The Paintings of Xugu and Qi Baishi 0295973404

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The Paintings of

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The Paintings of XUGU AND QI BAISHI

The Paintings of XUGU AND QI BAISHI First edition

Published by Far East Fine Arts, Inc., San Francisco,

CA

In association with The University of Washington Press Seattle and London

Designed and printed by Pressroom Printer and Designer, Hong Kong

Copyright 1993, ISBN 0-295-97340-4

The Paintings of XUGU AND QI BAISHI

by Jung Ying Tsao

Edited by Carol Ann Bardoff

Editorial Aide

Proofreading

Britta Erickson Janis Walker

Production Management

Bruce MacLaren

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Photography Donald J. Felton

Book Jacket Design Elna C. Hoeber

Table of Contents

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ohrump. and: Reeds (2nhieu ey2641 or a ae a Grasshopper on avBranchy The other man, seventeen years younger, had grown up learning painting from his portraitist father in Xiaoshan district in Zhejiang province. When he was sixteen years old, he served the Taiping cause as a flag bearer at the front of their huge attacking army.” A few years later, penniless and on his own in Shanghai, he turned his ample talent to peddling fans on which he had forged the signature of his “uncle” Ren Xiong. His ruse was discovered by none other than the famous Ren Xiong himself, who was so impressed with his namesake’s talent that he took the precocious youth under his wing. Ren Bonian won a large, eager patronage when he was still young, but was often rude to customers and too lazy or opiated to bother filling their orders.*° At other times he would cash in on his popularity by dashing off creations of perfunctory quality. Yet Ren Bonian’s death was such a blow to Xugu that he lamented in verse the possible decline of the artistic path that they had jointly blazed. Both had started out as portraitists; then they fought on opposite sides of a long and bloody civil war. In the end, they joined in friendship to forge important elements of the new art movement that swept Shanghai in the late nineteenth century. It was a common identification with a particular aesthetic vision, then, that bound these two very different personalities in a close relationship spanning 26 to 28 years. The subject of ’Portrait of Yongzhi” may have been Liu Yanchong, also known as Yongzhi, a poet and painter who was living in Suzhou in 1870. That he and another notable literary figure, Zhang Mingke, should ask Xugu to portray them ina single year suggests the monk was at that time at least well

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on his way to establishing a name for himself as a portrait artist. Both a sure command of materials and methods, and confidence in expression character-

ize Xugu’s rendition of Yongzhi (in contrast to those portions of the same painting by Ren Bonian, which lack the brilliance of his later work). In works

of this period featuring other themes, particularly flowers and birds, Xugu’s brush was not so far along. Compared to Yongzhi’s portrait, a painting of plum blossoms and birds dating to early 1870 demonstrates a much earlier stage of mastery.*' The flowers and branches originate in the style of the Yangzhou “eccentric” Jin Nong, while the birds attempt to follow the tradition of Hua Yan (1682-1762). In these derivative aspects and in its full composition, this image forecasts few of the distinctive features of Xugu’s mature artistic countenance. Judgement of this picture’s authenticity rests to a great degree on its calligraphic component because of its affinity to the artist’s late handwriting. The inscription reads, “The Song paintings collected by Baojin Studio are elegant and pure, so I painted this by lamplight.” As a sample of Xugu’s flower-and-bird art, this painting points to an early phase in which he studied historical styles as necessary preparation for developing one of his own. In the present collection, both “Chrysanthemums, Gougi and Bird” (No. 1) and “Ink Plum Blossoms” (No. 4) imitating Zhang Feng (act. ca. 1636-1662), represent this period of practice and experimentation. The 1872 handscroll commemorating the renovation of Xianshoujiao Monastery joins a number of monks’ portraits as examples of the service Xugu rendered to various temples and monasteries. An 1875 portrait entitled “The Fisherman of Fengshan” (Fengshan diao tu), may have been executed in Hangzhou, where the sitter, Shen Linyuan (1862-1908), held an official post. On the other hand, this official may have commissioned his portrait while visiting Suzhou or Shanghai, between which Xugu traveled frequently during this period of his life. The young calligrapher Gao Yong is named in the dedication of an album of landscapes that Xugu completed in 1876.% Xugu once again worked with his friend Ren Bonian in 1878 when the former rendered a “Portrait of Yuelou at 30 Sui” and the latter added the background elements.” In both 1881 and 1883 the monk-artist once again painted landscape albums for Gao Yong.*® An 1884 landscape showing blossoming plum trees gracing snow-clad hills (“Snow Landscape,” No. 6) portrays the “Sea of Fragrant Snow” (Xiangxuehai) on the hills along Lake Tai near Guangfu. A large picture of a crane with chrysanthemums and a pine tree bears the date of dinghai, or 1887.*° A monumental landscape of 1888 follows the manner of the monk-painter Hongren (1610-1664), as Xugu notes in his inscription.” “Cat and Chrysanthemums” (No. 17) represents the year 1891. It is in the following year of renchen that we see the works emblazoned with the words gu xi, marking the artist’s seventieth sui, as explained above.

Zhang Mingke’s visit with Xugu in 1893 could have been at Chenghuang Temple, one of several places where the latter lodged while in Shanghai during the last few years of his life. In the inscriptions on his paintings of

1893-1896, Xugu cites the names of a number of different art studios and temples. For instance, a rendition of goldfish of 1893 was executed at a studio called Hushang Xingguan, and a set of four floral panels of 1894 at Sisheng Shiguan.* The latest dated painting included in this book, “Squirrel on a Branch” (No. 33), states it was painted at Wangyuntang in Shanghai during the seventh month of bingshen (1896). | Less than a year later, during a stay at Guan Temple in Shanghai, Xugu passed away. The cause of his death is unknown. In Yang Yi’s biography, the term zuohua literally means “transformed while sitting (in meditation).” A reference to the idea that death is but a transition from one state of being into another, this is a conventional phrase used for the death of all Buddhist monks

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and priests, regardless of the circumstances of their demise. The exact day or even the month of Xugu’s passing has been dropped from the record. But his survival until the seventh lunar month is affirmed by his dated inscription on a painting in the present collection, “Squirrel on a Branch” (No. 33). In addition, the signature on a scene of goldfish and bamboo is preceeded by “bingshen (1896), eighth month.” Assuming the authenticity of this work (it has not been examined by this author), it is clear that Xugu continued to paint through the middle of autumn the year that he died. He may even have lived until early 1897. A New Year’s scene, now in the Anhui Provincial Museum, bears Xugu’s signature and a date referring to the twefth month of

bingshen.” If this work is genuine, it would mean that Xugu lived past the end of 1896, since the final month of the lunar year bingshen corresponds to the solar dates of January 3 to February 1, 1897. On hearing of his teacher Xugu’s death, Tian’an, the head monk of Shilin Monastery, set out for Shanghai. There he arranged transportation of his teacher’s body back to Suzhou for burial. Thanks to this devoted student, Xugu was laid to rest at Shibi (Stone Cliff) in Guangfu amongst his beloved scenery of mountains, waters, and the “sea of fragrant snow.” After his death, as interest in his art waned, Xugu’s grave was neglected. Not until 1983 was his tomb “discovered.”*! Shortly thereafter it was restored and marked with a new stone monument, engraved “Monk Xugu” (Xugu Heshang). Artists and scholars from as far away as Xi'an flocked to Guangfu in April of that year to witness the rededication of this artist’s resting place.”

NAMES

AND APPELLATIONS

Leike any man of consequence in traditional Chinese society, Xugu used a number of names other than the surname and given name bestowed upon him at birth. Although he relinquished his

family and given names when he became a monk, he sometimes signed his paintings with appellations other than his Buddhist designation. Some of the names attributed to Xugu have yet to be confirmed by reliable documentation. The task of identifying Xugu’s authentic names requires some familiarity with the conventions that have defined Chinese name-giving over the centuries. Besides providing clues to the artist’s background, an understanding of these conventions can also offer insights into the artist’s personality and ideals, since some appellations are self-chosen or invented by close friends or mentors, and are intended to reflect the individual’s actual or idealized character. For these reasons, a brief digression into Chinese naming practices precedes a discussion of Xugu’s various denominations. (This information may be applied to any other Chinese artist or literary figure, including the other subject of this book, Qi Baishi.)

Every Chinese character carries meaning and represents a single syllable of speech. Chinese surnames (xing) consist of one or at most two characters, and generally are patrilineal. In both spoken and written usage, the surname comes before the given name (ming). Selection of the latter is not usually a simple matter of parental preference and is never a repetition of a forebear’s name. Instead, a classical or poetic text, chosen by some early generation of the clan, serves to determine the given names of a family’s offspring. With each new generation, a character is drawn in sequence from the text and used

61

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as one character in the given name of every child. Composed of one or two characters , the given name may also include a character, or a character component, that relates to the personal horoscope. Thus a given name conveys meaning. The same

holds true for a zi, sometimes

translated as “style” or

“courtesy” name, which an adolescent customarily receives from a teacher or other elder. The two-syllable zi often describes a trait or tendency of the individual, or the life course for which he seems destined. The zi is used by peers and friends, with the given name reserved for family or superiors and formal occasions. Beyond these two types of personal names, one or more sobriquets

known as hao can be taken on. These spring either from the individual’s own imagination or that of his friends. A hao can range from two to four characters. It may poke fun at a shortcoming such as laziness, or signify a philosophic or religious bent. Often a hao celebrates a favorite pastime or field of endeavor. People engaged in creative work sometimes collect ten or more ao. A painter or calligrapher can use his surname, given name, Zi or hao (or combinations of these) in a signature or seal. In addition, the designation for his studio may,

over time, come to function like a hao, and may appear as a signature on art works.

Upon entering a Buddhist order, a novice monk symbolically severs all ties to his past secular life by dropping his family and given names. His religious teacher assigns him a new name that refers to a doctrinal concept or image. The designation shi (the first Chinese syllable for the Sanskrit “Shakyamuni,” a title of the historical Buddha) often appears as a prefix to a monk’s name. If he happens to be an artist, he may use either his monk’s name or any of his other appellations (zi, hao, studio name) to sign his creations. But he would most properly sign his monk’s name when painting for the purpose of collecting donations to his temple or monastery. Among those monk-painters who usually did so are Hongren and Kuncan. That Xugu’s surname was Zhu is clearly established in the Haishang molin. On the other hand, some confusion surrounds Xugu’s other names. In their 1979 articles, Cai Geng and Fu Hua assert that Xugu’s given name was Huairen.*? However, Huairen appears on no surviving paintings, nor in any other dependable records of an earlier date. Thus Huairen may or may not have been Xugu’s given name, which he would have disowned upon becoming a monk. Even the status of the appellation Xugu needs clarifying. More than one interpretation could be made of Zhang Mingke’s statement that “Monk Xugu was named Xubai and went by his zi” (yi zi xing, inferring he signed his art works with his zi and was generally known by his zi). This sentence might mean that Xugu was his monk’s name, Xubai his given name, and his Zi is

not specified here. Or, the writer may be saying that Xubai was his monk’s name but he was known by his zi, Xugu. The latter reading could indicate a _ misunderstanding on the part of Zhang Mingke. If, in introducing the artist,

the monk Ruoju used “Xubai,” Zhang Mingke might have taken “Xubai’” to be a religious name and then later assumed that “Xugu” was a zi. However, for three reasons, it is more likely that the painter’s monk’s name was “Xugu,”

and that “Xubai” was either his given name or his zi. As explained above, a monk who painted to raise funds for a temple would usually sign his religious name to his work. Xugu was just such a monk, and the majority of his paintings bear a signature and/or seal reading “Xugu.” Moreover, the paintings he produced expressly for use by a temple show the name Xugu preceded by a monastic term. His rendering of the Xianshoujiao Monastery is signed “Shi [monk] Xugu,” and on his portrait of the monk Hengfeng,“* he addresses himself as “dizi [disciple] Xugu.” The term dizi, used by a monk to show respect toward a religious figure of authority, can only be used with the formal monastic name. In contrast, Xubai appears on none of his surviving creations.

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Secondly, Xugu is the name under which the artist is listed in all the early literature on him. The third reason concerns the meaning of these names and their connection to Buddhist doctrine. “Xubai” translates as “empty and pure,” two virtues that relate about equally to Buddhism, Daoism and Confucianism. “Xugu,” literally “empty valley,” may be derived from the aphorism xu huai ruo gu, “empty (humble or receptive) as a valley,” and could express ideals common to these three philosophies. Yet as a name, it evokes a richer Buddhist imagery than does “Xubai.” Whereas “Xubai” might serve as a moral admonition on humility, “Xugu” carries far-reaching implications as to the illusory nature of existence and the realization of ultimate reality. A Chan master might well bestow such a thought-provoking metaphor on a novice. Xugu employed a number of hao and studio names in inscriptions and seals on his paintings. Juefeian—“aware-of-misdeeds studio”—seems to reflect his regrets about his past, presumably his military service in particular. Whether or not this name referred to a certain building or room where he at some point lived or painted, it eventually functioned as a personal appellation and appears on many of his paintings. Ding Xiyuan attributes its earliest use as a signature to 1888.° However, “Snow Landscape” (No. 6), dated 1884, is

signed with this name. In addition, the artist used a seal reading “Juefeian” much earlier, as may be seen on “Plum Blossoms and Birds” of 1870.°%° “Squirrels and Loquats” (No. 31) and “Landscape: Juefeian” (No. 32) both bear the signature “Juanhao,” meaning “weary crane.” This name not only relates to one of Xugu’s favorite painting subjects, it also highlights his association with two other major artists, Hu Gongshou, who called himself Shouhao or “slender crane,” and Ren Bonian, also known as Binghao, or “sickly crane.”

The hao Ziyangshanmin (“citizen of Ziyang Mountain”) suggests Xugu’s willingness to commemorate his ancestral origins. Appearing in signatures and seals on some of his late paintings, this name refers to a mountain just south of Xin’an in Anhui province. Ziyang Mountain owes its fame to the great philosopher Zhu Xi (1130-1200), who traced his origins to this area. Perhaps it was old age that prompted Xugu to think more of his family heritage, or perhaps it was a point of pride to associate himself with this region’s distinguished reputation in arts and letters. For his syncretic approach to Confucian studies and his acceptance of many Daoist and Buddhist principles, Zhu Xi has been universally honored by people of all creeds in China. During the nineteenth century, devotees of any one of the three major schools of thought drew freely and often liberally from the other two. So for Xugu to honor this Neo-Confucian sage poses no contradiction to his Buddhist faith. Still, the fact that he called himself Ziyangshanmin does not in itself prove that he was born in Anhui. Several explanations for the studio name Sanshiqifeng Caotang (“thatched hall of thirty-seven peaks”) have been offered. It could allude to the thirty-six peaks of Huangshan plus the one of Ziyang Mountain. Or it may refer to a cluster of hills in the vicinity of the Dengwei mountains near Guangfu where Xugu spent some time. Again, no conclusive evidence supports either of these or any other answers to this question. It is notable that this name appears only in the form of a seal imprint (see Nos. 7, 14 and 32) and is yet to be found in handwriting on any of Xugu’s paintings.

63

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CIRCLE A ithough he was a monk, Xugu was

definitely no hermit. He participated actively in a community of artists, many of whom became the core of the movement known as the Shanghai school. The basis of his many friendships seems to have been a common interest %

in painting, calligraphy and poetry. He

vi

sometimes dedicated paintings to friends, and they reciprocated in like manner. And at social gatherings, he and his fellow painters would occasionally take turns contributing to a collaborative picture (see No. 13, “Floral Scene: Collaborative Work”). Ren Bonian (Fig. 27) was the most celebrated among Xugu’s compan-

a4 aa ‘:

ions, and theirs may have been the

longest and closest of Xugu’s relationships. In addition to their joint “Portrait of Yongzhi at 50 Sui,” the two

worked together on “Portrait of Yuelou at 30 Sui” (1878)°” and were joined by Hu Tiemei (Zhang, 1848-1899) in 1893 for “Pine, Bamboo

and Plum

Blossoms.”** Ren Bonian painted Xugu’s portrait on two occasions. The first occurred at a meeting with at least two other artists, for the revered

master Zhang Xiong (1803-1886) added a colophon saying that Wu Guxiang (1848-1903) filled in the background scenery.” This work may

, ®

have honored Xugu’s completion of the sixty-year calendrical cycle in

Fig. 27 Ren Bonian, Cat, hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. M.S.T., Inc. collection.

