Showing posts with label chuen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chuen. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 15, 2022

Red Cliffs Nostalgia, The Grand Finale

At the onset of the painting I laid out my objectives for this painting, and one of them was to be able to highlight each of the 4 landmarks of the Columbia River Gorge by incorporating them into my fictitious staging of a real historical Chinese naval battle, the Battle of Chibi.  The landmarks are of course the Vista House on top of Crown Point, the Multnomah Falls, the Rowena Loops and the Stonehenge replica.  I also wanted these 4 subplots to be able to stand on their own rights as a painting by themselves.

Now that the painting is finished, let us delve into these 4 elements.

The Vista House at Crown Point:

The red cliff face is adorned with loads of vertical hemp chuen brushstrokes to give the surface texture.  These brushstrokes stand out nicely against the staining done from the back of the paper.  The Vista House itself is too big when compared with the real structure.  Visually speaking, the building should be perhaps on the scale of 1/50th the height of the cliff.  So my Vista House is at least 10 folds too big.  I suppose my zeal of wanting to emphasize the structure got the better of me!  To my defense, this is a fictitious painting, so accuracy is not a prerequisite and anything goes. 

The Multnomah Falls:


I like to draw the viewer's attention to the hemp chuen brushstrokes in the light areas of the hills.  The red color reveals beautifully against the light staining from the back of the paper.  Together with washings of different ink tones, a rich texture is achieved without rendering a messy appearance of unbridled brushstrokes.  In other words, a clean look.  

The Rowena Loops:


Realistically speaking the winding roads should be more on a level plane than hanging off the sides of the cliffs.  But this is much more dramatic!  Right?  I really enjoy the dreamy background of distant ranges as depicted by the very loose and relaxed brushstrokes.  

The Stonehenge:


I am particularly fond of the classical rendering of the shrubs and trees.  I also love the very simple coloring scheme.  It exudes an air of a Chinese painting for sure. 

I am going to be mounting my painting on canvas.  I already have my canvas primed with gesso and ready to go.

The painting is laid face up on a flat surface and wetted down to relax the fibers.


During the course of doing this painting, I inadvertently ripped a hole in my paper.


I used to freak out about such mishaps.  Now I don't fret over it anymore, because these tears will be almost imperceptible after mounting.  The glue will mend the tears as long as the flaps are kept intact.

The wetted paper is allowed to dry to a "moist" state such that there is no dripping water and the paper is soft and pliable without getting too fragile due to the additional weight of the moisture content.  Now it can be rolled up and be ready for the next step, which to affix it to my canvas.


Starch is applied to my canvas and the rolled up painting is aligned and unfurled onto the canvas and pressed down for good adhesion.  The whole assembly is allowed to dry.



Painting on canvas after drying:



With frame:



EPILOGUE

My inspiration of the painting came from bantering with my overseas friends about using Chinese literature in songs etc. and I was motivated to put in my two cents with my painting.  As I have stated, my painting borrows from the landmarks of the Columbia River Gorge.

I have done a painting of Columbia River Gorge before, a strictly scenic rendition.  I am putting these two paintings up for comparison. 


I feel that my Red Cliffs Nostalgia piece is infinitely more poetic.  I believe the fact that I have the words of Su Dongpo to teach me makes a huge difference in my interpretation of the otherwise identical  river gorge, albeit with a few landmarks rearranged.  

My new painting wears a understated elegance; as if it was cloaked in a Sarong of silence, allowing the words of Su Dongpo to enunciate:

"大江東去浪淘盡 千古風流人物
江山如畫 一時多少豪傑
故國神遊 多情應笑我
人生如夢 一樽還酹江月"

  "The incessant waves urge the river eastward, taking with them all the accomplished people.  Such picturesque landscapes, how much history have they witnessed.  Perhaps I am being too sentimental, reminiscing the days gone by.  Life is but a dream. allow me to scatter my wine, ode to the river, and to the moon."
 

Thursday, May 26, 2022

Painting the blues

Now that I have the entire painting sketched in, and my basic chuen brushstrokes and light values established, I can concentrate on the task of coloring.  

The painting pays homage to Red Cliffs, so I am dedicating the right side of the painting to the red cliffs; since that portion of the landscape is facing the audience, so making those cliffs red would be more fitting for the title.

