Epilogue: Chronicle of Shadows

I chronicled my trials and tribulations with my Shadows painting.  In the Coming Full Circles blog I settled on a final version.

I was happy with it.

Until I showed it to my group of Chinese Brush painting friends  and to an arts professor.

My friends could not accept the fact that the shadows did not cross the path.  They kept assuming the void space was water and in that sense I could have painted in reflections.  They simply could not tolerate my attempt at filtering out some details to create sort of an art deco type exercise.  I was trying to blend realism with a graphic element.

The art professor had problem with the paths. 

Too structured.  The edges were too rigid and not xieyi enough, 

I was able to present my case.  I showed the works by Gong Xian (1618-1689), one of the Masters of Nanjing.

Did he not have a blend of realism and graphic design?  He too had a well defined path leading to the house in the bottom painting;  and a second void space at the right middle portion of the painting.

I was trying to emulate his Ji Mo ( accumulating ink ) technique.

I had four months to think about everything.  Over time I became less defensive and more willing to accept other viewpoints.

Since I've been doing a lot of black and white paintings as of late, I decided to really play up the ambiance of this painting.

I made a strong presence of light coming from behind the trees.  The shadows now sprouted across the page to amplify the light source.  The prominent pathways are now reduced to bright patches, suggesting but not defining trails.

I truly sensed that I've written the final chapter on this painting.  There is no room for other changes, only pages of thoughts and suggestions.

This is indeed the epilogue of Chronicle of Shadows.

Of Painting, Writing and Calligraphy

A Chinese Brush enthusiast presented us a work of painting with calligraphy on it.

Everybody oohed and aahed.   After all the person is not Chinese and for some Westerner to be able to do that is encouraging.

The writing was something one would derive from Google Translate.  It was devoid of syntax, although one could surmise the gist of it. 

After the oohing and aahing, small talks began to surface, especially with regards to whether it was proper for the person to use broken Chinese on a painting.

A month later the same enthusiast presented us with another painting with Chinese written on it.  Unfortunately the passage made absolutely no sense this time. 

The artist was asked about the meaning of the writing and admitted to not knowing.  The artist made a comment that a lot of Chinese Brush painting had writing on it and deemed it appropriate to write something on the painting, whether it made sense or not.

The small talk behind this person's back grew louder, yet no one felt comfortable enough to tell this artist.  It was determined that one should not dowse this enthusiasm, especially when a Westerner is willing to try.  It was also somewhat inherent in our culture that we do not want to point out people's mistakes.  Call that political correctness if you will.

One finds Chinese writings and calligraphy on paintings quite frequently.  Most of the time the writings refer to the time of the year, the artist's name, and sometimes the place where the artwork was done.  If there was a title for the painting, it would be written in a different font.

If the painting was to be presented to a particular person, or for a particular occasion, the name of the receiver or the event would be recorded in writing.

Besides the above mention of when one would find writings on a painting, there are other instances when such needs arise.

The artist needed to convey a message about the painting.  The attached painting is by Qi Baishi (1864-1957)

In this painting of a simple catfish, Mr.Qi was lamenting about the fact that it is very difficult to characterize a simple fish with a few scant brushstrokes and impart the energy and personality to the subject matter. Even he was having problem composing a legitimate painting of fish, and he had to resort to cropping a good sample as his work.  The obvious reason too was the fact that now he had cropped the fish out from his large sheet of Xuan, how was he going to deal with the empty space?
The obvious answer perhaps, was for him to write something.  Mr. Qi is known for his paintings, but he rated his poetry as his best accomplishment, followed by his seal carving, then his calligraphy.  He didn't even list his painting as his top 3 virtues.  It made sense that he would fill the void with his well thought out sentences and wrote them in his genuinely peasantry calligraphy.  The writing and calligraphy became part of his artwork.

Feng Zikai (1898-1975) liked to title his works in a thought provoking way.  Other than his signature, he often dispensed with the recording of time and locality.

In this work, the title says "The mirror is the only person who knows the beauty of that poor girl".  This was a commentary about the society.  If one is poor, whether  financially or  in social status, one would not expect anyone to cast attention in their direction.

