Wild Wild West

I am a fan of Ennio Morricone.  When The Good, the Bad and the Ugly came to the silver screen there was no internet to search for information.  I was also too young to want to dig up where the music came from or was it original music.  All I knew was that it was great music.  It wasn't until much, much later that I found out who the composer was.  Gabriel's Oboe made my eyes swelled up.  His C'era una volta il West is the epitome of songs without words.  The angelic soprano voice has no lyrics, yet it says so much.

Recently I found a documentary about Ennio Morricone on my subscription and I finally had a chance to learn about this great composer.  I learned that he loved to experiment with sounds made by playing musical instruments in an improvised, non-traditional way.  I suppose he was much too playful for his conservatory trained background and his colleagues and that his association with the so called spaghetti westerns costed him the proper respect he deserved. He was not looked upon as a serious composer.  He was nominated for numerous works and movie tracks and was always snubbed.  In fact the Academy presented him with an honorary award thinking that he might never earn a real one.  He finally won his only real Oscar 4 years before his death.   I suppose if one is in the business, then the Oscar is possibly the most significant thing that matters, like it or not.

His life story gives solace to those of us who like to be experimental or prodigal at times,  The different drum beat we follow often rub the establishment the wrong way. The heart of the matter is, he absolutely enjoyed what he was doing.  He would often times turn down different works only to acquiesce later because he found inspiration and he wanted to leave his marks.

The documentary on Morricone made a lot of references to the Westerns.  The wild west backdrops of these movies remind me of the cloud pieces that I've been playing around with.  Borrowing from his theme Once Upon a Time in the West, I am inspired to do a painting with big sky and expansive landscape.  I am aiming for my own painting without words.  Let's see if I can deliver that notion.

I sketched a roadmap of what my piece might look like.

My clouds on the top side.  There would be more void spaces on one side, to make the arrangement look more interesting.  I wanted a couple of dark clouds in the middle, not only to create contrast with the rest of the sky, but to give perspective of distance.  My theory was that the darker clouds would appear denser and more suffocating, thus should be closer to the ground than the rest. I sort of wanted the clouds to radiate from the center of the painting, utilizing them to define the vanishing horizon.  

I would use a landscape from the central part of Oregon to complement the sky.  Central Oregon is known as desert country and we have a geological feature of dunes with strata of different colors from different minerals.  One such spot is called the Painted Hills.  I picked this feature because I needed a desert for my wild west scene, and I thought it would be surreptitiously funny to name a black and white painting Painted Hills.  I can see people scratching their heads.  That's what I like about black and white paintings.  They force us to let go of a lot of foregone conclusions of what different objects are being described.  We have to read the painting to get the context.

I suppose I could call the dramatic clouds portion of the painting a melody. The two dark clouds could be the main theme of the melody.  The abandoned desert would be the counter-melody, to borrow a musical term. 

That's the plan anyways.

I sketched in the borders of the two center clouds.  I was concerned about their "silver linings" effect, or the absence of.  The pencil marks helped me to visualize the clouds better against the white paper, especially before the darker contrast of the next cloud was painted in. 

I then moved on over to the right portion of my clouds.  I loved doing these clouds because I felt more spontaneous.  I could feel that freedom in my brushstrokes.  It was also gratifying to see the cumulus clouds cumulating and being sculptured by each successive dark brushstroke, like lava oozing out from fissures.  At the same time it was challenging for my brain to identify and define the void areas by using ink.  It was almost like backing up a trailer on a hitch.  One needs to steer left to effect a right turn!  It absolutely took practice.

  

My intention was to make the sky very dramatic and haunting.  A white sky did not convey that feeling.  My dirty ink rag under the paper gave me an idea.  Paint the sky black to allow the clouds to shine.

So was this too much?  It was too late to change anyways.  I could not undo or lighten the dark ink.  Besides, I said that one needs to let go of their foregone conclusions when reading a black and white painting.  So the sky doesn't always have to be white, or light.  Right?  In any case, the "silver linings" really popped now.  

Actually I liked the drama.  Loved the drama.  