I am going to start with the left side of the painting.  This is the shore across from the red cliffs alongside the river.  My choice of color be something along the bluish line.  In painting I am always reminded of the relationship among the different parts of the painting; how they contrast or support each other.  I am not sure if there's the concept of color wheel in classical Chinese painting and I might be out of place by saying that the application of color wheel is a strictly a western practice but I think it serves my purpose in this case.  I've not attended art school or anything, all I know is that colors on opposite sides of the color wheel are complementary color combinations and they tend to be more dramatic.  Drama is what I want in this painting!  Since I am not using a pure red I suppose I can fudge a little by not using a pure green.  I decide to use blue and green as my complimentary color to "reddish" for this part of the painting. 


I am also continuing to explore the coloring from the back of the Xuan paper method.  The paper I am using is sufficiently thin and translucent for the color to come through from the backside of the paper.  The advantage of coloring from the back is the presentation is more subdued, and it allows for more transparency for subsequent application of color on the top side.  In a way it resembles working with layers or masks in photoshop and not so much with mixing colors in a dish.


The darker areas of the red cliffs also receive a layer of blue color applied from the back of the paper.



This is how everything appears from the top side of the Xuan paper,









Monday, February 28, 2022

Ethnicity and Culture in arts

Aside from brush painting, music is my other vice. I was watching a recording of a masterclass given by a musician who had been immersed in the art for half a century.  This particular segment involved a singer who sang 'Du bist die Ruh' for the workshop.  This song was composed by Franz Schubert, lending his music to poem of a German poet.  The soft and expressive song would demand more than perfect pitch and breath control from the singer, as I came to find out. 

After the customary pat on the back, the master laid into the singer and sermonized the real issue.

"This is not an opera. Lieder! Lieder!"

What I find impressive is the master was contrasting Opera and Lied.  I know these are different genres of works, but I believe ethnicity and culture play a huge role in defining opera and Lied as we know them in western music.  When the master screams passionately "Lieder, Lieder" he is succinctly pointing out the narrow definition of a song form which Schubert happens to be perhaps the most famous Romantic composer.  What was demanded of the student in the masterclass was not only the technique, but what was summed up in three words, "Give me Lieder"!  We know immediately that this is music of a poetic German song form.  The setting of a solo voice and piano does not necessarily reward a real projection of voice, but the piano and the singer share equal burdens to narrate the poetry musically.

Since beauty is in the eye of the beholder, can't we say songs are in the ears of the beholder also?  Does music not function as a trigger, and the audience empathize and reverberate with their own life experiences, regardless of the quality of the performance?  Yes, but then this defeats the purpose of conducting a masterclass on singing, does it not?  Famous caveat from the master: "you can perform the music however you want, but this is what I suggest."

Thus one would not expect this Lied from Schubert to sound like a recitative from Don Giovanni. In this case, it has to have the personality of a Lied, which is foremost; and it has to sound like Schubert, and not Mozart. The singer needs to make belief that these are his precious and sensual words, and I am paraphrasing here. ' You are the calm, close the gate softly behind you; drive the pain out of the breast, my heart full with pleasure'.  The drama is from within.  The student however placed technique and accuracy above the cultural nuance of Lieder and failed to convey the delicate feeling of the Lied.

I had the pleasure of listening to a performance of Butterfly Lovers Violin Concerto, which has a synopsis based on a well-known Chinese folklore.  The performance was by a violin soloist and accompanied by piano and not a full orchestra.  Both the violinist and the accompanist performed beautifully and yet people were arguing whether the soloist was a Chinese, Korean or Japanese.  And there were also comments to the effect that anybody could play Mozart or Bach, thus her ethnicity had no bearing to her performance.  Is such a statement an extrapolation of "music transcends all racial barriers", or is it a misunderstanding and misinterpretation of the phrase?  The argument here should be if the soloist in particular, was able to articulate the love tragedy resulting from hidden identity and arranged marriage in the old Feudal Chinese society.  I have a recording of this piece performed on an  Erhu, and I would go so far as to say that this Chinese bowed instrument is even more suited to portray the temperament of the composition.  Perhaps the Erhu itself is unmistakably Chinese??  Not convinced?  Imagine listening to a Wieniawski violin concerto played with an Erhu and you'll understand what I am attempting to convey.

Then I had the misfortune of listening to a clip sent by a friend of mine, of a western harpist playing a very famous Chinese tune on a western harp.

First of all, allow me to emphasize that I am not objecting to playing Chinese music with western musical instrument.  Heaven knows I spent my childhood playing scores of Chinese tunes on my harmonica; and sometimes on a cracked violin in the fire-escape staircase ( to get better acoustics ).  What I am having issue here is the interpretation of the Chinese music.  My beef is not with the instrument, but with the musician.