1883. Xugu sat for a second portrait by Ren Bonian in the second month of 1887 (Fig. 26). In this master-work in plain outline style, the subject is portrayed as a scholarly monk in his zi, or hooded meditation shawl, leaning casually on a stack of books. The inscrip-

tion in Xugu’s hand explains that he requested the portrait of himself at 65 sui, and that it was kept in the studio of Gao Yong. Just one month earlier, Xugu had portrayed Ren Bonian in the latter’s studio, Shanyin Caotang.® Ren Bonian dedicated a fan decorated with willows and swallows to Xugu in 1891. The inscription on this work, wherein the younger artist calls his friend “my dao brother and my teacher,” reveals the mutual devotion to art the two shared

and the esteem in which Ren Bonian held his older companion. Yet Xugu’s eulogy in verse for Ren Bonian also discloses deep respect for a lost ally. Clearly, their bond sprang not from a one-way mentorship, but from a two-way exchange of ideas and inspiration. Their influence on each other did not manifest itself in similarities of style so much as in a mutual reinforcement of their Fig. 28 Hu Gongshou, Rock and Lingzhi, hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. M.S.T., Inc. collection.

64

artistic ideals, which included a rejection of formalism,

a commitment to per-

sonal expression and a search for fresh approaches. Hu Gongshou (Fig. 28), born the same year as Xugu, so looked up to the monk-artist that he asked him to paint his portrait during Xugu’s visit to his

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studio in 1886.*' One of the most famous of the Shanghai masters, Hu Gongshou

may have foreseen his own death later that year, for he wrote on Xugu’s completed painting: Now I salute in thanks to my peers;

Through thousands of miles of cloudy peaks, I seek my true teacher.

This artist who called himself Shouhao, or “slender crane,” had opened the doors to his studio (which he called Jihaoxuan—“pavilion of sojourning cranes”) many times to Juanhao (“weary crane’—Xugu). From time to time, the third “crane,” Binghao (“sickly crane’”—Ren Bonian) probably joined such visits as well. The deaths of both Hu Gongshou and Zhang Xiong in 1886 deprived the fledgling Shanghai school of two seminal proponents. But Xugu, now in his late sixties, sustained his relationships with other leading and minor figures of that movement. Besides Ren Bonian, there were Yang Bairun (1837-1911), Wu

Guxiang and Hu Tiemei. These were the three painters with whom Xugu collaborated on “Floral Scene” (No. 13). Yang Bairun was a well-known “orthodox” landscapist in the tradition of Dong Qichang. Wu Guxiang had added the background to Ren Bonian’s first portrait of Xugu in the early 1880s, while Hu Tiemei is mentioned above as a participant in the collaborative work of 1893 with Ren Bonian. Between 1886 and 1898 Hu Tiemei had an art gallery in Shanghai called Guxiangshi Shuhuadian (“house-of-antiquefragrance calligraphy and painting shop”), where he promoted the work of various local artists.® A river scene with figures by Hu Tiemei dedicated to Xugu (Fig. 29) addresses him as “my elder brother and great connoisseur” rather than as a monk. The same artist’s hand-scroll calls him “my brother of the Dao”

(daoxiong), con-

noting a friendship of some depth. The name of Gao Yong shows up frequently in a survey of Xugu’s extant body of work. Aside from the three landscape albums executed between 1876 and 1883, Xugu presented to Gao Yong a couplet written in running script (xingshu) in Shanghai in 1880.“ The titlepiece on “Portrait of a Woman: Immortal Image” (No. 30) names Gao Yong as the recipient; the intimate tone of this

Fig. 29 Hu Tiemei, Landscape with

work implies a close friendship between the two men. Also called

Reverend Richard Fabian collection.

Figures, hanging scroll, ink on paper.

Yongzhi, Gao Yong’s exceptional talent in calligraphy showed up in his

boyhood and developed into first class artistry in his young adulthood. A landscape with pine trees (Fig. 30) exhibits both his handwriting and painting styles. Shitao and Zhu Da

Fig. 30 Gao Yong, Landscape, hanging scroll, ink on paper. M.S.T., Inc. collection.

65

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were the major influences in his landscapes, with the latter painter’s cool,

lengyi manner inspiring his flowers and birds. For at least part of the time he

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knew Xugu, Gao Yong held the post of alternate mayor in a district in Jiangsu.

But at some point he gave up his official status in order to devote himself

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(No. 15), which nevertheless invokes the fragrance and charm of

this early bloomer with greater intensity. Finally, in the small “Plum Blossoms” (No. 22), a brush completely liberated from predetermined methods produces a sheer vitality that leaps from the paper in vigorous rhythms of curves and angles. No discussion of Xugu’s flowers would be complete without mention of his lavender wisteria, usually suspended like a canopy over a small group of goldfish. Here we see Xugu’s inclination toward geometrizing, and his insistence on bypassing the outward attractiveness of a subject to probe its hidden beauty. Instead of exploiting the opposite-leaf pattern of this plant (as Qi Baishi does to favorable effect), Xugu imposes a symmetry of his own, squaring off the shapes of leaves and flowers alike. He bends gnarled branches at acute angles and straightens out trailers into long, sparse fringe, as in “Wisteria and Goldfish” (No. 16), or into crosshatching, as in another painting of the same subject (No. 23). Dispensing with the frilly sumptuousness which is characteristic of this type of flower, he exposes the stirrings of growth throughout the entire vine.

A vase depicted in incisive contour lines constitutes Xugu’s contribution to “Floral Scene: Collaborative Work” (No. 13). This painting not only proves the monk-artist’s association with some of Shanghai’s most

prominent painters, it also reaffirms his involvement in an important scholastic and artistic movement at the time: that of jinshi or engraving studies. (For a discussion of the jinshi studies movement and the Jinshi school of art, see

Fig. 36 Zhang Feng, Landscape with Figure, hanging scroll, ink on paper. Mozhai collection.

Introduction). At least one past master who influenced Xugu, Jin Nong, had steeped himself in jinshi connoisseurship and incorporated the aesthetic of ancient carved and cast objects into his calligraphy and paintings. Considering the circles within which he moved in Shanghai, it was almost inevitable that Xugu would likewise pursue this trend. The results are clear in the sturdy, sculpted look of his brushwork. He showed his interest in jinshi studies in another way as well: by selecting rubbings of bronze antiques and embellishing them with painted motifs such as plants. “Lingzhi and Orchids in Rubbings of Bronze Vessels” (No. 12) exemplifies his work in this format. While Xugu seems to have selected certain subjects at least partly for their adaptability to his personal brush style, his determination to break through the bounds of tradition shines through even such highly conventionalized subjects as bamboo. Some of his bamboo paintings portray only the leaves; others accentuate the stalks and stems and reserve the foliage for the

upper portion of the composition. To a great extent, his brush and ink treatments render both classical canon and nature subservient to effects of atmosphere or personal sensibility. Was he versed in the styles of past bamboo art? Given such examples as “Green Bamboo” (No. 8), we know the answer to be affirmative. Were the medium

ink rather than color, this painting could

almost have been executed by Shitao or Zheng Xie (1693-1765). Still, the hushed mood and feather-lightness of the forms make this bamboo unmistakably Xugu’s. An entirely different note is struck with “Squirrel on a Bamboo Branch” (No. 21). Here, in a radical departure both from the silhouetting in “Green Bamboo” and from other artists’ shuanggou (outline) bamboo, stems and foliage alike consist of thin, wiry shuanggou outline, while the leaves sport colored striations. Such linear patterning is a hallmark of Xugu’s art. , Many artists in Chinese history painted such food items as fruits and cabbage occasionally, but Xugu did so frequently. Whereas others usually focused on the earthy wholesomeness or sensual qualities of fresh produce, Xugu’s fare befits not the kitchen table but the altar, so delicate and divine is its character. The presence of flowers in “Plum Blossoms and Cabbage” (No. 10) moves us to savor the vegetables for their visual and olefactory appeal

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rather than just their gustatory delights. Xugu’s abstractionist tendencies come into play particularly in his renditions of round fruits. “Pears and Grapes” (No. 26) presents its subjects in broken, angular contours in carefully balanced juxtapositions. Compositional ingenuity similarly distinguishes “Delicacies of the Lake” (No. 24) and “Peaches” (No. 25). Here we see Xugu’s mastery of the mugu method wherein a single touch of the brush passes through a varied chromatic scale. But even as these images sate the senses, they have the effect of dispelling gluttony and inspiring feelings of reverence. Loquats appear often in Xugu’s work, but not as if plucked from the tree for human consumption. Symbolizing wealth with these balls of gold, he sometimes inscribed his loquat paintings with the satirical title Shujie bao zhen, _or “Treasures Grow

on Trees,” as in “Branch of Loquats”

(No. 7). Other

renditions combine this plant with animals such as a bird or squirrels, seen in “Parrot and Loquats” (No. 9) and “Squirrels and Loquats” (No. 31). This last painting exhibits three contrasting brush techniques: mugu in the fruits, zhongfeng in the branches, and in the leaves, cefeng. While some of these fruits and leaves assert a tangible physical presence, those in two album leaves (Loquats,” Nos. 28 and 29) appear as weightless and half-formed as a mirage. The message of the theme Zishou jinzhang (“purple sashes and gold medals”) points out the illusory nature of riches and power. Using wisteria and goldfish to signify the regalia of military and civil rank, Xugu selected this theme repeatedly for either the hanging scroll (No. 16) or album leaf (No. 23) format, as if using such imagery to work through his remorse for his own past ambitions. No doubt he was also commenting on the pervasive climate of greed that he beheld all around him. Along the same lines, “School of Fish” (No. 14) could be interpreted as a depiction of the common people, who know not what schemes of power their leaders plot against them. Other waterlife besides fish found its way into Xugu’s repertoire. The ink crustaceans in “Chrysanthemums and Crabs” (No. 3) act as a semi-abstract and highly calligraphic counterweight to the lovely, sunbright flowers. On the other hand, “Two Turtles” (No. 27) reproduces the anatomy and movements

of this reptile with such acumen, that, aside from the probable influence of Hua Yan, Xugu surely carried out close observation of this animal himself. Birds also hold an important place in this man’s art. His hao, Juanhao, demonstrates his personal identification with the crane, and he painted smaller

fowl as well. The bird in “Parrot and Loquats” (No. 9) is a study in economy of means, yet attains a realism comparable to that of Hua Yan’s birds. In the eighteenth-century master’s “Autumn Branch and Parrot” (Qiuzhi yingwu tu) in the Shanghai Museum (see No. 9, “Parrot and Loquats,” Fig. 49), color wash

is overlaid with ink lines to define details of the parrot’s body. Xugu executes his parrot in mugu color alone, relying on the telling gestures of his brush to transmit anatomy, plumage, posture, animation, and vitality. Cats must have amused Xugu, because his depictions of them tend to draw smiles. The playful pet portrayed in “Cat, Rock and Narcissus” (No. 11) looks soft and endearing as a stuffed toy, while the feline in “Cat and Chrysanthemums” (No. 17) seems ready to claw at thin air from its oddly unpicturesque pose. However, when viewed as abstract forms, Xugu’s cats acquire new value. He freely manipulates the anatomy and exaggerates certain features of his feline subjects. They function largely as rocks do in a garden scene, as shapes designed to enhance other elements, yet possessing qualities of color, texture, character and animation that are lacking in stone. As Zhu Da veered from tradition by giving his birds and fish human emotions, so Xugu breaks new ground by distorting his cats’ proportions for the sake of a greater design. His squirrels, however, differ in their treatment. Whether climbing a hanging branch (No. 19, “Squirrel, Pine and Autumn Leaves” and No. 33

71

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“Squirrel on a Branch”) or pausing ona sprig of bamboo (No. 21, “Squirrel on

a Bamboo Branch”), squirrels brushed

ie:

by Xugu embody the innocence and

ofiz4 et

instinct of any creature in the wild. Exageerations in their bristling fur and

gaping eyes answer the demands not of visual effect but of characterization,

and sometimes whimsy. Some of these scenes drive a point through satire, like the view of rodents with eyes bigger than their bellies in “Squirrels and Loquats” (No. 31). If we search the corpus of Xugu’s surviving work for figure paintings, that is, close-range portrayals of nameless men or women, or of popular heroes, literary paragons or folk deities, our findings will be scant. He occasionally painted Buddhist images, like his compelling version of “Wuliangshoufo” (Fig. 37), which bears a striking resemblance to Ding Guanpeng’s

(active 1740-1770) “Rahula” (Fig. 38). However, the vast majority of figures in Xugu’s art appear in portraits, or as small presences in landscapes. Although the specifics of his training in portraiture are buried along with other facts of his early life, his mature work

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Fig. 37 Xugu, Wuliangshoufo (Buddha of Infinite Life), hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Shanghai Museum collection.

suggests ties to the Pochen school (of Zeng Jing, 1564-1647). In addition, he the National Palace Museum, Taipei, inherited Yangzhou’s rich legacy in this Taiwan, Republic of China. form of painting, spawned in part by the popularity of portraits during the eighteenth century. The early 1700s gave rise to the vogue of setting a portrait subject in a landscape or garden, which was sometimes painted in by another artist. Xugu perpetuated this practice early on with his portraits of Yongzhi and Yuelou, both of which have landscape elements added by his friend Ren Bonian. Xugu claims credit for both the figures and setting in “Portrait of Canying” (No. 5), a fine demonstration of how Xugu transformed this art form and propelled it to unprecedented heights. An air of informality is established by the picture’s high, sidelong vantage point and the subject’s casual pose at his desk behind a window overlooking a garden. We feel we are getting an authentic glimpse of this man in his own home, with the various elements of the setting acting as his personal attributes. This emphasis, as well as the rigorous rendering of Canying’s physical appearance, carries over stylistic tendencies of Yangzhou portraiture. Another work, “Portrait of aWoman: Immortal Image” (No. 30), shows links to Shanghai portraitists in its conveyance of the sitter’s personality or mood through her facial expression and in the free, simplified brush style used for other elements in the scene. These differences aside, both images accomplish a sumptuous subtlety in their subject’s face with a minimum of touches. Representing a mature stage in the artist’s career, these two works mark a high point in China’s long tradition of

Fig. 38 Ding Guanpeng, Rahula, hanging scroll, ink and color on silk. Collection of

portrait art.

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Xugu’s vision finds its fullest expression in landscape. Chen Ju’s article points out the complexity of his stylistic background; even so, many factors go unmentioned, such as the artist’s personal observations in the countryside as well as the role possibly played by his contemporaries. Moreover, any discussion of influences on Xugu’s art should recognize his successful transformation of his borrowings into something wholly new. Thoroughly steeped in ancient methods as he was, Xugu used them not as formulas, but as the raw materials of invention. Taking note of these points, an examinination of his

landscapes in the context of the past can shed light on the actual shaping of his innovations. For instance, “Snow Landscape”

(No. 6), a relatively early but

stylistically mature work, provides the connoisseur with a variety of historic references. Cheng Sui stands behind the dry brush and “burnt ink” (jiaomo) that give this image its distinctive texturings (Fig. 39). A favorite device of Dai Benxiao is revived in Xugu’s concentration of texture strokes (cun) along the outer edges of ridges and peaks, leaving the interior of the forms largely unpainted (Fig. 40). In addition to these Huangshan masters, both included in Chen Ju’s text, connections can be drawn to other early landscapists. The curling linear rhythms of the hills and trees in “Snow Landscape” were employed in the forms of Guo Xi (ca. 1020-1090) and sometimes Qiu Ying (1494/5 —1552).” The spirit of this painting parallels that of another Huangshan figure, Hongren (Fig. 41), in its attainment of the pure, lofty atmosphere of Ni Zan. But Xugu is perhaps the first artist to procure this feeling through a combina-

Fig. 41 Hongren, Landscape, album leaf, ink

tion of widely ranging ink tones and pink color.

on paper. Mozhai collection.