Speaking of drama, I wasn't sure that the "silver linings" were grandiose enough.  Then I realized that my translucent Xuan was sitting on my felt underlay which was not white.

So this would be the appearance of the painting if it was mounted on a white piece of Xuan.  The proper white balance would be restored.  This is a great example of why we must mount our paintings done on Xuan paper.  There is no two ways about it.  

I laid a piece of white matboard beneath part of the painting to further illustrate my point of the necessity of mounting.

Atmosphere 2.0

I decide to continue my quest to describe atmosphere with my brush and ink.

I am using the same kind of paper, a semi-sized Xuan.  I am sticking with the basic construct of the composition.  What I have learned from the last exercise is that my technique of using a water brush along with an ink brush seemed a little monotonous.  I am looking for more variations, not only in ink tones but especially in shapes.

I am starting a new experiment by loading the tip of my soaking wet brush with saturated ink and rely on the natural depletion of the brush and the natural dispersion of the ink to effect the change of tonal values.  

Notice that I'm holding my brush flat with the inked tip pointing towards myself.  Thus the subsequent brushstroke will have the dark ink contrasting with the light portion of the previous brushstroke.  This is how I am going to improve on my rather banal brushstrokes from the previous painting.  I find this to be a more expressive method of defining shape and tone, for my purposes anyways.

In short, I am using the dark values of my brush to define and give shape to the voids.  I learned this trick during my days of doing floral Chinese painting.  The example below shows how the dark color of the leaves are used to describe the serrated petals of the flower.

I am glad I am able to recall this time-tested method of painting.  It definitely makes my brushstrokes more lively.  I can actually design the body and shape of my clouds now. 

As I am taking a break from the current painting, my eyes wander to the one I finished a couple of weeks ago, the one that I think looks a bid drab.  Could I change the character of the painting by cropping it?

I eliminated the upper portion of that painting.  The clouds seemed trite and were distracting from the story.  I am liking this new version now.  It is menacing, to say the least.  Not drab anymore.  It packs a punch now.

What if I crop the yet unfinished painting that I'm working on now?

It certainly does not impart the same flavor as the last one.  It needs a lot of work.  I better continue with the painting and see where it leads me.

For the sky on the right side of my painting I shall give the clouds a more compact look, to contrast with the big fat cumulous clouds on the left.

I mean these are still lumpy, but they are more layered.  Almost like dough folding over themselves when being kneaded.  

Of course I still need cloud patches that retain all the tonal values, but garnished with the silver lining. I can't have everything in high contrast.  A few well-placed and diffused dark areas add to the credibility that these are indeed clouds.

I'll be remiss if I don't address the dark bar at the bottom of my painting.  My reason to include that is purely to give anchor to the painting.  Frankly I have problem presenting a story with just clouds.  My vocabulary is rather limited and I do not have the eloquence.  

To avoid presenting the dark strip as dead weight, I used my alum solution to write a few wriggly lines. My intention is to let the alum solution act as a sizing agent, thus help to block out being covered up by subsequent ink brushstrokes.

So how do I account for such void spaces.  

That's up to the viewer.  

For me, I am reminded of waves cresting. 

Under an ominous, boiling sky.

Atmosphere

I viewed a video clip of the SpaceX Starship on a return trip back to earth, re-entering the atmospheric bubble that encases our planet earth.  As it passed through the seemingly invisible air, there was enough friction generated between the Starship and air molecules to produce heat, which was intense enough to make it glow.  I was reminded of glowing crucible from a furnace in my chemistry lab.  Absolutely mesmerizing. 

It is difficult for me to fathom that the invisible air that we breathe everyday is capable of causing such searing heat.  The air looks and feels so innocuous. Of course don't tell that to anyone who has weathered a hurricane, or typhoon in my case.  Or anyone who has gone through severe turbulence during a flight.  Water, we can see and respect but we seem to take air for granted.

An acclaimed quote from my fellow countryman Bruce Lee is "be like water".  I am fascinated by water.  I admire and fear water simultaneously.  The fleeting shimmer, the incessant swells. From the trickling stream to the rhythmic crashes of waves.  Yet I'm not keen to ford every stream because I'm afraid of drowning, even for shallow water.  Incredibly I am a water-sign, I'm told. 