Chinese music has not attained the global status of classical music in that classical music have been played millions of times in the modern world and have millions of recordings by different artists that one can easily emulate.  I mean, no human alive today would know how exactly Mahler or Schubert played their works, other than markings of dynamics, expression, tempo and perhaps a few handwritten footnotes on the original scores.  With subsequent invention of recording, there are tons of recordings of their works by the later musicians.  After a while the collective styles of such playing become standards and different scholars chime in with their opinion of how a piece should really sound like.  With claims such as "a Schubert pianissimo is not the same as a Chopin pianissimo", as if the claimant was by the side of the composers when the music was written.  For a "catchy" Chinese tune to be performed properly, especially by a non-Chinese, it takes more than technique, but an immersion in the culture in order to distill the flavor of a Chinese song.  It takes understanding.  There just aren't as many examples of "proofs" of these Chinese songs that one can study and emulate.  Often times western musicians become parrots; repeating musical phrases without necessarily understanding them.  Of course the same applies to Asian musicians playing western compositions.  Too often we generalize Chinese and the West as two distinct monoliths and do not want to invest the effort into a better understanding of the differences and similarities between the two, especially from a cultural and linguistic point of view.

The harp piece I listened to was played very energetically; bright and full of confidence; with all the attributes of a top-notch harpist.  The harpist made percussive sounds by pounding on the wooden soundboard, as if to imitate a rim shot on a lion dance drum.

The Chinese piece that was played paints a very serene and calming scene, with the full moon tailing this little boat as it floats quietly along a river through mist, white sand and tree branches.  The song asks the rhetorical question of whether the boater's lover (who was not in the boat) gets to witness the same moon as the boater and experiences the same inevitable journey of the boat gliding downstream, not being able to back paddle. They are drifting away from each other, with no assurance of a rendezvous.  Time waits for nobody.

The song was about separation, longing and the passage of time.  The gamut of emotions would not accommodate bright plucking, nor drum percussion effect.  The moon light bathes the boat in misty air and shimmering water.  The moon light was not a beam of lightning from claps of thunder.  Granted the startling percussion might have sounded great in other songs, but to embellish this particular song with that is the worst kind of patronizing possible.  Cultural differences become cultural barriers and nothing gets transcended.  It is suspect of adding a cliché Asian element to make something more Asian.  Regrettably, robing Marilyn Monroe in qipao does not make her Chinese.  Is this an example of cultural appropriation, I wonder.  Obviously music is a performing art and the artist has the freedom to interpret the music.  Within the context of the piece, that is.  I like to believe the era of playing some pentatonic dissonant riffs and finishing with a loud gong to portray Asian music or culture is behind us. 

I was invited to a swanky American restaurant for their outlandishly priced Tasting Menu and one of the courses was Chinese Broccoli with Beef.  An army of servers marched out in procession each clutching an iconic Chinese Take-out box, apparently to add drama to the presentation, and to convince the patrons that their meal ticket was well spent, and served the eight patrons seated at my table simultaneously.  Chinese use a wok for stir fry because the curved sides of the wok offers a temperature gradient to modulate the cooking process and the concave bottom allows a reservoir of hot oil to sit in, extracting the flavors of garlic and ginger and what not, infusing the food with these subtle aroma.  The beef in the Chinese Broccoli with Beef must be flashed in hot oil and not be smothered on a grill or a flat pan and dressed with Oyster Sauce.  There is such a saying in the Cantonese vernacular regarding cooking, and it's called "Wok Hay".  "Hay" is the Cantonese pronunciation for "Chi", thus wok energy.  In other words, a person should be able to feel and enumerate the heat of the wok and the steps in throwing the ingredients together, with their palate.  Obviously this pretentious restaurant knew convincingly little about the art of Chinese cooking.  Anyways I asked the waiter to inform the Chef that his/her version of Chinese Broccoli with Beef was an insult to Chinese food, and if he/she wishes, I would be happy to give him/her a few pointers in the kitchen.  Obviously I was ignored, and the restaurant didn't even have the courtesy to discount my exorbitant food bill.

Hence I submit ethnicity and culture are critical, albeit not always obvious, factors in shaping and understanding art and we appreciate and practice art based on our own inventory of sensibilities and prejudices.  Different cultures have vastly different preferences in spices and tastes in epicurean art so why are other disciplines of art immune from cultural influences.  Music in this case is inextricably tied to the language of the culture.  It carries the cadence and inflection that is unique to the language in question. Perhaps I can draw similarities between speaking a native language or speaking with a foreign accent. I further submit that culture is more encompassing than ethnicity.  This is the basis behind the term "banana", a derisive nomenclature used to denote people who are "yellow on the outside, but white on the inside".  Culture affects everything we do, even in the arts.  

