinted 1981); Herbert Härtel et al., Along the Ancient Silk Routes (1982), on Central Asian art; Wai-kam Ho et al., Eight Dynasties of Chinese Painting (1980); Lothar Ledderose, Mi Fu and the Classical Tradition of Chinese Calligraphy (1979), “Some Observations on the Imperial Art Collection in China,”

Transactions of the Oriental Ceramic Society, 43:33–46 (1978–79), “Some Taoist Elements in the Six Dynasties Calligraphy,” T’oung Pao, 70(4–5):246–278 (1984), and “Subject Matter in Early Chinese Painting Criticism,” Oriental Art, new series, 19(1):69–83 (Spring 1973); Sherman E. Lee and Wai-kam Ho, Chinese Art Under the Mongols: The Yüan Dynasty, 1279–1368 (1968); Chu-tsing Li, The Autumn Colors on the Ch’iao and Hua Mountains: A Landscape by Chao Meng-fu (1965); Chu-tsing Li (ed.),

Artists and Patrons: Some Social and Economic Aspects of Chinese Painting (1989); Max Loehr, The Great Painters of China (1980); Kiyohiko Munakata (ed. and trans.), Ching Hao’s Pi-fa-chi: A Note on the Art of the Brush (1974), and Sacred Mountains in Chinese Art (1991); Alfreda Murck and Wen C. Fong (eds.), Words and Images: Chinese Poetry, Calligraphy, and Painting (1991); Christian F. Murck (ed.), Artists and Traditions: Uses of the Past in Chinese Culture (1976); Yūjirō Nakata (ed.), Chinese Calligraphy, trans. from Japanese and adapted by Jeffrey Hunter (1983); Shodō Zenshū, 28 vol. (1954–68),

a collection of calligraphy; Jerome Silbergeld, “Chinese Concepts of Old Age and Their Role in Chinese Painting, Painting Theory, and Criticism,” Art Journal, 46(2):103–114 (Summer 1987), “Chinese Painting Studies in the West: A State-of-the-Field Article,” Journal of Asian Studies, 46(4):849–897 (1987), and Chinese Painting Style (1982); Osvald Sirén, The Chinese on the Art of Painting: Translations and Comments (1936, reissued 1969), and Chinese Painting: Leading Masters and Principles, 7 vol. (1956–58, reissued 1974); Alexander Soper (trans. and ed.), Experiences in Paintings (1951), an 11th-century history; Michael Sullivan, The Birth of

Landscape Painting in China, 2 vol. (1962–80), and Chinese Landscape Painting: The Sui and T’ang Dynasties (1980); Fritz van Briessen, The Way of the Brush: Painting Techniques of China and Japan (1962, reissued 1978); Marsha Weidner (ed.), Flowering in the Shadows: Women in the History of Chinese and Japanese Painting (1990); Roderick Whitfield, The Art of Central Asia, vol. 1–2, Paintings from Dunhuang (1982–83); and Yu Feian (Fei-an Yü), Chinese Painting Colors: Studies on Their Preparation and Application in Traditional and Modern Times, trans. from Chinese by James Silbergeld and Amy McNair (1988). Analyses of 20th-century arts include Joan Lebold Cohen,

The New Chinese Painting, 1949–1986 (1987); Robert Hatfield Ellsworth, Later Chinese Painting and Calligraphy, 1800–1950, 3 vol. (1987); Ellen Johnston Laing, The Winking Owl: Art in the People’s Republic of China (1988); Chu-tsing Li, Trends in Modern Chinese Painting (1979); Jerome Silbergeld and Gong Jisui (Jisui Gong), Contradictions: Artistic Life, the Socialist State, and the Chinese Painter Li Huasheng (1993); and Michael Sullivan, Chinese Art in the Twentieth Century (1959), and The Meeting of Eastern and Western Art, 2nd ed. (1989).

Jerome Silbergeld

Resource:  The role of calligraphy in Chinese art

 

Chinese Painting and Calligraphy

Chinese Painting and Calligraphy
Though Chinese painting has much in common with western painting from an aesthetic point of view, it still possesses its unique character. Chinese traditional painting seldom follows the convention of central focus perspective or realistic portrayal, but gives the painter freedom on artistic conception, structural composition and method of expression so as to better express his subjective feelings. Chinese painting has absorbed the best of many forms of art, like poetry, calligraphy, and seal engraving.Take Mr. Qi Baishi (1863-1957), a great painter for example. Mr. Qi was a skillful poet, calligrapher and seal-cutter. Qi, a native of Hunan Province, injected his ink painting with typical Chinese farmers’ tastes — simple, pure, and humorous. All this made him an artistic giant of the 20th Century. 