Fig. 39 Cheng Sui, Winter Landscape,

hanging scroll, ink on paper, 136.6 x 45.1 cm., purchased 1976,

AS30. 1976. Collection of National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne.

. Fig. 40 Dai Benxiao, Landscape, hanging scroll, ink and light color on paper. Mozhai collection.

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Fig. 42 Cheng Jiasui, Landscape with Figure, hanging scroll, ink and light color on paper. Mozhai collection.

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Ni Zan and Hongren spring to mind again with a viewing of the composition, sensitive expression and pellucid air of “Boating among Plum Blossoms” (No. 18). One more painter associated with the Huangshan school, Cheng Jiasui, deserves mention here, in relation to this painting’s flat terrain and wide passage of water (Fig. 42). But while this earlier master’s composition needs no inscription for balance, Xugu’s does. His bold writing in the upper righthand corner and the boat on the left serve to connect foreground to distance in a circular motion, leaving a central cavity to evoke a sense of positive space. The schematic value assigned to that calligraphic element is not the only feature to identify him with Jinshi school artists of his own time; so also does the muscular strength and unrefined flavor of his brushwork. Xugu’s earliest known landscapes deal with juxtapositions of color and shape, with successive layers of depth, and with semi-abstraction and repeated motifs. The album he created for Gao Yong in 1876, now in the Shanghai Museum, exemplifies this phase.” Already Xugu was showing definite signs of freedom from the past, and the impressionistic vein of these scenes chimes in with the artistic experiments that were causing a stir that very moment in Europe. In this attitude of independence, epitomized by his seal reading Tiankong ren niao fei (The sky lets the birds fly), he differed from most other artists of his time. Most landscapists, like his friend Yang Bairun, held fast to the ideals of literati painting as set forth by Dong Qichang. Imitation and interpretation composed the core of this “orthodox” approach, too often to the neglect of direct perceptions of the natural world. Furthermore, the majority of xieyi (“write the idea”) artists lacked training in the realistic techniques of gongbi (fine brush). Xugu’s creative triumph in landscape art is founded on the sharp observation skills and technical precision he cultivated through rigorous training in both gongbi and xieyi methods, on his deep study of earlier masters, on his personal experience of the world around him, and finally, on his remarkable capacity to reshape technical convention and the face of nature into a wholly personal vision. This is the achievement of Xugu’s masterpiece “Landscape: Juefeian” (No. 32). With this painting, the monk-artist reaches a level of creativity that is universally sought but seldom achieved: complete liberation from both external reality and artistic contrivance. In a mode of expression arising directly from a state of intuition, he reduces natural forms to a few sketchy lines,

suggesting the oneness of all things with enveloping space. The resulting dissolution of form points in the direction taken by some Chinese landscapists of the present century, notably Huang Binhong (Fig. 43). As we know from the art history of both East and West, the artist who turns down this path usually meets with scorn or indifference from the majority of onlookers. Hence, the preservation of “Juefeian” over the last hundred years presents a rare opportunity to appreciate a feat from the culminant phase of Xugu’s art.

74

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|Bienes Xugu never settled down at one temple or other residence, he would not have kept a large stock of the particular types of paper and other art supplies that he preferred. He probably carried little more than a brush or two, ink and colors, and a couple of seals

with him on his frequent trips between Suzhou and Shanghai, relying on his patrons to provide paper or silk when placing a request for paintings. The majority of his works are on paper; his rare use of silk shows up in the round fan format in “Green Bamboo” (No. 8). Certain features of Xugu’s painting style have elicited speculation on his use of a special type of brush. The lines Xugu laid down on paper tend to be rough, rigid, and often extremely dry, and so seem to contradict the responsive pliancy of the traditional instrument of Chinese painting. For this reason, the suggestion has been made that he employed a maolong brush made from the split end of a reed. Chen Baisha (Xianzhang, 1428-1500) wrote calligraphy with such a brush, making stiff, rough-edged strokes with sustained passages of open streaking known as “flying white.” While Xugu’s brushwork exhibits some qualities in common with Chen Baisha, this alone does not prove that he, too, used a maolong brush. Another theory proposes that Xugu cut off the pointed tip of his brush, but this too lacks a firm basis.” In fact, his brush idiom could be accomplished with the most common types of brushes, that is, langhao (weasel hair) for fine lines and yanghao (goat hair) for broad strokes and washes. His favored instrument was probably a worn langhao brush. The unique effects of his linework could quite conceivably have been attained

with such a brush through certain manipulations of pressure, speed, saturation and ink consistency. Xugu’s ink was always of the finest quality. The wide spectrum of ink

Fig. 43 Huang Binhong, Landscape,

tonalities and their sensitive distribution are essential features of his painting style. His colors also range broadly in value, sometimes appearing in subtle

hanging scroll, ink on paper. M.S.T., leer a

gradations from bold and deep to delicately pale in a single painting. As with most painters of the Jinshi art movement of late nineteenth-century Shanghai, Xugu rejected the literati notion that color is secondary to ink and should be handled with the proper reserve. He places the two on an equal footing, using color as a vehicle for expression to the same degree and with the equivalent standards of discrimination traditionally applied to ink.

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Fig. 44 Zhao Zhigian, Small Seal Script, two leaves from an album, ink on paper. J. Y. Tsao collection.

75

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CALLIGRAPHY

Most of the writing we have from Xugu’s hand we find in inscriptions on his own paintings or on those by other

artists. Only a few examples of his works of calligraphy in the hanging scroll or album leaf format are known to exist today. Even so, the accomplishment and expressive style of his writing mark him as a calligrapher of distinction. While the discrepancy between the quantity and quality of his calligraphic production is not easily explained, it should be said that the same tends to hold true for many other fine calligrapher-painters of his place and time. Pictorial art drew a much greater audience in late nineteenth-century Shanghai than did the art of writing. It seems collectors of calligraphy concentrated their demand on a small handful of virtuosos, such as Zhao Zhigian (Fig. 44). Still, Xugu’s handwriting is worthy of study, both for its intrinsic merits and for its inextricable ties to his painting style. Xugu practiced various script types, including standard, running and official (or clerical). Examples 1] qap of pure seal script, an essential of Jinshi school 3 painting technique, are notably absent from Xugu’s < surviving calligraphy. But the strong tincture of seal style in his standard and running scripts attests to his expertise in this writing form. His standard script appears in his colophon on his portrait by Ren Bonian (Fig. 26) and on “Portrait of Canying” (No. 5). It takes as its models the writing of Yan Zhenqing as well as Wang Xizhi as interpreted by Li Yong (Beihai, 678749) (Fig. 45). Xugu’s running-standard script, exemplified in “Plum Blossoms in a Crystal Vase” & (No.

10), probably

derives

from

that of Mi Fei,

although stylistic references to the official script seen in Wei period steles come into play, as does an occasional hint of seal script. A couplet written on a pair of hanging scrolls for a fellow monk” indicates Xugu’s extensive practice of official script, especially of the Zheng Xixia (Zheng Wengong) stele of the Northern Wei dynasty (Fig. 46). Besides these ancient models,

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Fig. 46 Zhao Zhigian, Calligraphy in the Style of the Zheng Xixia Stele, hanging scroll, ink on

paper. Mr. and Mrs. Yun-teng Lan collection. Fig. 45 Li Yong, Lushansi, rubbings. Photos courtesy of C. M. Ma.

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Xugu’s handwriting. In his sudden shifts of ink tones and textures, he takes advantage of the innovations of Dong Qichang. He probably also absorbed certain elements in the styles of Deng Shiru and Bao Shichen (1775-1855),

particularly in his official script. Wu Xizai (Rangzhi, 1799-1870), a follower of Deng Shiru and a major figure in Yangzhou when Xugu was living there, surely contributed to the monk-artist’s calligraphy as well (Fig. 47). Characteristic of Xugu’s writing is his free movement from one script type to another within a single inscription, and at times even within a single character. Thus, one brush stroke in the standard script may be followed by one in running, then one in official script. When such frequent transitions are compounded by numerous, unexpected jumps from pale to dark, wet to dry ink, and from thick to thin, smooth to rough, solid to streaked lines, the resulting

style asserts a richness both dramatic and subtle. Some individual lines pulse or quiver as though they were alive. “Cat and Narcissus” (No. 11) is signed in calligraphy that merges the structure of running script with phrasings from the official style. The standard script on “Boating among Plum Blossoms” (No. 18) integrates some features of seal script. The primitive, engraved feeling of the seal style becomes more pronounced in his later inscriptions, as in “Squirrel on a Bamboo Branch” (No. 21) and “Landscape: Juefeian” (No. 32). In all his works, the artist carefully alligns his writing manner with the brush idioms of the pictorial image. The pinnacle of Xugu’s calligraphic cultivation may be found in his renditions of the title Zishou jinzhang, which he brushed on a number of his paintings of wisteria and goldfish (Nos. 16 and 23). In just the first of these four characters, strokes that begin so heavy and dark that they run together suddenly turn into pale, parched, meandering threads.

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It is precisely this brush style that informs Xugu’s pictorial art. Aspects of his handwriting in the standard, running and official scripts alike may be detected in his plants, animals, figures and landscapes. This “literati” element (that is, the use of writing technique for painting) is incorporated into the bold designs of Jinshi art and a dynamic interplay between representational and abstract tendencies. The rich harmonies produced by these traits explain the broad and enduring appeal of Xugu’s paintings.

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Most of the seals Xugu imprinted on his paintings are engraved with one of his names in seal script. Several, also in seal script, express a poetic sentiment. Virtually all of Xugu’s seals conform to a uniform carving style. (The exception is a square intaglio seal reading Ziyangshanmin.)” Given this similarity in style and the fact that impressions of a number of Xugu’s seals appear in one of several catalogues of seals carved by Xu San’geng (1826-1890), the case for naming this master engraver as the primary creator of Xugu’s seals is strong. It is a tribute to Xu San’geng’s artistry that his designs blend so favorably with his patron’s painting style. The seals illustrated below are reproduced in actual size. The seal ink tone varies with each painting, according to the artist’s impression. Numbers beneath each seal indicate the paintings in this volume whereon it appears.

1. Xugu shuhua

2. Xugu shuhua

3. Xugu shuhua

Nord, 15, 16, 13, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 27, 28

No. 2

Nos3 76,7, 2) 10; Hb, HA, 3), IVE

bse) 6. Xugu

7. Genggeng qixin

No. 30

Now3,;7, 10, 16,17, 18

9. Xugu changle

10. Sanshigifengcaotang

No..6,.19, 25,29, 30, 32, 33

No. 7, 11, 14, 33

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Fre disappearance of the poems by Xugu that Gao Yong was supposed to have published (according to Yang Yi's Haishang molin) deprives us of the bulk of the painter’s poetic production. Only on occasion did he inscribe verse on one of his own or his friends’ paintings. The mourning couplet he wrote upon the death of his friend Ren Bonian and the other poem quoted here, which begins “Firecrackers resound,” offer a taste of Xugu’s ability and style as a poet. Echoes of the Tang dynasty bards Bai Juyi (772-846) and Meng Haoran (689-740) reverberate in the fresh, accessible language of Xugu’s poems. Inasmuch as Xugu was an educated artist who composed poetry, an examination of other forms of writing by him, such as essays or letters, could yield valuable information regarding his life, personality and creative process. Unfortunately, no such documents are known to exist at this time. Xugu kept his comments to a minimum on his paintings. He often prefaced his signature with a title, avowed a debt to a past master, or politely addressed the picture’s intended recipient. A date and the artist’s age are often included as well. The formal tone of some dedications implies a commission sale, even

if, by unspoken convention, the payment would take the form of a donation for the benefit of the Buddhist institution with which the artist was associated at the time. Conversely, the intimate air of others attests to Xugu’s generosity in sharing his art with his friends. The frequently used phrases renxiong, literally “elder brother,” and daren, “eminent person,” in Xugu’s inscriptions were widely used conventions at the time, the former for close friends and the latter

for scholars, artists and businessmen as well as government officials. +

*

+

Much more remains to be said about the life and artistic development of Xugu, from his childhood and early education to his evolution as a major

figure in modern Chinese painting. Because he has been “discovered” only recently by a small handful of art enthusiasts in Asia and the West, the investigation of his background is now only in its early stages. In order for such research to progress and be shared among international art communities, political barriers must be overcome through a spirit of cooperation. Cultural exchange projects and better communication between art historians and connoisseurs would generate a pooling of expertise and viewpoints which could lead to new revelations about Xugu. Never will the opportunity be as ripe as it is today. One hundred years after his death, we can benefit from the — broadened perspective that naturally accrues with the passage of time. But our proximity to Xugu’s era—just one or two generations beyond that of some of his younger friends and associates—can also afford access to personal remi-

niscences and tangible source materials that might shortly be lost to art students of the future. At such time as further information on Xugu and his paintings comes to light, our understanding of his creative vision will be deepened, and our own capacity to behold the world around us expanded and enriched.

80

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NOTES

1

Even as a young man, Zhang Mingke 3k" circulated among renowned literary and artistic figures. See Yu Jianhua 4 #!] # , ed., Zhongguo meishujia renming

cidian PF BlX45 RA4 it# He, p. 113, and Wu Shoufu's -& #8 afterword in Zhang Mingke, Hansongge tanyi suolu 38 4 Pal 2X 2%HA BR 2 3

Zi ¥ is sometimes translated as "style name" or "courtesy name." See discussion of Chinese name-giving practices and Xugu's names below, page 21. Zhang Mingke, p. 7.

Ibid, p. 7-8. 5

The artist's inscription also states the painting was executed in Nanjing. See illustration in Kindai Chugoku no Gaka (Artists of modern China), illus. no. 48.

6

Yuyuan shuhua shanhui

1] #4

. This society exhibited art works, pro-

moted its members' art careers and represented them in business transactions. A profit-sharing cooperative, it also provided for artists who fell on hard times. For a description of the Yuyuan Art Society's creation and goals, see Yang Yi 3%,

8

9

Haishang molin iE 2%, entry no. 438 (juan 3, pp. 20-21). Xin'an #f is variously known as She % district or Huizhou Yang Yi, entry 609 (juan 4, pp. 2-3).

#&iil .

Cihai i 4, vol. 2, p. 2207. The Jin dynasty instituted the shihuozhi # ‘& % system of taxation, which required each household to register its place of origin; see Jinshu #&

, Shihuozhi section; also see definition of huji

registration," in Cihai (vol. 1, p. 1197).

FP # , "household

During the Tang period households not

residing in their ancestral home were required to return to that locality at the time of the census, every three years. Later dynasties perpetuated this practice of identifying families with their ancestral origins.

10 11

12

By YiJunzuo %# (1898-1972). See the chapter entitled "Xugu shiliao gouchen" ki 4 2#+44i%

(Investigation of historical materials on Xugu) in Ding Xiyuan T & it, Xugu yanjiu ki OFF 3, pp. 77-82. Shanghaixian xuzhi / i 42% (1918), rpt.in Wu Sheng * #, et al, eds., Zhongguo

fangzhi congshu ¥

BIA 3&3.& (Taipei: Chengwen chubanshe * X tb hk 44, 1970),

vol. 4, juan 29, p. 21; and Shexian zhi % 43% (1937), rpt. 1975, juan 10.

13. 14

Zhongguo jinbainian huihua zhanlan xuanji F DA FOS RRER, pp. 2-3. Yu Jianhua 474 # , ed., Zhongguo meishujia renming cidian P BlKi RAZ if HR,

15

CaiGeng ### and FuHua & # ,"Xugu shengyaihe tade huihua” ji @ 4 JE fett 894 (Xugu's life and his paintings), Zhongguo meishu ¥ Bl£4it (Chinese art), 1979: 2, pp. 45-46; and their preface to Xugu huace i @ = Mt

16

In his inscription on a fan painting of swallows and a willow tree dated 1891,

17

now in the Duoyunxuan # &#F collection in Shanghai. Jiaoyu A , Banjiu shushu zaji ++ +S 44 2 , an unpublished manuscript, as

p. 1112

quoted in Cai Geng and Fu Hua, "Xugu shengyai he tade huihua," p. 45. 18 19

Cai Geng and Fu Hua, "Xugu shengyai he tade huihua," p. 46. See Liu Fangru's#| 4 4 article "Xugude shengping yu huayi". fi 649 4 Ff #2 & & (Xugu's life and art) in Gugong wenwu yuekan

&

x44 FF

, vol. 6, no. 9 (Dec.