Perhaps two examples of paintings can help to further illustrate my point.  Vincent Van Gogh did a painting of a Japanese courtesan, based on a original painting of a courtesan by a Japanese painter Keisai Eisen.  (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keisai_Eisen)  Van Gogh tried to be faithful with the facial features and the headdress and the backward glance of the courtesan but took liberty with the kimono and the background. ( https://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en/collection/s0116V1962)  It wouldn't take but a cursory look to sense the different flavors in the two works, and which one is done by a Japanese painter. So the elephant in the room is, what are the defining factors, what are the clues.  What makes Schubert different from Puccini; Van Gogh from Eisen; East from West.

Then an Italian missionary came to the East; China specifically, during the Qing dynasty and stayed for half a century.  He painted a huge body of works, a lot of which borrowed the classical Chinese painting technique and ethos.  Some of the exotic animals in the paintings and perhaps his not quite Chinese way of  managing color and light values betrayed his ethnicity/culture but only to the discerning eye.  Did his cultural biases and identity prevented him from adapting and adopting one hundred percent to the discipline of Chinese painting?  One could say that his native tongue and "accent" in his painting gave him away.  I am of course referring to Giuseppe  Castiglione.     https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giuseppe_Castiglione_(Jesuit_painter)

I was using the example of Lieder to state my case of how ethnicity and culture might impact performing art.  To draw an example from the East, falsetto voices from Chinese Opera, be it Peking or Cantonese is so unique that there could be no mistaking them as being absolutely uniquely Chinese. Even folk songs from different regions of China carry their own nuances and it will be just as plausible for a presenter of masterclass on Chinese songs to demand "Hungmei tone! Huangmei tone!"  Thus it is just as crucial for the performer to know about the origin and style of this genre of songs, drawing a parallel to the "Lieder" example.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huangmei_opera

Falsettos are commonly employed in both Western and Eastern singing.  They are however vastly different in various cultures and they can identify the culture associated with them.

In visual arts "Chuen" is a technique that is almost ubiquitous in classical Chinese landscape paintings.  I alluded to it in my blog "Gou, Chuen, Ts'a, R'an".  It is the brushstroke used to impart texture to the landscape.  The closest equivalence from the West that I could summon is perhaps the "hatching" or "cross-hatching" technique in drawing.  The lines are used as a non-messy way of shading an object, and to a lesser extent, adding some texture.  "Chuen" on the other hand, is used mainly to characterize texture, and to a lesser extent, shading.  We have the elements of Ts'a (rubbing) and R'an (wash) to satisfy the shading part.  It is interesting to note that shading is almost always judiciously applied and strong shading is actually not preferred in classical painting; it could be misconstrued as being a "dirty stain".  I believe this is the reason classical Chinese paintings are very two-dimensional and flat looking; especially in portraits.  The mark of competency, the Rembrandt Triangle of the Western ideal would have resulted in more than a brow beating.

Rote learning being a necessary evil in perfecting the craft of Chinese Brush painting, the Mustard Seed Garden has pages on the various styles of "chuen" by different masters and a compendium of some typical ways to "chuen", and the students are expected to pore over these materials and keep emulating until they "get it".  With easy-to-understand names such as lotus leaf, draping hemp fibers, folded ribbons, axe hatching, sesame seed etc., the "chuen" brushstroke sometimes utilizes the tip of the brush only, sometimes the side of the brush is employed for effect.  The accompanied pictures are taken from the book of Mustard Seed Garden showing the different "chuen" brushstrokes.

The presence of "chuen" brushstrokes in a landscape painting would be a good indicator that the painter has studied Chinese Brush painting methods because it is uniquely Chinese.  Chinese brush painting like everything else cannot exist in a vacuum and as interaction with other civilization increases, a western and other Asian cultural influence is inevitable and hybridization ensues.  However, even the relatively contemporary Qi Baisi and Zhang Daqian still employed such classical techniques such as "chuen". The contemporary impressionist Wu Guanzhong on the other hand only showed remnants of such practice. https://www.comuseum.com/painting/masters/wu-guanzhong/ 

In reviewing my old paintings, I realized that I skimmed on the "chuen" aspect of my paintings and relied on the rubbing and wash elements to render the dimensional feel, and I definitely would not call myself a contemporary impressionist!  

I can feel the conductor of Classical Chinese Brush MasterClass barking at me: "ChuenChuen!"

There are only two reasons for that, being inept and being lazy.  Or could it be that I am westernized?



Since I don't have anything better, or more meaningful to do, I decide to paint over one of my finished paintings and build up more "chuen" brushstrokes.  I have nothing to lose but a piece of paper should I fail.


