Some of my framed pieces

I forgot who was it that said, and I couldn't remember the exact words, but the sentiment was that artworks are validated by where and how they're displayed.  I personally resonate with that suggestion.  The mere fact that a piece of work is displayed in a gallery or museum, suspended with engineered harness system and illuminated by strategically placed lighting means it has gained acceptance by the establishment.  If that piece of art work can muster a roped off area with a bench placed at an appropriate viewing distance from it, then it has attained a prima donna status.   How about millions of ceramic sunflower seeds at the Tate Museum?   Would one consider that a master piece or even art if one finds that heap on a sidewalk.   How provocative is that.  Let's not be hypocrites now, how many times have we heard ourselves or others utter under our breaths "my child could have done that!"

I remember watching a clip of Joshua Bell performing incognito at the subways platform in New York and with a few exceptions most of the bridge-and-tunnel bipedals didn't even break their strides, barely casting a second glance.

One might argue that most of these folks might not be Lincoln Center patrons, and Sibelius might be just as foreign to them as Chi Baishi, but if the subway was to be transformed into Lincoln Center and people had to pay good money to watch him play, would we have witnessed a different outcome?

Schubert died at the age of 31 and left with over 1,000 pieces of un-published work, only now do we appreciate his greatness.  Doug Engelbart, a fellow Oregon Stater who invented the computer mouse pointer back in the sixties never received any accolades nor royalties from his invention that we take for granted today.  He was ahead of his time, the infra structure for personal computing had not been developed yet.

I suppose the reason that I dressed up some of my paintings with a frame is my way of validating my works, or satisfying my own narcissistic urges.  I mean, even getting a haircut during the Covid shutdown is such a big deal, so how about making some of my paintings more presentable, albeit not a haircut, for no excuses other than for my own consumption?  They are hanging on my walls nonetheless.  Museum pieces they are not, providing enjoyment they do.  They are like our children, and all our children are gems, right?

 Serene Lake  51 in x 27 in

 Pear Flower   20 in x 20 in

 Geese Fluted  50 in x 26 in

 Year of the monkey  24 in x 24 in

 Peony   20 in x 20 in

 Oblivious   33 in x 23 in

 I see the light   23 in x 33 in

 Midnight   23 in x 33 in

 Going Home   23 in x 33 in

 Year of the rat   23 in x 23 in

 Foraging in snow  33 in x 23 in

 Respite   33 in x 23 in

Canada  Geese   37 in x 22 in 

 Quorum   49 in x 22 in

 Winter   49 in x 26 in

 Pillars   23 in x 33 in

 Korean Maidens   23 in x 33 in

 Rendezvous   30 in x 16 in

  

 Year of the rooster   25 in x 25 in

 Rose   23 in x 33 in

 Beaverton Creek    26 in x 36 in

 Intrepid Travelers   30 in x 53 in

 Puppy   17.5 in x 13 in

 Silk landscape   17.5 in x 13 in

 Lonely   27 in x 21 in

Yellow mountain   37 in x 25 in

 Lotus   13 in x 37 in x 2 panes 

Korean maidens displayed on top of  an occasional table 

Reflection

The year of the Rat certainly is a strange one to say the least.  I honestly thought I was going to push at least a couple more pins to my world atlas on the cork board to remind myself where I had been, in case my gray matter continues to shrink.  I almost bought my fares for travelling, fortunately procrastination saved my bacon.

Obviously I have ample opportunity to reflect on places where I had left my footprints; especially poignant when I am not allowed to venture too far these days due to the pandemic.  I don't want to be embroiled in today's issues but being a septuagenarian I can't help but reflect on my experiences here and abroad, both good and bad; privileged and not so privileged.  I recall the early days of  becoming a pharmacist, as a member of the most trustworthy profession who happens to be of  a minority race here.  Oh, so dichotomous!  I remember asking my colleagues what gook meant, since some of the people I served addressed me by that name and I've not had the good fortune of learning that word when I was studying English in Hong Kong.

What I was reflecting on these past few weeks was actually something more tranquil, a waterfowl refuge.  I used to frequent this sanctuary quite often before I hung up my white smock for good since it was not too far from my place of employment.  I used to go there to relax and forget about filling prescriptions.