I've done quite a few paintings with a water theme.  Any student of Chinese brush landscape painting has to learn how to paint mountains and water.  The literal translation of 山水畫 is paintings of mountains and water.  Water and air are both fluids by definition; a shapeless substance that moves freely and adopt the shape of its container.  So how do I paint air?

Perhaps I could submit a huge blank piece of Xuan and label it "AIR".  Perhaps some avant-garde gallery would sponsor my brilliant piece of art and it will draw an audience of arms-folding admirers.  Wink. Wink. 

It dawned on me that I don't paint water per se, but the features of it.  The pounding waves, the tremulous ripples.  So I could paint air by it's features, the floating clouds, the veiling mists.  

This new project should offer me a chance for some experimentation.  How to capture the fleeting atmospheric phenomena.  

I'm choosing a semi-sized Xuan for my tinkering.  I wish to benefit from the ability of ink to disperse somewhat before getting fully absorbed into the fibers.  I am hoping that this property will help to bring out the notion of transition, both figuratively and literally. 

I am using two brushes.  One with dark ink, the other just water.  My gist is to write an ink track and immediately apply water to the edges to modify the track and allow the ink to diffuse and disperse under the guidance of the water brush.  My rationale is clouds have dark and bright sides, sometimes defined by bright sharp edges; depending on where the sun is.  I wonder if this is where the term "silver lining" came from. The dark and light sides are not dissimilar to painting lobes of a hill or mountain.  The lobes of clouds are obviously less rigid and more amorphous unless the clouds are those of the anvil thunder clouds variety.  Anyways this is like a game to me.  A game that has a few tenets, but one can wink it most of the time.  

A line is written with ink, and modified with a water brush as shown in the next insert

Subsequent "lines" are written and modified to represent layers of clouds,

Repeating this process to build my atmospheric features,

Here is where I call it quits, enough playing for now.

Gone like a yellow crane

"去如黃鶴 "  for those of you who doesn't read Chinese, that means "Gone like a yellow crane".

Legend has it that some scholar was visited by a crane-riding fairy.  The fairy and the crane departed after a few drinks and no trace could be found of the encounter.  Thus the phrase "gone like a yellow crane" suggests something or someone is gone for good and never coming back.  

Sometime ago I painted a rather dark piece, a figure head with eyes closed and an enigmatic expression on the face.  There were also nondescript people in the background, seemingly ready to vacate the scene in unison.

It was a setting of emptiness, departure, abandonment. 

I don't know why I had painted it the way I did.  I just remembered that I wasn't feeling happy, per se.  I've attached the labels of "Zen" or "Meditation" to the painting, but somehow these labels don't really address my feelings when I painted it.  I just employed the catch words of "Zen", "Meditation" to satisfy the masses.  Pretty stereotypical or perhaps even fashionable for some Asian fellow to exploit or appropriate eastern ideals of Zen and Meditation, right?

Perhaps it is a personality flaw of mine.  I like to paint when I'm not feeling "right".  I like to paint when I am upset.  I like to paint in cramped quarters.  I like to paint when surrounded by noise.  Only then can I translate the swells in my thoughts into something perhaps only I can comprehend. 

I painted this female drinking by herself, her face manifesting an introspective and less than jovial expression.  Perhaps touched by the music from the guitar and lyrics from the singer. 

Could it be that I was painting myself in that picture.  I was in an introspective and less than jovial space myself when this painting was done.

Anyways one day out of the blue I added a crane to my dark painting.  Flying away from the scene.  Right away I knew that was the missing link.  That had always been the story I was trying to narrate.

Aside from being the topic of a legend, the yellow crane happens to be included in the lines of a famous poem.  

I am going to showcase just the two pertinent lines from this poem.  It is difficult for me to type the whole poem in Chinese because I don't seem to be able to learn to type Chinese on my keyboard, despite my younger brother's relentless efforts.

黃鶴一去不復返

白雲千載空悠悠

My English translation is:

The yellow crane has left, never returning,

All is left are white clouds, emptiness, for millenniums.