So I forge ahead with the ribbon and hemp fiber and sesame seed "chuen" strokes and build on the areas that had been rubbed and washed previously.


The right side of the painting is now much darker, due to the additional brushstrokes.  This makes a even stronger contrast to the landscape across the water, and this is the effect I am looking for.  The precipitous rock face is now convincingly in the shadow, against the backdrop of the salmon colored sky.  The added "cheun" most definitely gives the landscape loads of texture, giving it a three-dimensional appearance.  One might say that it has pop now.  But then I might have committed the crime of rendering my painting too dimensional, too forceful; in the realm of classical virtues anyways.  Perhaps my work is more of a elevator music variety than a Lied.  Perhaps this is the reason some of my peers shun me.

I decide to reign myself in and do some honest practicing on the technique of "chuen".  Practice makes perfect, I am told. 






I must say my homework looks a lot more "Chinese" than my previous works. My mountain lobes look very classical and Chinese.  So has my ethnicity or culture changed?  

I've been overseas for over half a century, so for all practical purposes I am a "foreigner" steeped in western culture.  I speak English everyday, at my job and socially and yet I can't shake my Chinese accent. I should have become a "banana" like my children but somehow I didn't.  What I've become is a over-ripen banana, yellow on the outside and a mishmash of white and yellow on the inside.  Does that affect how I interpret the world, and arts?

Perhaps I am just confused. 

Friday, August 20, 2021

Beaten Paths

I was granted a deeper understanding of  Vive Ya.

On a recent trip I took to Nevada, our tour bus travelled through an area of Oregon that was devastated by forest wild fire a year ago.  The highway carved its way along a narrow river valley cradled by steep hills on both sides.  I definitely understand now why people chose places like that to be their homesteads.  So picturesque.  Before the fire that is.

The steep hills adjacent to the highway meant the miles of charred and burnt timber that needed to be fallen had no place to fall.  Thus the highway was reduced to one lane traffic with pilot cars leading the convoys of alternating come and go traffic, and the wait was up to 30 minutes at times.  During these stops, I saw for the first time how extensive the inferno was, and was trying hard to play the game of make-believe; which escape route would I have chosen. The shoulders of the highway was transformed into make shift lumber mills, where the burnt timber was cut to length so they could fit on logging trucks, and all the scraps were turned into wood chips and piled on the side of the highways.  The air was still rancid and veiled in smoke from new fires that were burning in other parts of Oregon.  A burnt and abandoned fire-truck on the side of the highway was the ultimate testament to the ferocious fire; the whole scene was just like a doomsday movie set.

Yet in this charred out landscape, one could see new stick-frames of two by fours being erected, and concrete foundations being poured.  Rebuilding has already started.  Resiliency.  A will to survive. 

I didn't know this was just a prelude to the events to follow.

We reached Nevada and gambling was legal.  One of the fellow passenger was having an upper hand at the slot machine one night in the hotel lobby and we told her in jest, "Quit while you're ahead. By the way, where is your hubby?"

"He wasn't feeling too good so he's resting in the room"

Next morning after boarding the tour bus, we were told that we would not be departing on time.  One of the fellow passenger had passed away during the night and his widow now had to make the necessary arrangements.  The lady who had luck with the slot machine lost her husband that night.

As it turned out, the couple was celebrating their 53rd wedding anniversary on this trip as the now widow announced through her quivering voice. " At least now my husband's in a happier place!"   As one life cycle ends, another cycle begins... I surmised.  She has to find new meanings for life.

Vive Ya!

Indeed my last blog was about not being afraid to change, I just happened to paraphrase Live Now.

While still thinking about my new way to "chuen" tree stands, I was having a video chat with my brother.  For some reason he blurted out a phrase that I was not familiar with.

" 桃李無言 "

That translates to peach and pear say nothing.

He elucidated me that this was a verse from a famous Southern Song poet and statesman Xin Qiji (辛棄疾).   The complete verse was "桃李無言 下自成蹊", which means " peach and pear trees need not say anything, but because of their flowers and fruits, beaten paths are formed under the trees from people frequenting them".   As long as one is true, an audience will be granted.  Such wisdom is sorely needed in today's society, where social media and infuencers relentlessly hype a buzz word or a cliche, trivializing everything in their paths.  Perhaps I've witnessed one too many painting of a raised fist.