In our studies and lessons, we are always reminded that there is poetry in a painting, and a painting should be like poetry.  In fact one teacher would give us a poem and we were to paint something to exemplify that poem.  We've also been asked to compose a poem after viewing a painting, but that's a different story.  Our erudition on Chinese literary  skills is quite dismal.

Chinese poetry is rather pedantic.

Each line or verse must be composed of the same number of words.  The order of words in each line must match or contrast in meaning.  For example, if the first line says " A boy kisses a girl ", then the second line might  be something like "The gymnast  takes a whirl".  Thus we have 5 words in each verse; a subject followed by a verb, describing the action; and the verses rhyme.  There are attempts to translate Chinese poetry into other languages, but none of them deliver the whole package.  They do fine in translating the meaning of the poetry, yet the beauty of matched words and syntax and context and rhyming is totally lost.  It's analogous to leading a blindfolded person to an elephant and upon touching the trunk the person exclaimed "I got it".

Yang Shan Shen (1913-2004) is a famous  Master in the Lingnan School.  This style of work exhibits a strong western influence.  Paintings are usually brightly colored, with attention to light and shadows.  He employed two verses in his work below:

The writing is translated as

                            In the rain, a fruit drops
                            On a branch, a bird sings

Again, adherence to the verse structure.


I am using these examples from contemporary Chinese Brush artists.  I use them to illustrate the point that the tradition of writings and calligraphy on our painting is structured, revered and time honored.

Whereas one must appreciate the zeal of a non Chinese in learning  to paint and write with Chinese brush, one must also take into consideration that the person must learn it the correct way, with understanding of the various elements involved.   It is one thing if the artist wanted to incorporate Chinese brush calligraphy as a background or as an element of graphic design but to put it in just because that seemed the proper format  is quite another.  One must not blindly pursue the stereotype. That would be patronizing.

Also important is that if we can clearly see a misconception by a student, it is the duty of those of us who are in the know to point out the truth.  It does not need to be embarrassing, nor demeaning.  How else is one to learn?   The worst thing that can happen to a budding Chinese Brush enthusiast is to be misled.  The discipline is complicated as it is.  After all, mastering painting, poetry and calligraphy and applying them together is considered the Three Perfections in the arena of traditional Chinese Brush painting.

I therefore voiced my observations to this person.  I am convinced that I did the right thing.  Only time would tell.

Guilin Landscape, Chapter 2

I showed my emulation to an art professor.

I did not tell the professor that this was my copy of a painting by Bai Xueshi.  I didn't want the comments to be tainted by any biases.

The professor liked how the mountains were depicted but had issues with a few things.

>The painting was trite.  The presence of boats was too predictable.  The boats were too detailed.
>The thin ribbon representing the foreground made the painting feel cramped.
>The boats on the left impeded the energy emanating from the mist. That space should be left void.

So I painted another version.  I really have gotten better in pursuing an understanding of criticisms.  I am now willing to retrace my footsteps just to see what differences might show up in the end.

This painting had no boats.

It was deemed too austere now.  It lacked a story.

Time to put the incidentals back in.  I drew my boat on a small piece of paper now.  I could move and attach it to various parts of the painting to find a perfect home before any permanent damage was done by the indelible black ink.

Notice that I had simplified the boat to the bare essentials.

It was suggested that I put a boat to the left of the mountains, in the form suggesting a sail.

The reasoning behind this was a vertical line would harmonize better with the pillars of mountains.  This smudge of a line would not block the flow emanating from the mist either;  basically leaving the void space untouched.

My left brain however was having great difficulty with this arrangement. The painting had all the distinctively recognizable traits of Guilin landscape, and the Li River in particular.  Vessels that float on this waterway included small fishing sampans, bamboo rafts and now convoys of tour boats.  Sailboats just weren't common, unless they were used as props for photo shoots.

It is kind of silly to get hung up on a minute detail.  The smudge could be anything.  It is only a vertical sail if I recognized it as such.

I am my worst enemy.

I am therefore still vacillating on my next move.

Guilin Landscape

I know I'm getting old.

I'm getting forgetful, for sure, but that's not it.  I'm actually reminiscing quite often now, more so than ever before.