1988), pp. 14-30.

20

See Zheng Wei's #84 introduction to Xugu huaxuan

[i @ #3

(Selections of

paintings by Xugu), first of two unnumbered pages.

81

THE

ReAGiEN ak NtG. Ss

O

F

Xo Ure U

AN

Zi

D

ORB

Avescial

Cai Geng and Fu Hua were the first to attribute the name Huairen IR/4= to Xugu. See their” Xugu shengyai he tade huihua ," p. 45 and their preface to Xugu huace, pal

22

Zheng Wei, Introduction to Xugu huaxuan, first of two unnumbered pages.

paintings he cites are dated yiwei March

The

J *, third month (equivalent to the solar dates

26-April 24, 1895), age 73 (sui); yiwei, age 73 (sui); and xinmao

+ ¥P

(Feb.9, 1891-Jan. 29, 1892), age 69 (sui).

Dass,

It should be borne in mind that the lunar calendar was still in use in China during Xugu's time and for some time after. The last month or two of the lunar year would correspond to a date in the beginning of the next solar calendar year. In

24

addition, some leeway should be given in calculations of Xugu’'s age at his death. Not only did the Chinese of former times add one year to their age from birth, they also added one year to their age at New Year's rather than on their birthday. Therefore, if Xugu died in 1896 before his birthday, his age could be considered the same as it would be if he had lived past his birthday. Kindai Chugoku no Gaka, illus. no. 46.

Pe

Collection of Suzhou Museum; reproduced in Cai Geng and Fu Hua, eds., Xugu huace, plate 72.

26

This conclusion is based on the assumption of the authenticity of the two paintings cited.

27

Collection unknown.

28

plate 151. Guo Tingyi p09.

29

Ding Xiyuan, p. 70.

30

Ding Xiyuan, p. 60.

el

Reproduced in Cai Geng and Fu Hua, eds., Xugu huace,

38324, ed., Jindai Zhongguo shishi rizhi XP

BX

FA Zz, vol. 1,

For discussions of corruption in the Qing military, see Fan Wenlan 72 Xi, Zhongguo jindai shi * Bl#4 & (History of modern China); and Rong Mengyuan

2

® ch Je. and Zhang Boduo * 144%, eds, Jindai baihai i&*.4¥ 1%, (Historical writings of modern times). Quoted in Nie Chongzheng ##2.E, "Huajia Xugu shengping zhongde yige

wenti’ Ain G+ FP & —14 PF] x (A problem regarding the life of the artist Xugu), Dagongbao X #k. This handscroll painting is now in the collection of the Nanjing Museum. 33

The black shawl may be seen in the portrait of Xugu painted by Ren Bonian,

frontispiece to this section. 34

Many instances of this usage of the term occur in Gaoseng zhuan

1% 4%, a collec-

tion of monks' biographies. 35

The preeminent painter Huang Binhong %% & #x (1864-1954) visited Yangzhou in the 1880s and estimated that over seven hundred professional artists and nearly three thousand scholars were living there. See Qiu Wen # i, "Huang Binhong

yu Chen Ruomu"

& % #x¥2R*A in Yilin conglu *#+*#Sk (Hong Kong:

Shangwu yinshuguan 4

#§P & #£, 1975), vol. 6, p. 274. Yet most middle to late

19th century Yangzhou

painters, including the great Chen Zhao

BRB

(Chongguang # %, 1838-1896) are omitted from the Zhongguo huajia renming

dacidian P Bl& RAZ KitHW (Dictionary of Chinese artists’ names), suggesting the sharp decline in that city's artistic reputation following the heyday of its famous "eccentrics" and other local artistic trends.

82

Deryen

36

ee

ACN

DAUR T@ IE

UCI

A handscroll entitled "Orchids, Chrysanthemums, Narcissus and Peonies" and

dated 1866 appears in Christie's Hong Kong catalogue, "Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Chinese Paintings at the Hilton Hotel," Jan. 18, 1988, lot no. 80.

a7

Entitled "Yongzhi xiansheng wushisui yuzhao" *2Z 44 & + # HR.

Collection of

Shanghai Wenwu Shangdian + #474J&; reproduced in Cai Geng and Fu Hua, eds., Xugu huace, plate 24.

38

Cai Geng and Fu Hua, eds., preface to Xugu huace, page 3.

39

Shen Zhiyu #2 41, "Guanyu Ren Bonian de xin shiliao"

[A #\4£14 4) Bf Ht

(Concerning new historical materials on Ren Bonian) in Gong Chanxing % # %, Ren Bonian yanjiu 4£44 *-4F % (Study of Ren Bonian), p. 16. 40

See Xu Beihong ## %2%, "Ren Bonian pingzhuan" 4£ 1A 274%

(Biography of Ren

Bonian) in Gong Chanxing , Ren Bonian yanjiu , p. 1; and Stella Yu Lee, "Art Patronage of Shanghai in the Nineteenth Century,” Li, Chu-tsing, ed., Artists and Patrons:

Some

Social and Economic

Aspects of Chinese Painting, pp. 227-228.

4]

Reproduced in Xugu shuhuaji ki & 3 € &, plate 12.

42

Collection of the Palace Museum, Beijing.

43

Collection of the Shanghai Museum. Xugu huace , plates 5-16.

44

Collection of the Palace Museum, Beijing.

45

Reproduced in Cai Geng and Fu Hua, eds.,

Both albums are in the collection of the Shanghai Museum.

The 1883 album is

reproduced in Cai Geng and Fu Hua, eds., Xugu huace plates 26-37.

46 47

Collection of the Palace Museum, Beijing. Reproduced in Xugu huace, plate 49. Kindai Chugoku no Gaka, illus. no. 39.

48

The goldfish painting is reproduced in Kindai Chugoku no Gaka. The four hanging scrolls of plum blossoms, orchids, bamboo and chrysanthemums are in the collection of the Hangzhou Calligraphy and Painting Society and appear in Fu Hua and Cai Geng, eds., Xugu huace, plates 123-126.

49

Kindai Chugoku no Gaka, illus. 40.

50

Reproduced

in Cai

Geng

and

Fu

Hua,

eds., Xugu

huace,

plate 173.

51

Reported in an article in Dagongbao

B2

When this author visited Xugu's grave, he discovered that the temple located in

X 24k, April, 1983.

front of Shibi 4 4 (Stone Cliff) is now called Yonghui Chansi * 47 + (Yonghui Chan Monastery). Xugu's grave is situated directly in front of the temple, facing Lake Tai. Since there is no mention of a temple by this name in any writings on Xugu, the author asked the local monks if it originally had another name. The monks had no knowledge of any other name for the temple. 53

In both their "Xugu shengyai he tade huihua" and their preface to Xugu huace.

54

Collection of the Suzhou Museum; reproduced in Cai Geng and Fu Hua, eds.,

Xugu huace, plate 63.

55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62

Ding Xiyuan, p. 74.

Reproduced in Xugu shuhuaji, plate 12. Collection of the Palace Museum, Beijing.

Collection of the Palace Museum, Beijing.

Ding Xiyuan, p. 72. The current location of this painting is unknown. Collection of Anhui Provincial Museum; reproduced in Ding Xiyuan, plate 15.

Yang Yi, juan 3, pp. 17-18.

Steve Addiss, ed., Japanese Quest for a New Vision: The Impact of Visiting Chinese Painters, 1600-1900, p. 101.

83

THE

POA

TalanriGs

O E

XU

Gnu

AN

D

Oe

{ByAt1 Seren

63

Collection of Suzhou Wenwu Shangdian.

64

Collection of the Suzhou Museum.

65

From a colophon written by Wu Changshi at the age of 81 on Xugu's Foshoutu 4 + fl ("Buddha's hand"), collection of the Tianjin Art Museum.

66

Chen (Ju) Dingshan FR € 1h, "Xugu huahui xiesheng ce" /# 4767 % 4 Mt , Daren

67

Chen Ju, "Dieye lunhua" #8 273

BRAK, XO), 20).

, Ming Qing wubainian huapai gailun Aiea

4 & IRM sy , quoted in Ding Xiyuan, p. 81. This translation uses the names by which the artists are most commonly known rather than the alternative names (zi or hao) used by Chen Ju. 68

Qiu Wen & ist , op. cit., p. 275; and Lin Shuzhong #4? and Zhou Jiyin F] & #,

eds. Zhongguo lidai huihua tulu ?

BRAS=

Sk (Illustrated catalogue of Chi-

nese historical paintings), entry no. 189. 69

See Qiu Ying's #U® Yunxi xianguan ¥% iK4h 48 , reproduced in Wupai hua jiushinian zhan RIK

& 7u+ RK (Ninety years of Wu school painting) (Taipei: National

Palace Museum, 1976), plate 184.

70

Reproduced

in Cai Geng

and Fu Hua,

eds., Xugu

huace, plates 5-16.

71

Fang Nuo 4 # , Haishang huayu i#_-- & 2% (Discussions on painting of Shanghai), as quoted in Ding Xiyuan, p. 79.

D2:

Collection unknown.

Vie:

Reproduced in Shanghai Museum, ed., Zhongguo shuhuajia yinjian kuanshi ? AS & REP SKK (Seals of Chinese calligraphers and painters) (Beijing: Wenwu

Reproduced in Fu Hua and Cai Geng, eds., Xugu huace,

plate 152.

chubanshe X49 #4 hR#£, 1987), p. 1181.

84

The Paintings of Xugu

THE

PAS toner tent (GS:

OF

NEUEaU

ING

1

(OMT

SANS Seiad

CHRYSANTHEMUMS,

GOUQI AND BIRD

Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 32 x 15 inches Artist’s seal:

Xugu shuhua,

square, relief

Chinese artists have combined depictions of flowering plants with birds since the late Tang period. By the Song dynasty flower-and-bird painting had reached a peak in development. Most painters of Xugu’s time acquired the rudiments of technique in this subject by copying examples out of the Shizhuzhai huapu (Ten Bamboo Studio Painting Manual) or the Jieziyuan huazhuan (Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual). Another text, the Qunfangpu, was also consulted for important information on the distinguishing features of the countless species and varieties of the plant kingdom. But the physical details of a tree, shrub or herb in bloom were not all that the artist needed to know

in order to render such an image; full understanding of the entire growth process from germination to maturity, as well as the essential spirit of the living organism, were prerequisite to painting a plant successfully. Thus, for the beginning painter of floral scenes, assiduous observation of nature went hand-in-hand with rigorous practice in using the brush with ink and colors. The chrysanthemum has from ancient times been a favorite of the scholar and a frequently selected subject for painting. It is usually associated with autumn, but there are actually over a hundred varieties that bloom in almost any season of the year. In the Tang period, chrysanthemums were mixed with grains and made into a wine that was said to promote longevity. A medicinal herb that bears red berries and is known as gougi (Lysium Chinense) is also believed to contribute to long life, and when these two plants are illustrated together, the theme is ju qi yannian, or “chrysanthemums and gougi prolong life.” Xugu was no doubt relatively young when he completed the present example of this theme, to which he added a bird in flight. The early date of this painting is evident in the manner in which the artist has applied the colors of the bird and flower petals. Though his intent was obviously to employ a loose, spontaneous

mode, these areas of color betray the deliberate, self-

conscious efforts of a novice in his attempt to duplicate the natural likeness of his subjects. At the same time, Xugu shows the promise of his budding talent in the ink outline of the bird and ink veins of the leaves. The brushwork reveals that he was already skilled in the use of the brush, and the arrangement of the various pictorial elements in an original composition suggests his instinctive aesthetic sensibility. The chrysanthemum was one of the first floral types that the student painter was taught in traditional China; once it had been mastered, rendering other flowers would follow with less difficulty. Not in itself impressive or rare, the chrysanthemum should be presented in a manner that maximizes its attractive qualities. Painting this flower, with its copious mass of delicatelyformed petals, requires precise planning, for the shape and placement of the very first petal determines whether the bloom will be full, half-opened, or a bud. Furthermore, the petals should radiate out from the center in a balanced

configuration, yet the flower’s image must be convincingly alive. The artist may choose from the meticulous gongbi method or the impressionistic xieyi style; the flower petals may be rendered in outline (shuanggou) or with wash alone in the “boneless” (mugu) technique. Here, Xugu seems to be groping for

a method of his own:

while the petals are not outlined in ink, neither is the

color applied in a single xieyi brush gesture or wash. Rather, the forms of the

86

eee

LeA TnNGt IN cers:

MONEE

EX ur eLu

Chrysanthemums, Gougi and Bird

87

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CAN eat NEG:

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AN)

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petals in red and orange are built up carefully in short, piled daubs, with darker red accents brushed on in a freer fashion. This may be a carry-over from portrait technique, with which Xugu was thoroughly familiar. Another precedent for this technique may be found in wall paintings created by peasant artists of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom. Indeed, this painting may date to the 1860s, just after Xugu gave up his career as an army officer. When viewed from some distance, the separate pieces of color in the flowers blend into an

apt display of the rich and subtly graded hues that characterize the chrysanthemum. The use of blue in addition to ink in the chrysanthemum foliage may have been inspired by Jinshi school artists such as Wu Xizai. Blue mixed with ink, instead of realistic green, was considered an elegant complement to the black and grays of ink in literati painting. Xugu demonstrates a high degree of mastery in his execution of the leaves and veins in the single-stroke idiom of xieyi art. Also notable is the rhythmic progression of the foliage up and down the stems. The gougi berries are formed of red dots which, in combination with the orange-red flower petals, are reminiscent of Shitao, who

had lived in Yangzhou 150 years before Xugu. While the berries’ brushwork displays less than perfect control, the tree trunk is forcefully executed and asserts a sense of solidity. The ordered recession of the flowers, tree branches

and trunk into distance provide the dimension of space in which the bird may fly. The composition as a whole perpetuates the tradition of Shitao and later Yangzhou masters, as may be seen in the example shown here (Fig. 35). Birds did not dominate Xugu’s repertoire. During his early years he

painted them occasionally.

When he grew older, although he favored the

crane and sometimes rendered mynahs, his representations of these creatures were still quite limited in number. (Certain other so-called bird-and-flower painters, however, included birds in their compositions even less frequently: Wu Changshi, for instance, seldom depicted them.) In this unfledged rendition of a bird—the earliest work by Xugu the author has seen—the artist has accurately captured a moment of flight: poised above the chrysanthemum and below the gouqi, the bird raises its wings, and injects a sense of motion into the picture. A little academic and stiff, the bird is carefully delineated, down to the smallest detail. Each feather on both the upper and lower surfaces of the

wings is clearly defined.

The reddish beak, the pink abdomen, and the

turquoise-blue back add brilliance to the whole scene.

The marked contrast

between the bird, which strains somewhat awkwardly toward realism, and

the thriving plant life, with its search for more spontaneous brush expression, is a sign that the painter was not yet artistically mature in this genre. After Xugu met Ren Bonian around 1869, his birds became freer, capturing both » spirit and form-likeness simply and effectively, and meshing naturally with the other elements of his compositions. Despite the lack of an inscription, all the components of this painting combine purposefully and result in a feeling of completeness. The absence of a calligraphic passage suggests that this piece may have been originally one panel from a series. In this format, very popular throughout the nineteenth century, the signature and other comments were often reserved for the first or

last panel. Even so, this painting easily stands on its own, and the artist did see fit to imprint one of his seals in its lower left corner. The presence of this seal, bearing his monk name, Xugu, which he used until he died, shows he

was already a monk at the time, and indicates his own satisfaction with his creation. Such confidence in his artistic abilities shines through in yet other aspects of the painting. For despite inconsistencies in technical facility, a definite sense of sincerity and originality pervades this composition. The brushwork,

88

THE

[PN

ikINE Ie NTE,

OF

Xa

ev

particularly the speed and manner with which the leaves and flower petals were executed, anticipates Xugu’s later work. In addition, the treatment of the gougi berries and tree trunk reappears in his mature pictures. This painting, then, marks a turning point in Xugu’s formulation of a personal style. An artisan portraitist who took up other subjects at mid-life, Xugu based his ultimate achievement on cultivating the child-like traits of candor and inventiveness in his artistic expression. The presence of these traits in a context

of stylistic experimentation makes “Chrysanthemums, Gougi and Bird” a valuable study of Xugu’s formative period.