I found resonance in these eight words, so I incorporated them into my painting.  True my painting was not about peach or pear trees, but nonetheless trails were built under trees because they provide shade and respite.  If we insist on the literal interpretation of the words, then we've missed the boat entirely.  I am not revealing the words by circling them and pointing them out.  They shall remain enigmatic, sort of a challenge to locate them, even for myself.  Suffice to say that they are right smack in the middle of the painting, becoming the texture of tree barks. 






I chose to color the painting from the back of the Xuan, first yellow then green, giving it just a hint of color, setting a mood instead of announcing an overt presence.


I do like the apparent depth provided by coloring on the back of the Xuan paper.  I don't know whether it's psychological or not, but the fact that the color seeps through from the back seems to have added distance to the whole setting.  There is a three dimensional feel to the painting.  

Also the fact that the color is not directly reflected from the surface, it is very much attenuated under dim lighting of indoors.


Whereas under a well lit setting, more green comes through the fibers


I suppose we do perceive different feelings during different times of the day in the same woods.
If I am bound by the same woods, at least I get to enjoy the different lightings of these woods and muse at the significance, or lack of, through these transformations.   Who knows, if I wander long enough I might carve out my own beaten paths.  



Sunday, July 25, 2021

Dare to change, Vive ya

Starting a painting is one of the most difficult task, I think.

When I look at a blank piece of Xuan, I begin to fret. Where do I start, which area gathers the darkest ink value, should I "cheat" by sketching a rough outline first, etc.  Mind you, I usually don't start a painting without having run through an image in my mind a hundred times so theoretically I should already have a pretty concrete blueprint in my head.  It's just a matter of translating it on paper.  Yet the understanding that the Xuan paper is unforgiving, in that it registers every minute nuance of the brushstroke, and that I am suppose to refrain from overpainting on areas that have been painted already, creates this innate fear that whatever I lay down on the pristine Xuan is going to be so final.  It almost demands that each movement of my brush needs to be perfect; it has to be done right the very first time.

Obviously this is hogwash and the self-inflicting suffocation sometimes seems like a requisite ritual that I must hurdle before I can start.  I've heard sayings like you should write or paint for the waste basket.  Don't be so hung up on the demand that each piece of work is worthy, just assume that I will file them in the round basket.  It's easier said than done.

I've had teachers that would correct my paintings by overpainting on them.  The corrections usually involve how a brushstroke needs to be done, and seldom about composition or anything else.  My brushstrokes would be unbecoming for an orchid, or my "chuen" is non-descriptive etc.  My teacher would paint over my work to illustrate their points.  

I've also had a teacher that would not lay a hand on my works.  The teacher would just critique and it's up to me to perceive the shortcomings and make corrections.  Thus my job is to make changes, perhaps by starting a new version of the same painting, incorporating alterations and see if  I truly understand what is wrong and try to be able to pass muster eventually.  After all the major faults are addressed, the next question from the teacher is always " do you consider your painting done?"  The teacher would never say if the painting is good as it stands, or if it needs progression.

Thus the teacher in the latter scenario resembles more of  a graduate study course, where I am expected to have all the prerequisite techniques checked off and I am now honing my skills by delving into the detailed intricacies of brush painting.  My teacher's reticence purportedly is based on the desire to revamp the rote system of studying brush painting, and not wanting the temptation for students to imprint on the teacher's style or techniques.

For a student who suffers from impatience and always eager to see the completion of a piece of work, this is a torture.  Especially as I worked as a pharmacist in my younger days, the ability to fill hundreds of prescriptions daily means I must concentrate on and sign off on hundreds of tasks on a daily basis.  To leave a prescription "unfinished" is a cardinal sin, and the phrase "not done yet" is clearly not in my vocabulary.  

Whereas impatience prods me to hurry on a painting, impulsiveness prompts me to unabashedly alter a "finished" painting.  I suppose the word impulsive is a relative term.  A lot of pondering and waging over time, looking at a "finished" painting and ruminating on the possible paths to alter the painting, leads to the sudden "impulsive" event.  Some of my recent feats involve using sand paper to correct tonal qualities and using latex paint to overpaint my rams.  With the help of these seemingly sophomoric methods, I am also more willing to buck the restraints a little.  One of those restraints stems from what I was taught from early on, to use a blank void as "white" value.  Hence waterfalls, water, stream, clouds, mist are never painted with any hint of a white pigment.  My most recent attempt at Multnomah Falls changed all that;  I find new energy in actually using a white pigment to paint something "white".

So I dug up a "finished" painting that is all of a sudden deemed "unfinished".  This is a painting of a inner city park that I frequent, and it attempts to showcase the filtered light shrouding the branches and trunks of the woods.  Aside from a sentiment being told with light, I tried to impart some compositional skill by including a zig zig pathway at the bottom of the painting, to contrast with the vertical lines.