I felt so much better after I added the missing crane to my painting.  My painting had finally unveiled its true meaning.

I had wanted to write those two verses onto the painting but I didn't feel the urge at the time.

I was at a happy place, at the time.  I was too busy being a narcissist, enjoying myself.

Well today is one of those days that my emotions get the better of me.  My buddy whom I've known for almost 5 decades is now taking donepezil, a medication used for treating cognitive issues by preserving the neurotransmitter acetylcholine.  I desperately need something positive to steer me into the clear.

There is no better time than now to finish my painting by putting down the calligraphy.  I have always confessed that my calligraphy leaves a lot to be desired.  In order to not deface my painting, I need to make an effort to practice my calligraphy first.  People might frown on me for needing to practice for calligraphy before I pen, or brush in this case, something.   I don't see them frown on musicians rehearsing before a concert.  

One of my go tos is a fa tie that transcribes a thousand characters into different font styles 

Mine happens to include 6 different fonts,

So I start to practice on the two verses of the poem that I alluded,

All that culminates in this

I am in a good place, again.  For now.  Such a catharsis.  I have words to guide me now, GPS for my thoughts.

This all seem anecdotal I am sure.  To me it's more like the chicken and the egg argument.  We paint to express something inside of us, but that "something" might not be lucid in the beginning.

I'm ready for my vision.

The Chinese round brush continued

I've alluded to how and why the Chinese round brush is more than a mark making instrument.  Like almost all utility tools, it sometimes attracts the perversions of fame over function.  I am ashamed to admit that I have fallen victim to the pursuit of the "best" brush; brushes that are handcrafted in limited quantities by supposedly "famous" artisans.  The lure is to manufacture a want.  Wanting a rare product, a unique way of packaging the brush hair, a brush that looks and writes like no others.  I am reminded of automobiles.  Some cars cost over a million dollars.  Yes they are certainly fine pieces of machinery and they go fast but for the average driver they are just symbols of conspicuous consumption.  I am not convinced that owners of such cars are necessarily better drivers.  Do they even use the million dollar car as transportation or as a trophy in their garage.  Thus I am an average painter and I fail to appreciate the virtue of these fine rare brushes.  I just thought rare brushes could buy me status.  What was I thinking.

Anyways I am not here to vent, just because I paid an exorbitant price for a mediocre product.  I am trying to expand on how the brush is used in painting.

I've loaded just the tip of a wet brush with ink, holding it flat on the paper with the tip pointing towards me. Nudging the brush in small arcs I can depict floral petals

If more attention was paid to the voids and the separation between the petals, this flower head could be more wholesome.  But you get the gist of it.

Canada geese is a favorite subject of mine.  The white band just behind its eye on the neck is a distinct identifier.  It is a simple matter of writing the beak, the top of the head and the neck, leaving a gap at the top of the neck.

Holding the brush side tip, write the body of the bird.  I then use a clean wet brush to draw out the ink to the breast and tail area.

This one is done on inkjet photo paper, just for the heck of it.  ( INK-jet, does anyone get the correlation?)

I'll illustrate the different nuances between a center tip and side tip brushstroke.  The following is a crab leg done with side tip brush.  The tip of the brush is loaded with ink so one can see the trek of the brush tip.

In the next example, the image of the left is done with center tip brush.  The ink tone is even across the width of the leg.  The one on the right is done with side tip brush.  

The one on the left feels sturdy and proper whereas the one on the right is more playful, with varying widths and ink tones.

The following is an example of a person using the wrong edge of the brush in painting (writing) the crab legs.  I am drawing your attention to the two crabs on the upper left corner of the insert.  It's not like the person doesn't know how to use the brush, but due to whatever lapses he throws it out of the window. The result is wiry lines that resemble nothing of the exoskeleton of legs of a crab. 

Using side tip brush, writing a short arc

When a succession of such segments are put together, a shrimp is bone.

Starting with three simple lines, center tip, we have the basic construct of the leg of an insect.

Using a side tip brushstroke, write the wings and thorax and head of the insect

Write lines for body and whiskers etc. using center tip brushstroke,  we have a complete insect with just a few simple brushstrokes.