I was trying to relive some of  the trips I've taken.  One of which was to Guilin, considered to be the most scenic area in the world.  Somehow I was able to locate the obligatory guide book that I purchased while over there, and started to thumb through that, and fill my head with memories again, augmented by the pictures.

Most people might be impressed with the ribbon like strands of strange hills and mountains, rock pillars and conical lime stones.  For me, it was the bamboo groves.  I simply had no idea that groves of bamboo would look nothing like bamboo.  I used to question and doubt my teachers when they depicted  bamboo as rungs on a ladder.  Now I understand.

I also thought of this painter, Mr. Bai Xueshi (1915-2011) who had painted quite a few Guilin landscapes.  I decided to study his painting expression and tried to emulate it.

I picked the semi-sized Xuan again because I needed to be able to layer on my ink; since I had no idea on how to control and render the different ink tones. The un-sized raw Xuan would be too messy for my tentative brush strokes.

For the groves I would dab in the shape of the plant(s) first and then write in the infrastructures.  I was able to be more expressive this way.

After I was done, I thought the painting looked a little stark and cold, so I warmed it up a bit with my notorious coffee.  The sepia was applied mainly to the edges of the mist, and seemed to impart a little drama.

Then I realized that one of the bamboo seemed to line up with the edge of a mountain in the background and the appearance was a little disconcerting, as if I was looking at a scar.

I am sure this was due to my incompetency.  I was not able to distant the foreground from the background with my ink tone.

There was only one thing to do.  Make the mountain bigger.

After this reconstructive surgery, the scar is gone.

Etude-Lotus Leaf Chuen

I've touched upon the techniques of Gou, Chuen, Ts'a  and R'an often employed in Chinese Brush painting, especially in the landscape genre.

One of the Chuen technique is called the Lotus Leaf Chuen;  this is where brush stroke resembling the vein of a lotus leaf is used to describe the topography.  This is commonly employed while painting the foothills of mountain ranges, perhaps depicting a watershed.

I practiced that technique with my students in class and I intend to apply that technique to something tangible at the next lesson.     Recall that I am not a real fan of the rote technique, when we keep repeating and copying props that are from the past.  I therefore wanted to paint a local iconic mountain using that brushstroke and make this technique relevant in today's application.

That means doing homework myself, otherwise I don't have anything concrete to show.

I first laid out the contour lines of this mountain and installed the lotus leaf Chuen around the base of the mountain, where the slope is not as steep.  I then selectively shaded the different areas of the mountain, using these Chuen lines as a guide, paying attention to where the light source might be.  I know this is highly irregular for traditional Chinese Brush.  Emphasis is on line quality and the unwritten meanings and nuances rather than an overt representation of the subject matter.  So I've committed blasphemy.  Perhaps in the name of progress.

The dark background helped to contrast the white snowy peak and pop up the mountain.

Here's a close-up of the lotus leaf Chuen

Pupil of The Eye

I wanted to paint a flight of spiral staircase.

A bunch of concentric circles; well maybe not entirely concentric, but think of it as a bunch of circles of different diameters placed together.  How difficult could it be.

I was asked the reason for picking this subject matter.  It really does not have a whole lot to do with Chinese brush painting.  So why bother.

My short answer was that I wanted to continue to explore the property of the semi-sized Xuan that I was using, and to continue my study of the Jimo (accumulating ink) technique.  

Actually the spirals with radiating spokes of steps and alternating bands of illuminated flat surface against vertical dark balustrade fascinated me.  To me, there existed complexity in this simplistic arrangement, and vice versa.

The schematic was too complicated to paint extemporaneously, so I took my time to sketch it out.  I wanted a reasonable spatial proportion and relationship of the different elements.

 

 

 

 

Next step was to build up the details by writing in the steps.  To help me perceive the perspective better, I painted in the floor at the bottom, designating that as the darkest portion, and began to build my risers from the bottom up.

 

 





I continue to construct until all the steps were in.  I felt like I was installing vanes in a jet engine.

It was time to test the water.  Like a proud parent, I introduced my piece to my cohorts.

I had done a few pieces of works with ink and semi-sized Xuan, namely the roof top piece and the pillars piece.  Those pieces were done in the portrait format.