 



I relied on different ink tones to describe how I perceived light in this woods.  My intention now is to alter the painting, with the help of white pigment.  I am willing to suffer the consequence if the scheme is not workable, yet I have this anticipation of something new and drastically different from the original interpretation.

With seemingly random, but judiciously placed dabs and lines, my titanium white laden brush tip begins to make leaves and branches shimmer in the light.


The owl that's been quietly perching on a branch gets a more rounded face, as in a barn owl.  This owl was actually inspired by reports of park visitors getting attacked by owls, for apparently coming too close to their nests.  Personally I just assume the owl adds a little bit of drama to the static scenery.

Then another mischievous thought comes to mind.  What if I find a new way to show texture of the tree trunks.  I mean, is there a way to "chuen" trunks, the way we do rocks or mountains in landscape painting,  How would I invent a way to paint the bark?

For some reason a picture comes into focus.



These are sutras carved onto stone pillars and they adorn the grounds of the huge Buddha statue in Hong Kong.


Don't they resemble the stands of trees in my woods?  Can't the calligraphy on the pillars be the "chuen" that I am looking for, as a means to add texture to my trees?  Can they be the grooves on the tree bark?

There's only one way to find out.

I begin my experiment by writing words on the back of the painting, where the tree trunks are.  My theory is that the translucent Xuan will allow some of the writings to come through on the top side.  The fact that the words are now illegible will make them perfect candidates as "chuen" brushstrokes, as in a novel way to texture tree trunks.  I am WRITING barks.






Viewed from the top side of the painting






This seems like a lot of nonsense and going through a long rigmarole to do a simple task; in other words being absurdly redundant.  

Well granted there is certainly a heavy dose of that stench but I just couldn't hide my giddy grin and my goofy glint for I succeeded in totally geeking out.  Who knows, perhaps I am bored.  The fact that no one else will appreciate what I am doing is really not important.  The important thing is that I am the one who initiates the change and only I know about all the little sheepish details; about this new reality. Without my impatiently painted first editions, I would not have been motivated to do my second or third editions.  And while I am contemplating the merits, or lack of, of my nerdy episode, I am beginning to understand perhaps what Laura Pausini and Andrea Bocelli sang in "Vive ya",

     Vive ya, no se puede vivir sin un pasado








Saturday, May 1, 2021

Demo


I was invited to do an hour long demonstration at a local wetlands preserve.  This was in response to my painting of the wetlands, which I had posted on this blog.

I quickly realized that Chinese brush landscape painting was not a good match for the en plein aire mode of painting.  I needed a flat table and not a sketch pad or easel, and I needed a wool under pad for my Xuan paper.  Something that would be harder to disguise would be my reluctance to do serious work in front of an audience.  I felt that when I paint, it was my private moment, as I would be grabbling with my thoughts and feelings.  I would feel naked and exposed if there was someone watching.  Besides, I believe a lot of the classical Chinese landscape paintings were never about the actual sceneries, but rather stories about virtues, or euphemistic depictions of retreat.  Thus the artists conjured up the scenery, almost like building a studio set for a movie, to get their point across.

I thought a more appropriate approach would be to demonstrate how the Chinese round brush works.   I would still try to paint the wetlands, or at least describe my thought process in arriving at the painting, but I thought a more dramatic demonstration was needed to call attention to the round brush.  I decided to paint a peony flower.  Painting a peony demanded the full employment of the entire brush, from tip to belly.  The tip of the brush helped with creating the serrated edge of the petal, and the belly was used to describe the petal.  Typically the entire brush would be loaded with titanium white and the tip alone would entertain a different color, depending on the color of the peony.  Thus a single brushstroke rendered two different colors, with white being the belly of the brush and the colored tip would contrast with the adjacent void space to create the petal's edge.  It would be easy to understand why the proper placement of the brush is of paramount importance.  

Since I only had 60 minutes to attempt to explain and paint two different paintings, I thought I would cheat a little.  I would have a painting of two peony flowers, with one of them already painted at home.  In other words I would show up with a peony painting with one flower missing, so all I had to do would be to fill in the blank.

Obviously I needed to do my part, honing my peony flower skills.  I didn't want to make a fool of myself.






I prepared two paintings of peony, done on different kinds of Xuan.  I hoped to have a chance to illustrate how absorbency affected the presentation of the brushstroke.






I also planned a little theatre to get one of my points across, the fact that a painting on Xuan had to be mounted in order to be presented.  I planned on squishing my finished peony painting as if to dispose of it, and upon disapproval, I would wet the painting down to relax the paper fibers, to impress the audience that the wetting down was the initial step to ready the painting for mounting.