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Qi Baishi painting

 

Chinese often consider a good painting a good poem, and vice versa. Hence we often say there is painting in poetry and poetry in painting. In the past, many great artists were also great poets and the calligraphers. The inscriptions and seal on the paintings not only can help us to understand the painter’s ideas and emotions, but also provide decorative beauty to the painting.

Pines, bamboo and plum blossoms are ‘bosom friends in winter.’ The three plants are upright and show rectitude. They become favorite objects for Chinese painters. Chinese painting is a combination in the same picture of the arts of poetry, calligraphy, painting and seal engraving. They were indispensable elements, which supplement and enrich each other in contributing to the beauty of the whole picture.

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Chinese paintings can be divided into four categories according to its format: murals, screens, scrolls, and albums and fans. In addition, they are frequently mounted against exquisite backgrounds to enhance their aesthetic effect.

In terms of technique, Chinese painting can be divided into two broad categories: paintings minutely executed in a realistic style and those that employ freehand brushwork.

Classified according to subject matter, they can be divided into paintings of figures, landscapes, buildings, flowers, birds, animals, insects and fish. The brush techniques so much emphasized in Chinese painting include line and texture (cunfa), the dotting method (dianfa) and the application of color (ranfa).

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It is very difficult, if not impossible, to appreciate Chinese paintings without a profound knowledge about different styles characteristic of the different historical periods.

During the Tang Dynasty (618-907 AD), the culture flourished with the economic development. Painting was elegant in style, reflecting the general prosperity of the golden age of Chinese feudal society. The paintings of Song Dynasty (960-1279AD), however, favored abstract, implied meanings rather than direct expressions, painting skills matured considerably, and the realistic style was in full blossom. The Yuan Dynasty (1271-1368 AD) witnessed the flourish of the expressionist school and many painters indulged in painting solely for personal pleasure. The painters of Ming (1368-1644) and Qing (1644-1911) took painting as a vehicle to express their interests and feelings. They painted with a vigorous boldness, caring little for meticulous refinement. Gradually, Chinese painting became artistically ‘perfect’ during the Qing Dynasty.

However, ‘perfection’ sometimes causes stagnation or even retrogression in art creation. That was why vigorous Chinese painting almost became stereotyped for a long period in the 19th century.

At the beginning of the 20th century, some painters from Shanghai, Hangzhou, Nanjing, Guangzhou and Beijing started to challenge the old tradition of Chinese painting by introducing new art concepts from the West and establishing art school to train artists. The joint efforts were paid off. Most of these pioneer painters later became the backbone of New China’s Art after 1949. And some are still active even today.

The ink painting has conducted certain reforms earlier this century, which may fall into two types. One reform was to get rid of the morbid psychology of self-admiration that some scholar painters in feudal China harbored, and establishes a healthy style. In this respect, Qi Baishi, whose name we mentioned previously, stood high above his contemporaries.

Qi’s favorite subjects included flowers, insects, birds, landscapes and human figures. He not only studied the skills of these forerunners such as Xu Wei, Zhu Da, Yuan Ji and Wu Changshuo but also carefully observed the objects that he sketched. Outwardly he seemed to be very casual, but the flowers and birds that blossomed and flew from his brush all possessed the kind of characteristics they should have. With fluent lines and bright colors, he created a world full of life and rhythm.

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Xu Wei painting

The second type of reform was to accept Western art concepts and techniques and combine them with good tradition of Chinese painting. The pioneers tried to create a brand new national painting form on the basis of the existing form. One of the representatives in this bold experiment was Xu Beihong (1895-1953), who served in his lifetime as president of the Central Fine Arts Institute and chairman of the Chinese Artists Association.

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Xu Beihong painring

Xu was most famous for his painting of horses. With a solid foundation in Chinese painting, he borrowed the best techniques from Western painting. In his paintings of human figures or animals, he was most accurate in the depiction of both spirit and form. Xu’s works demonstrated not only his strong personality and creative spirit but also his patriotism, his sympathy with the working class, and his deep hatred for all evils.