89

THE

PGAaeEN re eNeGes

OF

Nu

So

AGN

2

nO)it

Be Am tS seta

IRIS AND DRAGONFLY Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 32 x 14% inches

Inscription: Artist’s seal:

In the style of Jietaoguan. Painted from life by Xugu. Xugu shuhua,

square, relief

In Xugu’s China, the natural world was considered the supreme teacher of moral and spiritual development.

Communion

with nature, through

prolonged observation and living in harmony with natural processes, enabled one to discover the truths of the cosmic order and the proper conduct of human beings within that order. Thus for the aspiring scholar or gentleman, a mountain retreat, or at least a garden at home, was as essential as a study full of books. Inspiring transformations could be found even in the smallest, humblest life forms, like the cicada, which spends up to 20 years under the ground as a nymph, then emerges to sprout wings and fly away. This is the kind of everyday miracle to which Xugu responded in his art. His sensitivity

to both the unique and the universal in all natural phenomena endowed his paintings with a subtle originality. In the work presented here, we witness a fleeting incident in a small corner of a garden. The soft whirring of the dragonfly’s gossamer wings seems almost audible, as the insect alights on the tip of a leafless bamboo stalk growing alongside a clump of iris. Descendant of an ancient water animal, the dragonfly hatches as anymph underwater where it remains through the winter. In spring or early summer the nymph climbs ashore, sheds its skin and lives as an adult for just a few weeks. Since dragonfly activities center on the water, the presence of a nearby aquatic element is implied in Xugu’s scene. Perched realistically with its segmented abdomen up in the air, the insect poses in a

linear continuum with the vertical sectioned cane of bamboo.

By using the

bamboo’s withered top as a stopping point, the firey red and very animated insect lends purpose to a dying plant. A classic emblem of moral integrity and scholarly refinement, bamboo has for centuries been an important subject in Chinese painting. The term jie, referring to the joints of the bamboo’s segmented stalks, also denotes cadence, as in the steady, tempered conduct of a virtuous person. The hollowness of the bamboo stalks is often likened to openmindedness. Since painting bamboo

calls for a range of calligraphic brushstroke types, with certain strokes for the stalks, different ones for the joints and still others for the leaves, an artist’s character may be discerned in his depictions of this plant. But in this work the bamboo has lost its leaves and shares the pictorial space with two other subjects. Each segment of the bare canes is constructed of a pale line of ink overlaid with a darker, drier stroke. Still darker bone-shaped strokes represent the joints. Iris leaves fan out to either side of the bamboo. Only small areas of olive green accent the grayish-blue shades in the foliage, with the rib of each leaf traced in a fine ink line. Two leaves cross down behind the bamboo towards the lower left in strong counterpoint to the predominantly vertical movement of the picture; they also resonate with the double wings of the dragonfly just

above. One full blue iris flower blooms with two opposing pairs of petals— another echo of the double wings. A few new buds also top pale brown stems. Both iris and bamboo grow from a common point in a small patch of lightly daubed brown soil. The muted tones of earth and plants create a cool, serene atmosphere while the strong upward thrust moves the eye directly to the bright red dragonfly above. As the insect pauses, it signals us to stop and

90

THE

JPN je WE TE TE WES

OFF

Xueou;

co

Iris and Dragonfly

of

THE

PoAeN

ToleNeGas

OF

OU IGew.

AND

Qi

BAISHI

focus our awareness on this ephemeral moment in nature. With its brevity of execution and its call for inward reflection, this painting qualifies for display ina tea ceremony. A portrait of its creator’s mind, “Tris and Dragonfly” points the way to a pure, dustless realm of the spirit, one that exists not far away or only in dreams, but as close as a simple garden, or even one’s own everyday mind. In his inscription at left, Xugu credits his style to Jietaoguan, referring to Hua Yan, who so successfully captured the natural spirit of his plant and animal subjects. But Xugu also notes that he painted this “from life,” meaning he observed the scene and soon thereafter painted it from memory. His handwriting echoes the dry brush technique of the bamboo, and the precisely positioned seal repeats the red of the dragonfly.

92

rene

3

CHRYSANTHEMUMS

be ANON Tal eNimGeGe

One

eXclUe Guta

AND CRABS

Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 32 x 14% inches

Signed:

Juefeian, Xugu.

Artist’s seals:

Xugu, square, relief Genggeng qixin, square, intaglio

“Chrysanthemums bloom and crabs are fat” (Ju kai xie fei), a standard theme in Chinese painting, celebrates the amenities of autumn. Song court artists painted crabs on occasion, and Shen Zhou and Xu Wei were two Ming masters who used the xieyi method to render this aquatic animal. The combination of the crab with the chrysanthemum surely had its beginnings near Lake Tai and Yangcheng Lake in the area of Suzhou, where freshwater crabs thrive. During the ninth lunar month, also known as the month of chrysanthemums, this flower has fully opened, and the crab season is at its height. At this time, chrysanthemum wine is made and friends gather to partake of this fragrant beverage along with the delectable meat of fresh crab. For this reason, when chrysanthemums are mentioned, crabs are immediately called to mind, and vice versa, so closely are the two associated.

This union

of plant and animal is most often depicted in art as a tasty meal of crab and wine set out with a flower arrangement in a vase. In such paintings, with the subjects thus taken out of their natural habitat and prepared for consumption by man, the emphasis is on human relationships and culture. Xugu, however, takes a different approach. In his version of this theme, the crabs are alive and kicking, and the chrysanthemums grow from a plant rooted in the ground. Nature, pure and pristine, untouched by human hands, is at the heart of Xugu’s vision; and through this vision, permeated with the serenity he derived from his spiritual way of life, the image ultimately transcends this earthly world to evoke a reality beyond time, space and materiality. By choosing to depict yellow chrysanthemums, Xugu evokes the illustrious spirit of times gone by. Yellow is considered a noble color, symbolic of life itself. But in relation to the chrysanthemum, it represents the original hue of blooms of this genus: only after deliberate cross-breeding were other colors developed. The “yellow flower” to which many poets of the Tang and Song periods refer is the chrysanthemum. The floral element in this painting displays mature skill in the use of the brush as well as a fully-developed personal style. The outline technique of shuanggou here varies from the usual procedure, wherein the application of ink outline is followed by a careful filling in of each petal with color. Xugu adapts this technique to\the xieyi tradition by defining the petals loosely with a dry brush and then laying one large patch of pale yellow over each whole flower. As the radiating lines vary in width and do not always meet at the tips of the petals, the color is not confined strictly within the outlines. The effortless freedom of the brushwork makes it clear that the artist has overcome his previous preoccupation with obtaining a formal likeness to his subject matter and is now at leisure to use the brush as a finely-tuned instrument for voicing his feelings. These semi-spheres of tender, spiky petals seem to issue a fresh scent that cools and clears the mind like a crisp autumn breeze. This sense of atmosphere is heightened by the elegant blue and ink tones of the foliage. Leaves of different sizes grow in all directions in a natural manner; yet the blue, this time not mixed with ink, complements the yellow of the blooms, rather than representing real pigmentation. After setting down the blue forms of the leaves, Xugu added the veins in ink, here intentionally painting over

93

THE

PP ASTEN Te loaNG

W

OF

eX UG Us AGNI Ee 1)

Chrysanthemums and Crabs

94

BATSHI

THE

IP ke TPN) WP NY eS

OF

Xo UnGau

wet color for a blurred effect, and there entering sharp black strokes upon the dried blue. Once more, the constraints of precise definition are cast off in favor of expressive spontaneity, so that the entire plant springs with animation as the easy repetition of its component shapes and brushstrokes begets rhythms full of verve and spirit. Under the weight of the heavy blooms, the lanky bush bends over to the

left in a graceful curve that points to the two crabs below.

Although it is

unclear whether the crustaceans are fighting or playing, and whether they tread on soil or in shallow water, Xugu’s rendition of these ungainly creatures presents an informative study of the yinyang principle, that is, the equilibrium of opposites. This principle manifests itself in several aspects of the crabs, most obviously in the use of plain black ink and the white of unpainted paper in their configurations. Again, the nearest crab is seen from the back, in contrast to the other crab with its underside facing the viewer. The two also differ in the position of their mighty pincers, the front one extending its open pincers, the other holding them in and closed. Lively in their poses, the crabs also engage us as artistic abstractions, particularly through the interplay of light and dark ink values, wet and dry texturings, and narrow and broad brushstrokes, all further demonstrations of the yinyang concept. Finally, the visual weight of the ink values in the crabs balances the colored masses of the flowers and leaves above. Realistic description is subordinate here to the aesthetics of calligraphy. On this point Xugu contrasts with Qi Baishi, whose calligraphic brushwork never moves far astray from naturalistic proportions and the suggestion of substantiality in his painted objects. Whereas the latter master’s crabs wield powerful legs, Xugu’s versions walk on limbs that bulge and contract, only to thin out to spindly hooks for claws. This stylized treatment is borrowed directly from Xugu’s own handwriting, which features sudden changes of thick and thin, wet and dry, dark and light. A typical crab by Qi Baishi (see “Fish, Crabs and Watergrass,” No. 15) asserts volume and weight with a body that appears fleshy, and thus implies a whole, integrated organism. His crustaceans can be

meat on the table; they dignify the richness of life on earth, the beauty of all of nature’s works. Xugu’s crabs are the artistic equivalent of written characters, in that their given formal structure serves as a vehicle for his calligraphic lines, his chief means of revealing his individuality. These creatures are part of nature, observed in their native environment. Yet the circular composition of the plant and crabs against an unpainted background takes them out of any specific location or time setting, and places them on the plane of eternity. Because they exist for the sake not of man but of life itself, they exert a sublime beauty that summons both tranquility and wonder in the beholder.

95

THE

Pein

GateNGes

OF

XRURGaU)

4

INK PLUM BLOSSOMS Hanging scroll, ink on paper, 46 x 12% inches Inscription: Artist’s seal:

In the general style of Zhang Dafeng, painted by Xugu in Wumen (Suzhou). Xugu, square, relief

Because the plum is the first plant to blossom in the frigid air of the cold season, it symbolizes moral steadfastness in China. The pure, cool fragrance of plum blossoms is likened to the lofty character of the ideal Confucian scholargentleman. Growing on snowy hillsides, the delicate five-petaled flowers appear on bare, seemingly lifeless branches, and the older the tree, the more potent the perfume. A harbinger of renewed life and a promise of spring, the plum is esteemed as an emblem of longevity and a metaphor for China itself, one of the longest surviving civilizations in history. Today the plum blossom serves as China’s national flower. As early as the Tang dynasty, the blossoming plum was a prominent motif in the sister arts of poetry and painting. During the Five Dynasties, it emerged as an independent artistic subject. Meipu, a famous treatise on painting plum blossoms, was published in the Song period. Whereas the earliest representations of plum blossoms were carried out in ink with colors, the first works employing ink alone are attributed to Cui Bo (active ca. 10681077). The painter who fully developed the genre of ink plum blossoms was the monk Zhongren (Huaguangzhanglao, active late eleventh century). As the legend goes, Zhongren so loved plum blossoms that he made his bed beneath the spreading branches of a plum tree and remained there chanting all through the day. One moonlit evening, as he was meditating in a room, his eyes were drawn to the window screen where he saw the silhouette of a branch of blossoming plum. This inspired him to render this subject in monochrome ink. As ink plum blossom painting subsequently evolved among amateur artists, the main objective lay in capturing not the flowers’ precise physical appearance, but the essential spirit of their elegant beauty and perfume. In the minds of these painters, most of whom were scholars, poets and calligraphers, this spirit could best be obtained through the use of literati painting techniques, that is, expressionistic brushwork and subtle tonal and textural ink effects. Yang Buzhi (Taochanlaoren, late eleventh to early twelfth century) was among the most famous specialists of plum blossom painting. Departing from Zhongren’s ink wash method, Yang Buzhi defined the flower petals in ink outline. From the Yuan period until recent times, many artists, including Wang Mian (1335-1407), Jin Nong and Qi Baishi, have studied Yang Buzhi’s style. Owing to its exquisite fragrance, the plum blossom is always named first among

the Four

Gentlemen,

followed

by the orchid,

bamboo,

and

chrysanthemum. The flowering plum ranks as the most difficult of the four to paint because of its complex form. The tree trunk requires the use of a large brush in bold xieyi strokes. Sometimes the artist takes up two brushes at once and wields them together to produce the long, broad trunk. Control of the ink’s flow and tonality must be maintained throughout, with passages of “flying white” (feibai) — strokes showing streaks of unpainted paper — imparting the tough strength of cast iron. In contrast to the gnarled old trunk and main boughs, young branches and twigs shoot straight out at all angles in fluid lines. The flowers consist of delicate round petals and slender stamens. In executing the brushstrokes delineating the petals, the artist should “conceal the brush’s tip” (cangfeng). Most crucial to the success of this subject, however,

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are the dots signifying the anthers, and the short stems connecting the flowers to the twigs from which they grow. Plum blossoms should be painted only with certain kinds of ink dissolved in pure water, and the artist must become calm and focused before taking up the brush. Some painters spend their whole lives depicting this flower alone, attempting again and again to express its unique character. Living eight centuries after Zhongren, Xugu was also a monk painter who loved plum blossoms. By the time he moved to Suzhou, he had already won regional fame for his paintings of this subject. At the temple where he lived in Guangfu, he was surrounded by plum trees growing on the nearby hills. Calling himself Juanhao, the “weary crane,” Xugu had long identified with this noble-minded bird; now this weary crane had found a peaceful home and kindred spirit in a forest of blossoming plum. A flourish of flowers bursts from an aged plum tree in this example of Xugu’s ink plum blossoms. This emphasis on the overall visual and atmospheric effect of the blossoming branches, as opposed to the formal beauty of each individual flower, aligns Xugu’s vision with that of Zhang Feng, the seventeenth century master named in this painting’s inscription. Xugu’s use

of a soft, moisture-filled brush and quickly executed strokes departs from the slow, dry brushwork which characterizes much of his work, especially in his later years. Moreover, the seal impressed below the inscription on this work does not appear on any other surviving paintings by Xugu. These factors might prompt the alert connoisseur to question the painting’s authenticity. Given the high degree of fluency and free expression in every line and dot, however, to credit this picture to a common forger seems unwarranted. Could there then have been another artist who used the appellation Xugu, and lived

or stayed in Suzhou? This would help to explain some of the confusion about the names and personal history of the man called Xugu under discussion here. But if a second Xugu did indeed make creations of the quality displayed here, why has his identity been consigned to utter obscurity? While this possibility cannot be ruled out, several points are to be made in favor of attributing this painting to Xugu, also known as Juanhao, studio name Juefeian, friend of Ren Bonian, and master of flowers, fruits, animals and landscapes. First, our Xugu

is known to have studied the style of Zhang Feng. Second, the handwriting itself follows the idiosyncratic slant, rhythm, and formations of Xugu’s typical running script. Third, other examples of authentic works by this artist bear seals not seen elsewhere, such as a depiction of plum blossoms and birds published in Xugu shuhuaji.' In fact, that work of 1870 shows a striking resemblance to “Ink Plum Blossoms” in the thread-like outlines of its flower petals. Finally, the sharp angles of the branches signal Xugu’s tendency to straighten curves and create patterns out of stiff, intersecting lines. This may well be a product of Xugu’s late fifties, a period when he was beginning to shape a personal style but still relied on past masters for inspiration and guidance. The forceful bends and twists of the crusty old tree trunk dominate the picture as it wends its way from the lower right corner to the upper edge of the paper, before turning back down on itself and splitting into slender, flowering branches. Xugu makes a daring move by covering such a large area of the painting with the trunk, which could easily overpower the tender blossoms and stifle the fresh air that circulates around them.