My stop watch told me that I needed 15 to 20 minutes to paint the flower.  That meant I had at least 30 minutes to do my landscape painting of the wetlands.  Time management would be critical during the demonstration and this was how I prepared myself.

I invoked the Mustard Seed Garden manual as a witness to my interpretation of a mixed species woods, which the wetland had.  I started out with the darkest ink value and proceeded to pan out my landscape.
I pointed out the fact that I wasn't constantly reloading my brush with ink, since I wanted to ink to gradually be depleted which led to a lighter value.  This was how the different ink tones could develop naturally, if we allowed them.  I would intersperse my talking strategically to allow my brush time to become drier as I yakked.  I let the audience in on my ploys, so that they knew what I was doing at all times.  I tried hard to dispel any myths or hypes to using the Chinese brush as an instrument to paint.

As the brush became drier, I proceeded with the Chuen technique, which granted more information about the rocks; and the Ts'a technique, which was rubbing with the dried belly of the brush to add texture.

I had time to add the obligatory pair of Canada geese, showcasing the calligraphy brushstroke.  I punned the painting by adding in a pair of water buffaloes ( it would be strange to see water buffaloes in this neck of the woods) blaming it on the fact that this is the year of the Ox.  It was just a spur of the moment jest to show what could be done with a few simple brushstrokes.

And so the hour flew by and mission accomplished.

And these were the results:







Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Project Tree

The traditional Chinese landscape painting  model would have a cluster of trees, each with a different foliage, to establish spatial relationship.  When you look into the Mustard Seed Garden Manual ( Jieziyuan Huapu ) you'll find pages and pages of methods on painting different foliage, i.e. dots, lines, circles, triangles etc. and methods of painting trees and branches, assigning description such as crab claw, deer antler among other things.  Typically you would see branches and foliage of different species woven together, allowing various degree of obscurity to represent which tree is in front of the other.  Such separation would be more difficult to show in a homogeneous group.

 cluster of mixed trees


When I painted my Multnomah Falls (Multnomah Falls Again blog), I utilized such an arrangement.  We would coin this layout as painting "mixed trees", not that they are the real indigenous species, but are more likely to be fictitious sets. 

Since I was playing with my alum solution again, I decided to experiment with the technique of expressing spatial relationship again.  I wanted to paint just one tree, but the branches themselves have to showcase the perspective.  I have the image of this huge tree in Kowloon Park.  The branches are so huge and convoluted that they actually rest on cement columns  for support.  My challenge is to establish the relative position of the branches without resorting to different foliage.

For this exercise, I was using left over pigments from my dish ( red and blue and yellow ) .  My brush was first saturated with alum solution, then dipped into the color wells.  Ink was added to attain the desired black levels.  The paper I used was a remnant hemp paper ( not the usual raw Xuan ) and this turned out to be less than desirable for this purpose.
    boneless strokes rendered in alum+pigments
                                  



 the back side of image above, white patches are caused by alum



I then flipped the paper over and used the backside as the front of my painting.  I did that to try to exploit the alum solution.   Brush strokes done with alum and pigments would show a minute clear margin around the strokes, and is more prominent on the back side.  This effect is usually quite apparent when using raw Xuan, but did not show up quite as well with the hemp paper.  I suspect the paper is semi-sized to begin with, because the color sits on it for a while before being soaked into the paper.  I used some diluted titanium white along the edges of the brush strokes to mitigate the apparent lack of clear margins.  On the outside of the titanium white, I lined in with ink.  Essentially, I started out with a boneless brushstroke of the branches and then use titanium white and ink as my Gou step (refer to my blog on Gou, Chuen, Ts'a, R'an blog on June 24, 2011).  That was followed by Chuen and Ts'a with the dried belly of the brush to give texture.  The final step was R'an with a wash to add shading.

 ink line outside of margin

 Gou, Chuen, T'sa, R'an


It is important to tread with a light foot (hand) in the Gou step.  The lines need to be loose and do not need to be continuous; try to feel it.  Pay special attention to the junctures where branches cross.   Allow enough spacing to the back branches to give depth ( refer to More Than Just Broken Lines blog on March 29, 2012).  The fatter and lighter imprint of brush strokes from the reverse side of the paper gives a shadow effect to the narrow Gou outlines, giving the branches a more 3-dimensional feel.
 keep the Gou lines loose and spirited            

 fatter imprint from the reverse side adds body


The final product now shows depth, texture and a concrete representation of the location of the different branches.