Good paintings require good materials. The materials used in Chinese painting are writing brushes, ink sticks and slabs, and paper and silk, you can find all these materials in most of the souvenir shops.

 

Written by writer Hao Zhuo.

source: Chinese culture

Poetry and painting in China

On the relationship of poetry and painting in China

Jonathan Chaves [source]

Su Tung-p’o once said of Wang Wei, the great T`ang poet and painter: “There is poetry in his painting and painting in his poetry.” This has become the standard dictum on the relationship of poetry and painting in China, a relationship that through the centuries has frequently concerned writers on both subjects. 

In the West careful distinctions have long been drawn between the literary and the pictorial arts, whereas in China poetry and painting have been nearly inseparable and have been related to each other in a variety of ways. The Chinese poet and painter might well be one and the same person, Su Tung-p’o and Wang Wei being the two supreme examples of artist-writers as highly esteemed for their skills as painters as for their verse. In the West, such figures are rare. Michelangelo was a fine poet, but in neither the critical nor the popular mind does his writing equal his painting or his sculpture. Perhaps only William Blake corresponds well to the Chinese conception of the poet-painter, an artist using similar themes and images in both his poems and his paintings and  The practice of inscribing poems on paintings, or on special sections of paper attached to the paintings for just this purpose, was another aspect of the close relationship between poetry and painting. The poem might be written by the painter himself by a friend of his, or by a later owner or connoisseur. Often, the poem includes images which do not appear in the painting, so that while the physical beauty of the picture is enhanced by the elegance of the calligraphy in which the poem is written, the imaginary world conjured up by the painting may be further expanded by the imagery of the poem. Sometimes the poem is the work of an earlier poet, but often it is an original poem by the artist himself A perfect example is the hand scroll by the Yuan artist Wu Chen (1280-1354), showing a fisherman seated in his boat gazing into the water.

 

Wu has inscribed the following poem of his own composition in the upper right-hand corner of the picture:

West of the village,
evening rays linger on red leaves
as the moon rises over yellow reeds on the sandbank.
The fisherman moves his paddle, thinking of home –
his pole, lying in its rack,
will catch no more fish today.

The poem adds an image that is entirely absent from the painting that of the village-and colors the leaves and reeds red and yellow, although in the picture they are done in shades of gray ink. We learn that it is sunset, and that the fisherman is thinking of returning home. Because these enhancements of the picture are expressed in words, they affect the viewer on a subtler level than the purely visual, and deepen his experience of the total work of art. Sometimes, when painter and poet are two different people, the picture will inspire the poet to reflect on his personal situation, as in the famous poem by Su Tung-p‘o, inscribed on the painting Misty River and Tiered Mountains by a contemporary, the landscapist Wang Shen. After a long description of the scene, Su recalls his  past happiness while living on the Yangtze River, and longs for the day when he will be able to return to nature (referring to himself as the Gentleman of the Eastern Slope):

Saddening my heart, a thousand tiers of mountains along the river
shimmer with blue-green colors across the sky like clouds or mist.
Are they mountains? Are they clouds? It’s hard to tell,
but when mist opens and clouds disperse, the mountains remain.
Here I see two verdant cliffs, shadowing a deep valley,
and a hundred cascades that fly down the cliffs,
twist through forests, coil around rocks, hide and reappear,
The stream grows calm, the mountains open, and the foothill forests end; `
a tiny bridge and rustic shops lean against the mountain.
Travelers pass beyond the tall trees;
a fishing boat floats, light as a leaf:
The river swallows the sky.
Where did the governor find this painting,
its limpid beauties brushed by such a sensitive hand?
Where in our world is there such a place?
I’d go there now, and buy myself an acre or two of land!
But I remember an isolated spot at Fan-k’ou, near Wu-ch’ang,
where the Gentleman of the Eastern Slope resided for fiveyears.
Spring breezes rippled the river; the sky was vast.
Summer rain clouds curled up at dusk; the mountain glowed.
Crows shook branches of red maple leaves before my riverhome.
Winter snows, dropping from towering pines, woke mefrom my drunken sleep.
The flowing waters of Peach Blossom Spring are in thisworld;
why insist that the Wu-ling story was only a fairy tale?
But the rivers and mountains are fresh and pure,
while I am covered with dust;
there may be a path that leads to them, but it’s hard to find.
With many a sigh, I return the scroll,
and wait for a friend who lives in these mountains
to send me a poem, “Come back!”