Why couldn't I turn my painting 90 degrees to the left and make it into a portrait format too.   After all it's just a bunch of circles so the orientation should not matter!  By doing this, I could add to my collection of ink paintings in the portrait format.

To my chagrin, the reception was lukewarm at best.

Is that a pupil of an eye?   Mused someone.

It looked convex to me!  If you were trying to paint stairs, they appear to be poking out the painting rather than looking down  Commented another.

You need to blur out the top levels so the bottom is in focus, so people get what you are painting!  Suggested yet another.

So I monkeyed around with it and dramatized my light values to better illustrate my helical steps.

Still looks like an eye!  There's something wrong with your painting but I couldn't put my finger on it !  That was pretty much the general consensus.

Then the art professor came over and rotated my painting 90 degrees.

Now everybody went Ah!  Much better!

What I thought was a bunch of circles and the orientation didn't matter actually did matter in this instance.  I thought hard and long for my misconception. 

Here is plausible explanation.

When we are looking down a flight of spirals, we are inevitably closest to one point on the rail or banister.  As we gazed downwards, the corresponding points on each ring would seem to stick together.  For example,  when we looked through a tunnel or a huge water pipe, we typically see the
ceiling curving around us, and the floor of the pipe seemed flat, even though it is part of the circle.

By displaying this painting in a portrait format, we took away that point of reference and our brain could not rationalize the anomaly and cried foul.  Order was restored only when we restored that frame of reference.

You just can't fool the eye!  Nor the pupil, for that matter.

Suliao Xuan Ban - The Journey is complete

I submitted my Journey painting for a local exhibition and the jury gave their nods.

That meant I needed to mount the Xuan so it could be presented.

I had always wanted to try something really far rout with this piece of work.

Obviously painting with coffee and cream and tea was unconventional, especially as far as Chinese brush is concerned.  When I needed to mount this painting for presentation, I didn't want to do it the traditional fashion either.  This was in part motivated by the fact that the coffee and tea had no fixative in them and the color tends to move if not careful.

I had wanted to exploit the translucent quality of the Xuan.  I also deplore the glass covered look, the omnipresent glare from the glass.  I am also too cheap in invest in non-glare museum quality glass.  That was my motivation for inventing  the Xuan-Boo ( Xuan on canvas ) to begin with.

The only plausible way to showcase the semi-transparent Xuan was to mount my painting on a piece of glass; tampered glass to be specific.  I toyed with the notion that my painting could be viewed almost like a stained glass window or a double sided silk embroidery.  I had visions of  my work mounted on the surface of glass.  The entire piece would be a float and I would epoxy a platform behind the glass so it could be displayed several inches off the wall surface, allowing ambient and reflected light to dance on my painting.

That won't work; too heavy.

Then I was going to use a heavy gauge plastic, in lieu of tampered glass.  It turned out that anything over three-sixteenth thickness is cast plastic, and costs an arm and a leg.  Besides, even at one-quarter inch thickness, the piece flexes due to the large dimensions, and it was heavy.

I eventually abandoned the frameless float idea and settled for a frame.

My work was still to be mounted on the surface of the plastic.  I mounted another piece of Xuan on the backside of the plastic for proper white balance.   The thickness of the plastic sheet gave the backing an interesting look.

In order to not distract the painting with my traditional red seal, it was suggested that I sign with pencil.

But I really wanted to use my seal.  I am better represented by my chop than a pencil signature!

Who says the chop has to be red?

I used my ink box as the seal mud and stamped my chop in black ( buried in the right bank)  The important thing is, that chop looked great.  For people in the know they would recognize the presence of my seal.  For the less enlightened, it was not obtrusive and it didn't matter.  It was proper and soothing.  It belonged.  I thought.

(close-up of the black chop)

With this set-up, shadow would form behind the painting, behind the frame, and yet one could see it through the plastic. 
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It helped to move the painting to the front.  Now the audience can fully explore the miasma of the atmosphere homogenizing with the land, only to be interrupted by the intrepid riders.

The entire piece was finished with several layers of spray urethane to protect the delicate Xuan from soiling.  At least that was what I hoped.

I am naming this process of mine Suliao Xuan Ban,  Xuan on plastic board.