Coarse, wet

strokes, set down with a large, worn brush, build the trunk in segments, suggesting its tough, gnarled quality as well as a sense of rhythmic movement. That the entire image was conceived in the artist’s mind before he began to paint is demonstrated in the interruption of the trunk at mid-point to allow a branch to cross over in front. Execution of the dark ink dots symbolizing

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knots in the wood necessitated careful timing: their application had to occur at the moment when the lighter ink of the trunk had partially dried to ensure the knots’ fusion with the trunk itself. The branches, each defined by a single brushstroke, sweep down from the tree top to the lower right, then turn back towards the lower left; those entering near the bottom thrust to the left, then shoot abruptly towards the upper right. Their copious growth and sudden shifts in direction create a brisk momentum, while their intersections weave an airy tracery around the lumbering trunk. The quick brushwork of the blossoms carries on this lively pace. Flicking one circular stroke for each petal or bud, the artist generates a vivid impression of rich florescence. Here clustered densely, there sparsely, the blossoms sprout naturally from the branches; yet every petal, stem, pistil, and anther was added only as it would enhance the greater pictorial design. Expert handling of various techniques and the modulation of ink into “five colors” (mo fen wu cai) differentiate the separate elements of the plum tree in this monochrome painting. At the same time, certain consistencies in the brushwork, including the upright position of the brush (zhongfeng)

throughout, and the uniform saturation and speed of the brush, unite the disparate parts into a dynamic whole. But an even stronger source of this painting’s unity springs from the artist’s personal feeling for his subject. As the forceful impact of his image makes clear, from the first spark of his artistic conception through his final touch, Xugu was immersed in the ineffable spirit of the plum blossom, the flower that brightens the bleakness of a winter’s day and fills the frosty air with its ethereal perfume.

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PORTRAIT OF CANYING Horizontal scroll, ink and light color on paper, 17% x 43% inches

Inscription:

A little scene with my honorable “brother” Mr. Canying at 35 sui. Xugu painted [the figure] with the setting.

Artist’s seal:

Xugu, rectangular, relief

Portraiture reached notable maturity long before other genres in Chinese painting. Writings from the Han dynasty indicate the high artistic standards of the day. In its criticism of a portrait of the famous beauty Xishi, the Huainanzi complains that the artist painted her face to look “beautiful but not lovable.” The same Han text finds fault with a likeness of the fearless general Meng Fen for its failure to make his eyes sufficiently “furious.” These critiques disclose the rigorous requirements portrait artists had to fulfill in order to win the favor of their discriminating patrons. Since by common practice the sitter posed only long enough to have his face sketched in diluted ink, the portraitist had to develop exceedingly acute vision and a prolific memory for individual physiognomies. Besides his obligation to reproduce physical appearances accurately and to master an assortment of brush techniques, he was also expected to perceive and transmit his subject’s personal character or living spirit. So important was this last point that portrait painting became known in China as chuanshen, “transmission of the spirit.” This early emphasis on portraying inner qualities, along with special features of native painting materials and instruments, set Chinese portrait painting on a unique course that retained its vitality for nearly sixteen centuries. Artistic expression in this genre was further refined by artists of the Six Dynasties. The greatest among them, Gu Kaizhi, wrote in his Chuanshen lun (Treatise on Portrait Painting) that the portraitist should consider all aspects of a subject in order to capture the “subtleties” (miao) of his or her character. His advice to “paint the spirit through [faithfulness to] the form” (yixing xie shen) has been the foundation of every school and style of Chinese portrait painting since Gu Kaizhi’s time. In fact, by the fifth century, the concept of shen as a prime objective of portraiture had extended to other painting themes as well. The first of Xie He’s Six Canons of painting—”spirit resonance, life movement” (giyun shengdong)—might be summed up by the word shen alone, for it was the chief task of all painters to convey the essential spirit of things. Towards the end of the fifth century, figurative art in China began to show the impact of the Indian sculpture and paintings that had been imported along with the doctrine of Buddhism. Strong colors and the use of shading to describe plastic form now mingled with indigenous linear techniques to add literally new dimensions to Chinese portrait painting. This stylistic blend blossomed in the Tang dynasty, when the heavy demand from emperors, nobles and government officials for pictures of themselves propelled portraiture to new heights of sophistication. By the Song period, despite increased thematic specialization, most novice artists commenced their training with painting portraits, both to acquire fundamental technical skills and to sharpen their powers of observation. Through Yuan and early Ming times, this genre evolved along a single course which preserved the use of outline for the definition of facial features and a spare application of light color washes for the mere hint of hue and fullness. Thus stylistic differences rested mainly on individual variations in linework. But the innovations devised by one artist in the Ming dynasty split this unified tradition into two major schools. Zeng Jing revolutionized Chinese portrait art with his application of successive layers of ink wash to model the three-dimensional structure of his subject’s face.* While

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Zeng Jing probably derived his methods from contemporary European oil paintings, he never dispensed with the basic philosophic and aesthetic values

of his own heritage. His borrowings from the West were selective and aimed primarily at obtaining shen, not realism for its own sake. He confined shading and the most minute detail to the face alone. His rejection of fixed perspective, atmospheric conditions, light effects and other “scientific” devices leaves him well within the bounds

of the Chinese

artistic tradition, with its intuitive

viewpoint and emphasis on the eternal over the particular. Conservative tastes opposed Zeng Jing’s style, yet it inspired a large following. His approach, called the Pochen school, has co-existed with the more linear native schools of

Chinese portrait painting down through the modern age. Often the two tendencies merge in images that incorporate realistic detail and modeling with expressive brushwork. Like the history of Chinese painting as a whole, Xugu’s own artistic development began with portrait painting. Many of his early works portray specific people, and it seems he had attained notable stature as a portrait artist during his service in the army. The fact that Xugu was allowed to render a likeness of the pre-eminent military commander Zeng Guofan* suggests the magnitude of Xugu’s accomplishment at this early stage in his painting career. Although the current whereabouts of this portrait are unknown, other examples of Xugu’s early portraiture, which employ the techniques of Zeng Jing’s Pochen school, are now housed in the Suzhou Museum.’ Xugu’s subsequent preference for subjects other than the human figure was probably determined in part by his move to Suzhou. In this bastion of traditional literati values, portraiture occupied a relatively low position in the scholar-painter’s hierarchy of artistic themes. Moreover, painstaking realism in facial features was considered to be the craft of the professional “ancestor painter” (whose products functioned mainly as visual aids in reverential ceremonies for the deceased), but to have no proper role in the art of the lettered gentleman who took up the brush for personal expression. Therefore, on the infrequent occasions when Xugu engaged in portrait painting after he settled in Suzhou, he usually worked in a basically linear mode with only light, unpronounced washes and limited detailing in the eyes, nose and mouth. This painting of Canying, whose identity has not been traced, typifies this later portrait style. The garden, the stage on which scholars and other refined gentlemen carried on much of their “gracious living,” had been a popular setting for portraits in China since the eighteenth century. As an extension of scholarly cultivation and a microcosm

of the natural world as a whole, the garden

supplemented the sitter’s physical appearance, bearing and attire as an indication of his character. However, this painting presents its subject from an unusual perspective: the viewer stands just beyond Canying’s garden and observes him through a window, standing at his desk in his study. While the garden provides some clues to Canying’s personality, Xugu obviously wishes to call direct attention to this man’s literary habits, for the desk is equipped with several implements of learning: paper (in the box), an inkstone, and a water pot. These items and a small teacup are all well-made and tasteful in design, and their neat arrangement hints of a fastidious temperament, recalling the master landscapist Ni Zan. A young attendant on the left delivers books to his master. Even the fresh floral display in a rustic vase on the desk offers information about Canying: his appreciation of simple, natural beauty mingles with his identification with perhaps the most beloved scholar-poet in China’s history, Tao Yuanming (Qian, 372-427), whose personal moral integrity is symbolized by his favorite flower, the chrysanthemum. And, like Tao Yuanming, Canying is a man of humble means. This can be seen in the modest design of his studio (or home) and the small size of his garden, which is bound

by a fence near the building. More chrysanthemums appear against the fence,

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and the banana trees at the left end of the scene imply that Canying writes verse, since poets like to have this plant just outside their window so they can hear the soothing patter of raindrops on its huge leaves. Based on his surroundings in this picture, Canying may be characterized as an educated man with refined taste and a love of order and simplicity, as a poet who draws his inspiration from nature, and as a gentleman of leisure but not of great wealth or power. The figure of Canying himself, seen from the waist up, occupies only a small area of the painting. His plain robe, common at-home wear for a scholar (but not a scholar-official) is described in a few strokes of ink outline. Yet it is through Xugu’s subtle rendering of his subject’s face that we behold Canying as a truly unique human being, a living, breathing spirit. His baldness, at least on the top of his head, cannot be explained by concluding he is a monk since his secular clothing rules this possibility out. He may be following Qing period fashion and have a long braid falling down his back beneath a clean-shaven upper head. At any rate, the prominence of his high forehead implies a keen intelligence and attracts notice to his eyes. The eyes, “windows to the spirit,” are believed to be the single most expressive part of the human body for revealing inner traits and moods. Canying gazes quietly at us through large, moist eyes whose softness bespeaks a gentle, sensitive, perhaps introspective sensibility. Their slight puffiness might disclose either an emotional disposition or eye strain from prolonged reading. At the same time, these are bright, wise eyes that sparkle with life beneath bushy eyebrows. The determination in Canying’s long straight nose gives way to the calm, sensuous fullness of his lips. With the exception of the dark pupils in the eyes, pale soft lines and small areas of delicate wash compose the facial features as well as the ears, the contour of the head, and Canying’s upheld hand. Xugu has in this case lightened the typically heavy brushwork he used for portraiture, presumably because of the dim light inside the room where his subject sits. The servant boy represents figure painting as opposed to portrait painting. His face is not individualized by subtle washes and descriptive detail. He is a type rather than a distinct identity, and serves only as a prop like the accessories on his master’s desk. Even so, Xugu has created a delightful image of youthful innocence with notable ease and economy. A ruler obviously aided the artist’s hand in making the upper line of the window sill, but the remaining architectural lines, including those in the red lattice and the fence, demonstrate freehand drawing.

The treatment of the

chrysanthemums—loose outline for the flower petals and green dotting for the foliage—succeeds admirably in giving the impression of this plant as seen from afar. Ink brushwork styled on the free-flowing cursive script (caoshu), and richly varied in breadth, moistness and tone, defines the massive banana

leaves. Light, sketchy hatching and color wash complete Xugu’s apt rendition of these shaggy tropical trees, whose growth extends beyond the upper, lower, and left borders of the painting. The vertical line representing the corner of the house on the right side of the picture sets off an “empty” area in the upper right section that is overspread with pale ink wash. The two lines of writing and one seal in this ambiguous space resemble a sign suspended from an eave of the building’s unseen roof. In this work, Xugu does not just illustrate a human figure in decorative surroundings, he documents an entire life and mind. Every element's presence and artistic treatment contribute to this intimate characterization of Canying. But this picture is also more than a biographical document.

For, as much as

it tells us about this scholarly friend of Xugu, it relates even more about the artist himself, about his response to other people and their environment, about his technical virtuosity, aesthetic sensibility and creative vision.

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SNOW LANDSCAPE Hanging scroll, ink and light color on paper, 48% x 15% inches Dated and signed: Artist’s seals:

Midsummer, jiashen (1884). Juefeian, Xugu.

Baiyu, square, intaglio Xugu, square, relief (lower left) Xugu changle, square, intaglio

Paintings attract us through visual beauty, affecting us mentally and sometimes, through the mind, even physically. For this reason, Chinese artists often paint snow landscapes during the hot months of summer. They know that the fresh air and frigid temperatures of such scenes can refresh the viewer,

cooling the body and cleansing the mind of inner unrest. Xugu depicted snow-clad terrain more frequently than most artists of his time. The fresh conception of his snow scenes, however, foils attempts to identify their stylistic origins. Xugu’s landscapes generally follow the styles of the Four Monks and the Xin’an school,’ but these models include few snow pictures. Rather, Xugu’s renditions of snowbound vistas seem to be based on personal observations of seasonal transformations and on artistic solutions of his own devising. The presence of snow in a painting does not necessarily make it a winter landscape—its time setting could be late autumn or early spring. Likewise, wintry landscapes are not necessarily laden with snow. Although snow falls regularly in many regions of China, numerous landscape painters throughout history have avoided depicting snow scenes because of the technical difficulties involved in portraying hills and trees beneath a blanket of white. Snow may be represented either by leaving portions of the paper or silk untouched or by the application of white pigment. Conversely, the sky, normally unpainted, is filled with pale ink wash to heighten the whiteness of the snow. Rivers and lakes are often treated similarly for the sake of contrast. With its grey skies, hoary hillsides, and leafless trees, the snow landscape prohibits more than the sparing use of color to enliven its cool mood. Rather, in order to paint a successful snow scene, one that conveys a feeling of nature’s vitality under severe, frigid conditions, the artist must rely solely on expressive brushwork in every element of the picture. Even washes should be executed with such skill that the separate brushstrokes blend into a unified mass but also suggest movement, volume, and transparency through subtle transitions in tone. While this task poses no small challenge for the painter working on silk or sized paper, unsized paper, with its ready absorbancy, demands yet greater expertise in manipulating brush and ink. Some of Xugu’s snow landscapes feature plum trees blossoming on snowy hillsides, as they did in vast numbers in Guangfu, one of the artist’s favorite locales. The town of Guangfu, situated about 20 miles southwest of Suzhou, is surrounded by the Dengwei Mountains, which were first planted with plum trees during the Han dynasty. In late winter or early spring, the hundreds of thousands of bare-branched plum trees on these hills turn into an enormous field of florescence, saturating the nippy air with sweet perfume. During the Kangxi period, Song Luo (1634-1713), the governor of Jiangsu province, visited the scenic area near Lake Tai and was so moved by the sight and scent of the blossoming trees that he called it the “Sea of Fragrant Snow” (Xiangxuehai). When the Qianlong emperor journeyed to enjoy the same spectacle, he too felt inspired. After writing Song Luo’s poetic title in his own hand, the monarch ordered his inscription to be engraved on a stone tablet and erected at the site. The pavilion that was later built around this monument still serves as‘a popular

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resting point for the thousands of tourists who flock to Guangfu every year. Xugu apparently moved to Guangfu in either 1872 or 1873 to assist with the rebuilding of the Xianshoujiao Monastery, which had been a casualty of the Taiping Rebellion. Through his years in this community, he grew deeply fond of the nearby hills, especially during the cold season. This snow landscape with blossoming plum trees and a lone figure on a bridge probably illustrates the scenery of the Dengwei Mountains in Guangfu. Angular brushwork provides much of the picture’s projection of inclement weather. Rubbed, partially dry strokes describe frozen crags and signal the eroding action of fierce winds. The sharp contours and stark whiteness of the remote peaks against a darkened sky augment the atmosphere’s icy feeling. Scattered over the near shore and middle ground, the plum trees appear to be in the early stages of bloom. Their blossoms of white pigment glow like tiny lamps in the scene’s dim light. On a bridge in the lower right corner, a man pauses to look back over the water toward two colorful cottages atop a rugged incline. The pale ocher of the thatched roofs and fence, the brilliant scarlet of the window frames, and the blue of the curtains attest to the comforts within.

Deep red was commonly employed by ancient snow landscapists to represent mountain temples painted with cinnabar lacquer, as this warm hue creates a striking contrast with the dominantly grey and white shades of the traditional snow scene. In this painting, the small zone of vivid color becomes a focal point, since color shows up elsewhere only in the gentleman’s upper garment, and less conspicuously in sparse, pale ocher “vegetation dots” on the mountains and in the faint tinge of blue in the ink-washed sky. Drawing on a favorite motif, Xugu forms a hollow core by building up landscape elements around the unpainted water. This device for asserting the presence of flowing air currents occurs again in the flat ground around the houses which are enclosed by a fence, trees, and rocky cliffs. These spacial cavities also lend depth and elevation to the receding hills and peaks. Xugu’s typical brush idiom, with its sudden shifts from pale to dark and parched to moist ink, is here juxtaposed with the translucent, lightly streaked wash of the overcast sky. For this quietly majestic portrait of nature, however, the artist has carried out his brush expression with a certain reserve. His selection of regular script (kaishu) for the date and signature instead of his usual running style complies with the painting’s grand scale and lofty manner. The conventional arrangement of both the two seals next to the inscription and the one

in the lower left corner

also intones

this formal

note, thus

completing a fine example of Xugu’s landscape painting in the monumental style.