I shall attempt to put my thoughts on Xuan.

I wanted to portray a levy in this refuge, and the reflection of this levy in the water of course.  I wrestled with myself a little bit as where to locate the levy.  Ideally it would be right smack in the middle of the paper so I could devote the same amount of attention to the reflection in the water, but I remembered being told that this would be bad composition.  I decided on a compromise;  levy bisecting the paper, but with a little footbridge access on one side to break the line up.  

I folded my un-sized Xuan into halves, and I would paint my levy on the crease line.

I decided for a half submerged access to add a little interest to the otherwise straight horizontal line.

The color looks more saturated when wet but dries to a much lighter value.  This is especially true when painting with Xuan.

For the reflection in the water, I cheated by folding the paper over and sort of traced the trees from the other side since the paper is translucent. 

I used a rather dry, hairs split brush to paint my reflection.  My brushstrokes were all in the side-tip fashion, revealing texture and shape.   Keeping it loose was the mantra. 

Adding color values to my brushstrokes 

The white specks in the attached insert is actually blemishes of the Xuan.  When errant drops of alum solution landed onto this un-sized Xuan during the manufacturing process, they dried to form these color resistant spots.  This is how I was inspired to start painting with alum solution, to take advantage of its dual property both as a mordant and as a resist when painting on un-sized Xuan. 

Working in my reflection

And the corresponding hilly features above the water.

Mixing a little cinnabar with light ink I concocted an atmospheric wash.

When dried

Good place to stop.  This painting will be pinned on my wall and I would cast it occasional glances and I'll allow the painting to tell me what to do next.

My Third Refrain on Yang Pass 西出陽關無故人

For some reason I seem to be fixated on desert and camel whenever I think about stories relating to Song of the City of Wei 渭城曲 ( aka Weicheng Qu) , an iconic poem by the Tang poet Wang Wei.  I believe my obsession has a lot to do with how I perceive this poem.  It is undeniable that the poetry identified the City of Wei (today's Xianyang) along the Wei River, thus not a desert.  However that city is only the location of a farewell between Wang and his friend, and the beginning of a long, grueling journey across an inhospitable desert.  The writing noted a landmark, Yang Pass, as a symbolic end of civilization beyond which lies melancholic forsakenness.  Wang felt helpless that he must bid adieu to his friend.  It is this poetic feeling of resignation and not the actual setting of the City of Wei that evoked my senses.

Having laid the groundwork for my painting in ink, I began the coloring process.  I chose the semi-sized Xuan because I wanted the color to float.  I had a sandstorm in mind.  The semi-sized paper also tend to mute the color a bit, rendering a natural haze to the painting.

I got the right hue for the sky by mixing ink and indigo, leaving places uncovered to reveal clouds.

I wanted to create a more dramatic contrast between the foreground and the distant scenery, so I darkened the stone bricks with ink.  Using side-tip technique and a uneven coverage, the darker ink helped to add more convincing texture to the stones.  I left the voids between the bricks alone, they would become the mortars.  In a way I was using the stones as an impressionistic frame for my desert. 

A much more intense perspective of inside versus outside was achieved.  Now the diminutive desert seemed less like an insert and more convincing as the view outside the sentry window.

Tidied up little details here and there, still not satisfied with my camel.  Then it dawned on me that my idea of the traveler walking with his camel was certainly endearing, or even altruistic in a sense, but the practicality of the camel as a freight hauling vehicle certainly could not be discounted.

Thus I added some provisions onto the sides of the camel.  Now a bactrian camel laden with freight being led by a traveler with walking stick is a more plausible story line.  Together they would brave the distance and any calamity that might come their way.  I mean if I was a producer making a movie about the Song of the City of Wei, this would be the last footage the audience would see as the credits are being superimposed on the silver screen; and the house lights slowly coming back on.

Since I made reference to the refrains of the Yang Pass Song, the Three refrains on the Yang Pass Theme, which by the way is a famous Guqin piece, I would like to present my three refrains from a visual standpoint:

In the top two inserts, I had the Yang Pass in the distance.  My current plot has the traveler passing through Yang Pass, heading to his final destination; a scenario more in tune with the poem. Thus my third refrain hinges on the final verse of the poem.

Safe traveling my friend!