Although less frequent, the opposite phenomenon might also occur; that is, a painter might be inspired by a poem to do a picture based on the poem.

 

On a more profound level, Chinese poetry and painting are related in the fundamental similarity of their creative processes. Not only are the themes and images of both arts essentially conventional, or traditional, but those that appear in painting are the same as those used in poetry. For this reason, it is not surprising to find that a particular image-the fisherman, for instance, as an exemplar of Taoist freedom_will appear in a poem of the fourth century B. C., and again in a poem of the eighteenth century. Similarly, the same image of the fisherman will appear in a painting listed in aT’ang-dynasty catalogue and also in a picture by one of the Eight Eccentrics of Yang-chou, a group of Eighteenth-century
artists.

In fact, the standard images of both poetry and painting were catalogued in two important encyclopedias, both published in the early eighteenth century. One, the famous Chie tzu huan hua chuan  (The Mustard Seed Garden Manual of Painting), appeared in its final form in 1701. This work is a collection of all the traditional images of Chinese painting, including mountains and rocks painted in various styles, trees and flowers of many kinds, birds and insects, temples, villas, and scholars and fishermen in boats. The other encyclopedia was the P’ei-wen yun-fu (The P’ei-wen Treasury of Rhymes), published in 1711, but using material going back to the Yuan dynasty (1279-1363) This is a compendium of poetic images and phrases, each of which is quoted in chronologically arranged passages. Every image in The Mustard Seed Garden Manual can be found here as well. Under the heading “fisherman” (yu-fu), the passages quoted range from the earliest poem on this theme, found in the Ch’u tz’u anthology, much of which dates back to the fourth century B.C., to a Northern Sung poem by Su Tung-p’o_”I should meet the old fisherman here, / Winding his way through the reeds.” The second line of Su’s couplet is a quotation from a passage in the Taoist classic, the Chuang-tzu, also dating from the fourth century B.C., where Confucius meets a fisherman who “winds his way through the reeds.” Clearly, the Chinese mind was accustomed to leaping easily over centuries.

Yang Wan-li was particularly fond of creating new variations on old themes. One of his versions of the fisherman theme is novel in that it removes the fisherman and leaves us with only the boat:

It is a tiny fishing boat, light as a leaf?
no voices are heard from the reed cabin.
There is no one on board-no bamboo hat, no raincoat, no fishing rod.
The wind blows the boat, and the boat moves.

In a Western context, it would be unthinkable to illustrate a collection of Rimbaud’s poetry with the paintings oi say, Ingres. Even though the two men lived in the same century, their styles and modes of expression are so very divergent that any attempt to link them seems foolhardy. But there is nothing incongruous in juxtaposing, as in this book, a poem by a twelfth-century Chinese writer with a picture by a painter of the seventeenth or eighteenth century; though widely separated in time, the two artists might well share the same vocabulary and much the same perception of life and nature.

Jonathan Chaves
Heaven My Blanket, Earth My Pillow
White Pine Press, 2004

Resource: poetry China    

Han Yu , Snow in Spring

220px-Han_Yu

 

Han Yu (traditional Chinese: 韓愈; simplified Chinese: 韩愈; pinyinHán Yù) (768–824), born in NanyangHenanChina, was a precursor of Neo-Confucianism as well as an essayist and poet, during the Tang dynasty. The Indiana Companion calls him “comparable in stature to DanteShakespeare or Goethe” for his influence on the Chinese literary tradition (p. 397). He stood for strong central authority in politics and orthodoxy in cultural matters. He is also among China’s finest prose writers, second only to Sima Qian, and first among the “Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song”. Song Dynasty poet Su Shi praised Han Yu that he had written prose which “raised the standards after 8 dynasties of literary weaknesses” (文起八代之衰).

Snow in Spring
Han Yu

New year all not be luxuriant
2nd month first startle see grass shoot
White snow but suspect spring colour late
So penetrate pavilion tree make fly flower
The new year’s come, but still the plants don’t grow,
First in March I’m startled by grass shoots.
The white snow thinks the colours of spring are late,
So through the pavilion and trees it flies like blossom.

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