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BRANCH OF LOQUATS Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 3134 x 14% inches Inscription: Artist’s seals:

Shujie baozhen (Treasures grow on trees). Xugu. Xugu,

square, relief

Genggeng gixin, square, intaglio (lower right) Sanshigifengcaotang, oval, relief

Xugu’s depictions of loquats are so famous that this subject, along with goldfish and squirrels, may be considered a hallmark of his repertoire. From the beginning to the end of his career, he portrayed loquats in paintings of all sizes, from small album leaves to large hanging scrolls. The appeal of this theme for Xugu no doubt lay in its metaphorical value. In the title inscribed on this example (and on many other loquat paintings by him), the golden fruits are referred to as treasures. Just as his pictures of wisteria and goldfish entitled “Purple Ribbons and Gold Medals” (Zishou jinzhang) point out the meaninglessness of rank and honor, so, here, the bunches of loquats, like so

many pieces of gold, illuminate the ultimate emptiness of fortune and fame. Even if this work were meant to wish a friend or patron a prosperous future, on a deeper level the monk-artist was mocking his own aspirations for position and riches in the past. Xugu was not the first Chinese painter to depict loquats. Mentioned in texts dating back to the Han dynasty, the pipa goes by the same name (though written slightly differently) as a certain stringed musical instrument. The similarity of the instrument’s shape to that of loquat leaves explains the association between the two, but which pipa was known first in China remains unclear. This fruit appears along with birds in the works of various Song period masters. These early artists were trained by painting “from life,” that is, with real loquats before them, and their renditions in ink or color washes

employ the meticulously realistic gongbi mode. Ripe, juicy balls of fruit grow beside thick, sturdy foliage in these Song versions. White (unpainted) streaks against green or ink wash represent the indentations of the veins on the top side of the leaves, and dark green lines serve as the bulging veins on overturned leaves. Loquats declined in popularity during the Yuan and early Ming periods,

only to be revived in the Song spirit with the mugu (“boneless”) paintings of Yun Shouping and his Changzhou school followers. Shitao experimented with describing this and a variety of other fruits with xieyi brush methods, and the Yangzhou Masters followed suit. Some of Jin Nong’s eccentric pictures feature loquats in coarse outline, while Li Shan fashioned colored spheres out of a single circular motion of the brush. Shitao influenced both of these painters with his preference for forming each leaf in one broad brushstroke, then adding

straight lines for the veins. After basing his earliest loquat paintings on Li Shan’s approach, Xugu gradually perfected his own technical formula. In this work, each fruit consists of a pair of opposing semi-circular brushstrokes that fuse indistinguishably when viewed from a distance. Up close, however, the junctures of the paired strokes show up as pale waterlines that give the colored disks their appearance of three-dimensional globes. By altering the brush’s starting point for the two curved strokes, Xugu varied the direction of each loquat’s growth, and confirmed it with the addition of a dark ink dot indicating the head of the fruit. The loquats issue from firm, calligraphic stems which in turn grow out of knotty branches. For the branches themselves, the artist used a brush made from the fur of a mountain goat, the hairs worn or broken off at the tip. After

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splitting the hairs apart, he rolled the brush shaft between his fingers as he moved the dry brush along the surface of the paper. The resulting ink lines retain streaks of white paper within them, exemplifying the “flying white” technique. Although a single stroke describes some of the limbs, others show overlaid strokes of wetter, darker ink for textural and tonal variety. It is not known whether or not Xugu engaged in the art of seal carving, but since he grew up in Yangzhou, he was surely exposed to the art of the Jinshi masters Wu Xizai and Bao Shichen. Their impact shows up in the powerful, gnarled feeling of the branches, their staggered connections reminiscent of rubbings taken from bei, historical records engraved in bronze, tiles or stone. Two brushstrokes blend to form individual leaves, both executed after

the brush had been dipped in ink on one side and water on the other. Before the ink of these strokes had dried, dark veins were lined on so that the veins

would blur slightly and so seem fully integrated with the leaf. Thick and tough, the foliage exhibits depth and realism on a scale seldom attained in the xieyi mode. Color contrasts are muted in this painting, with greyish-brown signifying unripe loquats on the branch growing towards the upper right, and orangishbrown representing the ripe ones. By holding the sensual appeal of the fruits at a minimum, Xugu clears the way for his spiritual message. The loquats direct their appeal not so much to our taste buds as to our taste for an aesthetically pleasing visual image. At the same time, fruits, leaves, and branches seem tangible, with two of the main limbs bent over from the weight of the mature loquats. Their proximity to the ground is indicated by the presence of greyish-green grass immediately below. Rippling in the wind, the grass both adds a spatial element by thrusting the fruit tree forward and enriches the scene with a fresh, airy atmosphere. Because the loquat tree blooms in winter and does not bear fruit until the following year, it is often cited in connection with the aphorism that good results require time and effort. This maxim had personal meaning for Xugu, since his life-long study of art bore fruit only after he passed the age of 60. Whether interpreted from this standpoint, or as a metaphor for human vanity, these loquats are sensitively drawn and quietly imposing. No earlier painted image of this fruit exerts such monumental power; what formerly occupied a minor place in the traditional artist’s repertoire is here transformed by Xugu’s brush into an evocative symbol of the artist’s lofty ideals.

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GREEN BAMBOO Circular fan, color on silk, 9% inches maximum

Inscription:

Artist’s seal:

diameter

For the esteemed appreciation of my honorable “elder brother” Xian’gen. Xugu. Baiyu, square, intaglio

Bamboo has been an essential material in Chinese daily life since the Bronze Age.’ Used for such practical purposes as utensils, furniture, fences and construction, the sturdy stalks of this plant have also long been fashioned into musical instruments and a wide variety of decorative objects. Prior to the manufacture of paper in China, books consisted of texts handwritten on bamboo strips that were laced together and rolled up like a scroll. The

association of certain social virtues with bamboo has comparable antiquity. Evergreen, hollow and segmented, bamboo is said to embody the qualities of constancy, receptivity and moral integrity. Its tall, straight stalks, easy to bend but difficult to break, are equated with Confucian rectitude and strength of character. Using bamboo as a metaphor, the famous third century general Guan Yu (later enshrined as a god of war and justice) refused to compromise his allegiance to Liu Bei (early third-century). In a well-known exchange with Zhuge Jin he declared, “Bamboo can be scorched but its joints (jie—moral integrity) cannot be destroyed.... Though my head be axed and my blood made to flow, my will shall not be altered.” Over the centuries, scholars have planted

bamboo in their gardens so as to stay in close company with their model of

righteous conduct.

The poet-painter Su Dongpo professed, “I would sooner

not eat meat than forego growing bamboo. Going without meat makes one thin; going without bamboo makes one vulgar.” He and his friend Wen Tong (1018-1079), among others, elevated bamboo painting to a high level of artistic sophistication during the Song dynasty. From that time through Xugu’s day, many literati specialized in depicting this subject, both for its symbolism and its suitability for the medium of monochrome ink and the brush techniques of calligraphy. During the nineteenth century, although few artists confined their versatile abilities to bamboo, it held its place as an important theme in many repertoires.

Xugu painted bamboo frequently either by itself or with animals, such as fish or squirrels. Like the military hero Guan Yu and the scholarly paragon Su Dongpo, he identified his spiritual aspirations with this plant. Xugu once wrote on an album leaf painting of bamboo, “Its nature is pure and hollow, its character, hardy and upright.”* The word for “pure” (ging) here alludes to a homophonous term for “green.” Xu, “hollow” or “empty,” is the first syllable in Xugu’s name. This work, now in the Shanghai Museum, exemplifies the technique known as shuanggou or “double lines” which Xugu often employed for bamboo along with green wash or stripes. The long slender shapes of both stalk and leaf lend themselves readily to his trademark brush idiom of straightened, broken contours executed in thin, taut lines. Another instance of

Xugu’s shuanggou technique appears in “Squirrel on a Bamboo Branch” (No. 21): He also practiced the more prevalent mugu or “boneless” method in his bamboo art. Legend claims it was Lady Li who first thought of painting bamboo in silhouette as it appeared on her window shade on a moonlit night. In this mode, the subject is rendered with each leaf and each segment of a stalk or branch treated in a single stroke of the brush. Even with a millenium’s worth of mugu bamboo painting behind him, Xugu tailors technical canon to

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his own vision of this theme. To begin with, his mugu bamboo is distinguished by his occasional replacement of ink with green pigment, as seen in the present painting. Asmall-scale, delicately simple statement, “Green Bamboo” displays the artist’s success in obtaining with green pigment both the subtlety and power for which ink is so prized. At the same time, his use of the plant’s natural hue brings out the inherent virtues of the subject as a living organism in the vegetable kingdom. Yet ultimately this scene is neither a nature study nor an exercise in scholarly refinement. Like a small round window with a gossamer-thin shade, the image opens into itself like the mind’s eye in the midst of insight. Drawn up close to the middle section of a bamboo plant, we become absorbed in its silence and calm, in its crystalline atmosphere. In a landmark study, Dr. Li Lin-ts’an identifies the stylistic milestones of each period in the evolution of Chinese ink bamboo painting.’ In particular, he points out innovations in technical vocabulary, which was virtually complete by the fifteenth century. In “Green Bamboo,” the addition of a dark joint line in the gap between stem segments represents a technique developed at the close of the Yuan dynasty.'® The shape of the leaves and the manner in which they are grouped fall into the category Dr. Li calls “broom-shaped” (saozhuangye). Differing from the consciously graceful leaf arrangements of Su Dongpo and Wen Tong, and from the wind-tossed, rain-heavy foliage of Tang Yin (1479-1523), Xugu’s fat, unarranged leaves resemble those of Shitao. This is evident in their broad bases and sharp points, and in their tendency to point upward. Xugu accentuates the wedge-like shape of his leaves by using a technique known as piedao (“oblique knife”). Like the seventeenth century Individualist, he has applied his leaves in quick succession seemingly at random, one often overlapping another, before the color dried, causing some

Individual leaf contours to merge into blocks of pigment. But while Shitao’s blocks are pools of ink with deep, rich tonalities, Xugu’s color is applied in such sheer layers that every leaf retains its separate identity, even when partly viewed through the diaphanous covering of another leaf. Moreover, the concentration of slightly darker color on the outer edges of each stroke accentuates the leaves’ definition. Modulating his color within a limited range of pale values, Xugu gives his forms only a tenuous substance, as if they actually were but shadows on a shade. Translucent and feather-light, this bamboo is not viewed from its base in the earth, but at its middle or upper level. Even at this height, the leaves are densest in the upper half of the composition, a trait of Xugu’s other bamboo scenes. The sum of these features evokes an ethereal quality. Like Xugu’s fish who swim deep below the turbulence of the water’s surface, this bamboo reaches high above the dust and din of earthbound existence. The spindly,. dark handwriting along the right edge seems suspended in air, while the thin linework of the relief seal is partially lost, like skywriting dissolving into space." The recipient of this painting may tentatively be identified as Li Chengxiong (1817-1883), also known as Xian’ gen, a Shanghai artist who painted landscapes, figures, portraits and animals. (The terms of address in Xugu’s dedication, literally “elder brother” and “great man,” were widely used conventions during the nineteenth century amongst men with or without civil rank.) Through his careful positioning of the inscription and seal in the painting’s lower right, Xugu has preserved an expanse of unpainted silk which breathes life into the entire image.

Despite its diminutive size, then, this work spans extensive

space. And while its subject matter and technical basis reach far back into history, this painting shares with the finest creations of its time a conception so fresh and expression so direct that its impact is as strong as ever a century later.

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PARROT AND LOQUATS Folding fan, ink and color on paper, 734 x 20% inches

Inscription:

Artist’s seal:

On the request of Mr. Yuren.

Xugu.

Xugu, square, relief

In this small fan painting, the loquats play a secondary role in relation to the central attraction, a perching parrot. While art of the Tang and earlier periods consisted primarily of assemblages of various pictorial elements, from the Five Dynasties onward, certain compositional devices were employed to achieve a unified visual image.

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this work harks back to Song painting with its reciprocal relationships between individual subjects. Hanging down to the right of a branch, the parrot eyes a bunch of ripe loquats as its upswept tail points directly to the fruit. The cluster of golden balls enters the scene from the upper left edge, with two large loquats seeming to reach towards the bird’s head. Pale orange in hue, the fruit softens the

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impact of the bird’s brilliant red and green coloring. Countering the curve of the parrot’s body, the sturdy branch to which it clings extends from the upper right towards the lower left, then turns right again. This shift to the right implies the direction toward which the branch continues below the picture’s

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lower border and so unites the unpainted area on the right with the painted subjects. Xugu utilized light-toned ink in loose shuanggou brushwork to define the contours and veins of the four leaves spreading across the lower portion of the painting. This method, a departure from his usual blending of two broad strokes of ink wash to describe the leaves, acts as a foil to the color

washes that make up the motifs in the upper half of the picture. The rough texture of the branch and long fleshy material of the foliage with its prominent veins establish the identity of these elements and the fruit above as parts of the same tree. This identity is confirmed by the uniformly pale tones of ink shared by the branch, leaves and fruit stems. By thus integrating the various components, including empty space, Xugu has created within his design a dynamic, cohering tension that ancient theory conceived as shi, meaning structural force or potential movement. Such an accomplishment is particularly noteworthy in the limited size and irregular shape of the folding fan. Flower-and-bird painting of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries may be distinguished from that of previous eras by certain features of brushwork and color application. Here, the engraved feeling of the lines representing the loquat stems typifies the later period, as do the freedom and calligraphic expression in the outlines of the leaves. Execution of the “boneless” technique in the loquats and parrot was carried out not through a gradual build-up of color, but through jinshi (“engraving”) style brushstrokes which may be retraced with the eye like the linework of Chinese characters. In the case of the parrot, a single rounded flick of light green suffices to describe the head, a larger circular sweep of the brush makes up the body, and a small dark green touch defines the top of the right wing. For the tail, ink mixed with green appears in long strokes, each one signifying a single feather. One daub of red deftly shapes the beak; diluted purple colors the bird’s chest. Finally the eye, two claws, and a tiny tongue were added in dark ink, which accentuates the concentration of heavy colors in and around the parrot’s face. With full command of the brush’s movements and the color’s flow onto the painting surface, the artist exercised the same discipline required for writing calligraphy. This cogent “writing,” rich in both descriptive and abstract qualities, embodies

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the nineteenth century approach to the aged tradition of mugu color painting. Admired for its unusual intelligence and nimbleness in addition to its vivid plumage, the parrot has been a favored pet in Chinese households for centuries. Artistic renditions of this bird date back as far as the Tang dynasty, when it was frequently portrayed perched on the hand of an elegant court lady. The parrot was a favorite subject of the eighteenth century Yangzhou Masters; Xugu admired these artists and often referred to one of them, Hua

Yan, in his inscriptions on paintings of this bird. During the nineteenth century the parrot saw new popularity as a painting theme, especially among Shanghai artists. In this work, which presents an intimate view of this flamboyant creature, Xugu made ingenious use of the bird’s acrobatic talents, as well as the loquat tree’s curvaceous formations, to construct a lively yet simple composition that perfectly suits his chosen format. Both the soft fuzziness of the bird’s feathers and the stiffness of its tail quills link this work to the realistic vein of Hua Yan’s bird paintings (Fig. 48). Xugu’s fresh palette dominates the light shades of ink, even while it adheres to literati notions of understated elegance and harmony. Although the artist’s inscription and seal are not essential units of the painting’s design, the light, wet ink in running script and the small red characters of the seal complement the stylistic tone of the pictorial image.