Three  simple side tip nudges become the body of a frog

Add limbs to complete the painting

Here is an example of a frog on a lily pad employing these simple brushstrokes

This writing is not meant as a tutorial for painting.  There are different ways to skin a cat.  The crux of the matter is how to use the Chinese round brush properly to get the results we want.  As the round brush does not come with an edge, only a tip.  The blog hopes to emphasize the importance of knowing the aesthetic difference between a center tip and side tip brushstroke, and allow them to be our allies. 

Poetry by Wang Zhihuan (王之渙)

I'm not a scholar, literary or otherwise.

My Caucasian friends are bantering with me, each insisting our form of poetry is better and reaches deeper depths in our emotional abyss.  Neither my friends nor I are what one would consider scholars, so the argument is just a way to bond, strangely enough.  One thing that often rubs me the wrong way is however that they always use the term Haiku generically.  They call any Asian poetry Haiku and they think Chinese poetry is the same as Haiku. Thus their perspective is to compare western poetry to Haiku, which I know nothing about.  Sure lemurs and humans are all primates, but they really are not the same animal, right?  

Enough said. 

That leads me to thumb through my Tang Poetry 300, which is the only text book from my primary school days that is still relevant.  Granted I was too young to be pulled in by meanings of these poetries, but with age and life experiences I am able to distill more from the verses.  

I revisited a poem by Wang Zhihuan, a Tang Dynasty poet.

白日依山盡  黃诃入海流  欲窮千里目  更上一層樓   

"The sun disappears behind the hills, the yellow river flows to the sea.  If the wish is to see for a thousand miles, one needs to climb another floor."

The first two line describes the setting.  One creates the imagery of a a river, hills, disappearing sun and distance.  The next two verses however addresses a wish, a yearning, a philosophy.  This is when the poet urges us to use our own imagination, based on the framework that he has provided.  In fact the last two verses were extremely popular when I was a kid signing graduation year-books.  They are meant to inspire and encourage a person to reach for loftier heights, set bigger goals.  

I have this painting that's been pinned on my wall and I deem it incomplete.  It's missing something.  This poem somehow fits the narrative of my painting, with a few modifications of the painting, that is.

I altered the sky around where the sun would set to denote an impending evening, without revealing the actual sun.  As in poetry, the conjured emotion is more persuasive than the terse words.  

I increased the dark tone on the rock formations, especially around the bottom, to add perspective and to say that this is positioned directly against the light.  Thus this area should assume the darkest value.

Conversely I let the exposed rock formation from across the river assume a more orange-reddish hue, bathing in the setting sunlight.  The golden hour!

The problem with me is I often get carried away.  "Quit when you're ahead" was never my mantra.  The pedantic and pretentious me decided that I should write Wang's poem onto the newly modified painting, just so that I can satisfy the 3 absolutes; painting, poetry and calligraphy.

Chinese brush calligraphy is the bane of my existence, and to make matter worse, I opted for an easy way out.  Instead of using a proper Chinese round brush, I used a fountain-brush, one that has nylon bristles and an ink cartridge.

I can tell you now that this is not meant for calligraphy.  Put it that way, I'm not good enough to control this contraption to make it a calligraphic instrument.  It seems like this modern invention would only respond to my pressing but not lifting.   Not much modulations in the brushstrokes that I can see.  I seem to be nudging all the way.  Perhaps I had subconsciously planned to use this as an excuse all along.  

Fortunately this was all fun and game for me.  My ego wouldn't be hurt if someone disapproves my irreverence.  I thought I was being smart to use a gadget like a fountain brush and I didn't know better to not try it.  

At least I know now.  

Live and learn. 

When I wet mounted this piece, I used a single weight Xuan as my backing.  Apparently it was too thin and no match for the forces generated by the drying and shrinking paper and tears showed up.  Stress fractures!

I don't know if this has to do with the fact that we are having a hot day today.  92 degrees F outside and the room thermometer here registers 80 degrees.  Perhaps the evaporation was too much, too fast?  I've been told to not do any wet mounting in a hot room.  Could this be the reason?  This is something I need to keep an eye on in the future.