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Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 29 x 1536 inches Inscription: Artist’s seals:

For the leisurely amusement of my “elder brother,” the honorable Eshi. Xugu. Xugu, square, relief

(lower right) Genggeng gixin, square, intaglio Collectors’ seals:

(lower left) Wenxin shending, square,

relief

Mengquan shuwu houcang jinshishuhua zhi zhang, rectangular, relief

Chinese “still life” paintings usually feature a group of inanimate objects selected to illustrate a particular theme. A picture celebrating the New Year’s festival might depict a branch of plum blossoms in a vase, an incense burner, a string of firecrackers, and seasonal foods. The cultivated life of the scholar is often evoked by assemblages of books, scrolls, ink sticks, an inkstone, and

brushes in a brush holder. Other still-life motifs include picked flowers, fruits, vegetables, and sacrificial implements for the altar. In such paintings the artist must not only imbue each individual item with a quality of life, he must also create a dynamic equilibrium in his arrangement of the various subjects on a blank ground. This genre became popular among middle Qing period court painters. Executed with painstaking detail in formal compositions, these court paintings only occasionally consisted of a single subject, such as a pot of flowers. In xieyi art, renditions of a solitary inanimate object are even more rare. Zhu Da painted a number of pictures depicting nothing more than flowers in a ceramic vase, and several Yangzhou Masters of the eighteenth century followed suit. The majority of these works were album leaves, however; only a few were hanging scrolls, and those were carried out in an informal, sketchy manner. “Plum Blossoms in a Crystal Vase” is unique in presenting a single subject in a formal composition with expressive xieyi brushwork. A large vase placed in the lower half of the picture holds a branch of blossoming plum extending up over a distance roughly equal to the height of the vase. A vessel of such imposing size might easily tip the scale of compositional balance were it made of some opaque material. But Xugu resolves this problem by choosing a crystal vase, which can be rendered with nothing more than ink outline. While the cognitive mind infers this outline to represent a tangible, three-dimensional thing, the transparency of the crystal affords a glimpse into the vase’s interior as well as the space directly behind it. At the same time, on a purely visual level, the vase consists only of lines; the area it encloses, except for the branch

of flowers, is as blank ‘as the “empty” area surrounding the vase. Yet the comparison of slightly blurred forms and pale shades of the branch segment and blossoms inside the vase, to those without it, indicates the vessel contains

water. Vase and water alike are both “there” and “not there” depending on how the picture is viewed, illustrating the paradoxical teaching central to Chan Buddhism:

form is void, void is form.

The plain, upright shape and symmetrical positioning of the vase in this

starkly simple composition establish the painting’s serious tone: the flower arrangement is set squarely before us as if bidding our concentrated attention and respect. Xugu carefully designed his picture so that the vase is centered on the paper from right to left, and the vase and flowers together are centered vertically. Thus they stand tall and sedate as a man of high moral character, with the quiet composure of a Buddhist adept in meditation. A statement of

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the artist’s personal character may be interpreted in the design of the vase itself. Unadorned, it is elegant, yet not ostentatious. Moreover, the proportions and lines of the vase are aligned with concepts of moral integrity: the slightly squared curves of the vessel’s body are analogous to the precept of being “round on the outside and square on the inside” (wai yuan nei fang), that is, of being accommodating and open-minded while adhering to one’s own principles. To execute the sequence of strokes defining the vase, the artist

dipped his brush in diluted ink and moved it slowly with its shaft held at a right angle to the painting surface. Where one stroke comes to an end, the next begins with its tip shaped to fit it—a stroke terminating in a squared “tail” is followed by one commencing with a squared “head.” In this way, the lines flow together as the outline of a solid object. Standing before a flower arrangement like this one, the knowledgable spectator would be able to identify not only the specific variety of plum, but also the approximate age of the tree from which the branch was picked. Every slight turn of the branch and twigs, the color, form and fragrance of the blossoms—all these qualities would be savored in a floral display of this kind. An eye experienced in the art of flower arranging might have selected the plum branch shown here, since its graceful formation epitomizes both natural and artistic beauty. Medium dark ink was applied in a series of brushstrokes to form the branch. Although gaps had to be preserved for the addition of the blossoms, the branch’s underlying continuity is successfully conveyed. Ending in wiry little twigs, the branch becomes progressively thicker towards the mouth of the vase, where its two main limbs cross each other only to cross again underwater. They finally merge into a single stick that plunges to the bottom of the vase. Xugu composed each flower with utmost precision and care. Deep crimson applied in the “boneless” method colors the petals of both the buds and fully-opened blooms outside the vase. The jet-black lines and dots of the stamens and calyxes on the flowers and new shoots on the branches display remarkable freedom for their tiny size. This dark ink is clearly differentiated from the medium tone on the branch outside the vase, the lighter tone of the branch as seen underwater, and the lightest tone of the vase. Just as the artist assigns a certain ink value to each element, he also contrasts a consistent shade of red in the flowers above water with a uniform shade of pink in the submerged ones. Because the branch blooms sparsely, emphasis falls on the individual flowers, their lovely hue, and the delicacy with which each is poised on the branch against the surrounding void. Enveloped in this silent stillness, the blossoms touch us with their pulsing life.

Tender, fresh, and pure, the

flowering branch rises out of a hard, transparent receptacle filled with cool, limpid water. Xugu could be painting a self-portrait, for these qualities suggest the purified mind of the Buddhist devotee. Here, then, is Xugu’s outlook on life, as well as his artistic sensibility at its height. Simple and unsullied, the vase and flowers seem to exist in eternity, yet we might almost reach into the picture and take them out, so suffused are they with subtle vitality. The highest point of the plum branch points symbolically to the first

character of the inscription, the name of the painting’s recipient. Written in a combination of running and regular scripts (xingkai), the calligraphy complements both the vase and the branch with its squared curves and stately

air. The distance from the upper edge of the paper to the first character of the inscription is equivalent to the distance from the lower edge of the paper to the artist’s seal, which is placed on the lower right, slightly lower than the foot of the vase. By thoughtfully selecting and positioning his seal, Xugu has balanced the weight of the calligraphy. This carefully achieved equilibrium is diminished, but not destroyed, by the placement of two collectors’ seals on the

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CAT, ROCK AND NARCISSUS Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 51 x 13 inches Signed:

Juefeian, Xugu.

Artist’s seal:

Xugu, square, relief

Sanshigifengcaotang, oval, relief

The Chinese first befriended cats and dogs over 2,500 years ago. Yet of the two, only the cat—independent, unsubmissive and enigmatic—has been

depicted in Chinese paintings from early times until today. Threads of mystery weave through the lore of the cat in China as in the West. Omens both good and bad are credited to this “earth immortal.” The similarity of the Chinese word for cat, mao, with a term meaning “octogenarian,” popularized this creature as one element of a painted rebus commonly given on birthdays as a wish for longevity.

In such works, the cat often pursues a butterfly, die, which

is homophonous with “septuagenarian.” The liquid curves of the feline body explain the appeal of this animal from an artistic standpoint. The tiger has been the specialty of several painting masters over the centuries, but its ferocity bars it from the class of subjects considered suitable for decorating the genteel home. The domestic cat is tame, soft, at times playful, at other times elegant. Yet its greatest attraction for traditional scholar-artists lies in its free, detached spirit and leisurely manner, qualities to which such painters aspired in their creations. When he shaved his head and took his Buddhist vows, Xugu disengaged himself from the vanities and obligations of conventional life. Even as a monk, he was self-styled, sidestepping normal monastic ritual for his preferred devotional practice, painting. His aspiration for spiritual liberation figures prominently in his art in the form of frolicking squirrels. The feline character apparently also embodied the same ideal to him. He followed the precedent of Song artists by depicting cats in garden settings. But a cat by Xugu’s brush never poses as just a lovable pet or charming decorative object. Rather, it functions both as a symbol of an unfettered mind and as a key unit of design. In “Cat and Chrysanthemums” (No.17), the large feline is presented as an abstract geometric shape. With its face hidden from view, it looks more like a stone than a live animal.

The subject of “Cat, Rock and Narcissus,” on the

other hand, stares forth with glowing full-moon eyes. Sprawled on a high rock and seen frontally, this rotund, baby-faced cat might be a stuffed toy. Only the impish focus of the pupil slits, the exposed tongue, and cocked head signal life in this comical animal. Xugu obtained the soft, fluffy texture of the cat’s white coat by applying a broken line for the contours of the legs, head and tail. The fur lies flat and smooth, giving the cat a relaxed, thoroughly approachable demeanor. (Xugu’s squirrels, in contrast, project excitement with their bristling fur.) So telling is each touch of the brush that the dotted outline of the tail hanging down below a stoney outcropping suggests shaggy hair that stands on end without a trace of tension. White pigment heightens the fur’s pure whiteness. Built of a series of concentric circles, this cat conveys a visual message of plush roundness. The rock is an unlikely pile of upright rectangular blocks repeating sideways to an unknown end off the left edge of the picture. An exaggerated rendition of a volcanic Taihu stone, such a bizarre lithic structure would be a

prized ornamental piece in a Chinese garden. Its angles and ink masses, its hardness and lifelessness, amount to the antithesis of the cat. Next to the feline’s tenuous curving outline, the rock’s broad brushstrokes, based on official

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style writing, jut abruptly up and down in a geometric pattern akin to nonobjective sculpture. Directly in front of this gravity-defying monolith grows a thick clump of blooming narcissus. The white-petaled flowers gaze with round, golden coronas that copy the cat’s eyes. Flowers and leaves alike are outlined in the same brittle brushwork Xugu used for bamboo and orchids. The long leaves intersect naturalistically, mingling light and dark ink tones. Though parched

and broken, the lines of the foliage exert sufficient power to support the heavier elements above.

The short wet strokes of grass or moss surrounding the

flowering bulbs allude to the moisture associated with narcissus, which is

called in Chinese shuixian, “water immortal”. Cat, rock and plants fill much of the space in this long, narrow painting. Aside from an opening on the right between the flowers and the cat’s tail, only a small “sky” remains at the top. There, in the upper right corner, five dry, spindly characters hang like wispy traces of ingeniously crafted smoke rings. Succeeded by a small seal of wiry seal script, the inscription’s style corresponds to the linework of the narcissus. Having abandoned the constraints of painting canon and any desire to prove his literati sophistication, Xugu here attains a level of artistic expression in a class by itself. Now, more than ever, he could indulge in lighthearted twists of oddity and humor, for they are borne on the bedrock of technical prowess and a unique creative mind empowered, but not encumbered, by a venerable aesthetic tradition.

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Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 56% x 14% inches

Inscription: Artist’s seal:

Xugu added the lingzhi and orchids. Xugu, square, relief

Collector’s seal:

Daoyishi zhencang yin, rectangular, relief

Transcription of inscriptions on bronze vessels: Gui (top; with undecipherable characters indicated by a line): ___ ba yue ji sheng xue ___ zuo wen gie kao zun bao yin yong lao yu zong shi ___ zheng wan nian sun sun zi zi yong bao, intaglio Gu (lower right): You, intaglio Yi (lower left): Zifugui, intaglio

Because esteem for the past has always been a hallmark of Chinese culture, it was natural that ancient bronzes and other cast or engraved objects should become a major field of study and aesthetic appreciation among scholars. During the Song dynasty, a number of important texts established standards of connoisseurship with regard to the various forms of bronzes as well as their surface designs and inscriptions. One such text was Ji gu lu (Catalogue of Collected Antiquities) by Ouyang Xiu (1007-1072); another was Jinshi lu (Catalogue of Metal and Stone) by Zhao Mingcheng (act. early twelfth century), with an afterword by the author’s wife and great poet Li Qingzhao (1084-ca. 1151). Interest in this branch of art history waned somewhat from the Yuan through the Ming periods, but new trends in scholastic research during the eighteenth century revived the attraction toward this topic, known as jinshi studies.'? In that era, meticulous research involving the authentication of old books and artifacts fostered a reevaluation of early Chinese aesthetics. Moreover, calligraphers such as Deng Shiru and artists like the loose-knit group known as the Yangzhou Eccentrics were not only well-versed in jinshi studies,

but also incorporated the visual flavor of cast metal or engraved stone into their own two-dimensional art. This interplay of jinshi connoisseurship with creative endeavors reached a height in the nineteenth century with the artistic masterpieces of Wu Xizai, Zhao Zhiqian and Wu Changshi. These were but a few of the jinshi enthusiasts based in the Jiangnan region, which includes Shanghai, Suzhou, Yangzhou and Hangzhou, from the end of the Opium War through the early twentieth century. During the same period, awareness of this movement became so pervasive over a broad area of the country that it is often difficult to label certain artists as Jinshi school masters as distinguished

from those who were not significantly influenced by this field. Although Xugu is not usually identified as a Jinshi painter, at least one of the past masters he admired, Jin Nong, and a number of his own close friends in Shanghai practiced artistic styles that pursued the jinshi aesthetic. Furthermore, traces of his personal investigation of antiquity show up clearly in his art.

His use of certain brush methods, such as

the ftiexianzhuan

(iron

wire seal script) technique, indicate a familiarity with early engraved writings. Further evidence of Xugu’s participation in the Jinshi movement is found in rubbings of bronze relics on which he painted flowers or other plants, demonstrating his sophisticated discrimination in the realm of ancient artifacts. Rubbing was a method of reproducing on paper the shape, designs and written elements of cast or carved objects. Over the centuries, rubbed impressions of

antiques became prized not only as historical documentation but also as

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decorative pieces for display in the home or studio. They were particularly popular during the nineteenth century, with or without painted embellishments, especially among scholars without the financial means to collect rare pieces from the remote past. Occasionally, antique vessels were painted with the brush as elements in a still life composition. Xugu’s friend Ren Bonian was among the few who succeeded in instilling such pictures with the flavor of antiquity and avoiding the mechanical look that usually mars such painstaking renditions. For the most part, artists and collectors preferred

the authenticity of rubbings. Since the production of rubbings requires mastery of specific techniques, it has usually been carried out by specialists or connoisseurs. Rubbings were sometimes sold in art shops. The process begins with placing a sheet of wet paper on one part of the object and patting it with a dabber, usually made of silk lined with felt. The purpose of this first step is to mold the paper to the form of the object. Once the paper is dry, the dabber is dipped in ink and used to pat out the image of the object’s overall shape as well as its incised or relief surface decoration. A number of methods are employed to obtain a threedimensional effect. One is the strategic relocation of the paper to various parts of the object. Another is the application of heavier or lighter ink to create the suggestion of shadows. To give a rubbed image a clean edge, a stencil in the desired shape can be inserted between the paper and inked dabber. The brush is sometimes used to delineate portions of the object that would cause too much distortion were they to be rubbed; in the present work by Xugu, the far side of each vessel’s rim was limned with a brush. Rubbing artistry also requires the choice of compatible artifacts and the balanced arrangement of their images, along with any inscriptions on them, on paper. Consideration must be made, too, of possible later additions to the rubbing, be they written or pictorial. For the artist who makes such additions, selection of a rubbing should suit his own brush style. For instance, Wu Changshi, one of the greatest Jinshi school calligraphers, painters and seal carvers of the past century, embellished rubbings exhibiting robust forms and strong lines. In contrast, Xugu made use of delicate, fine-lined impressions that were more appropriate to his art. In 1895 he painted ink plum blossoms on a rubbing of an antique tripod." The example presented here, “Lingzhi and Orchids in Bronze Vessels,” features rubbings of three bronze vessel forms: a lidded gui at the top, beneath it on the right a gu, and on the left a yi. Near each of the relics is a rubbing of the inscription cast in its interior or exterior. The generous stretches of blank space above and below each rubbed component would provide broad possibilities to the artist intending to embellish the picture with his brush. Most often, flowers or other plants are arranged in such vessels as testimony to the continuing vitality of ancient forms and values. Here, Xugu develops this message a step further through his botanical selections. The orchid is an emblem of the ideal Confucian scholar who cultivates his own virtue as well as his intellect. Since many early bronzes were created to commemorate noble deeds, these orchids evoke the lingering fragrance of ancient heroes and the ongoing legacy of their moral example. The lingzhi, associated with popular Daoism, is known as the fungus of immortality. Sprouting prolifically from a container that may be two thousand or more years old, Xugu’s lingzhi plainly serves to reinforce the idea of longevity. The artist thus celebrates two very different indigenous philosophies in the context of both their ancient origins and their survival down to modern times. To the gu and yi, Xugu added orchids consisting mainly of colored petals that are only partially outlined in pale, sketchy ink. These wiry contours exemplify the artist’s proficiency in the tiexianzhuan linear mode, which

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complements the strong, thin lines of the metal containers. The choice of hues also repeats the theme of antiquity: reddish-orange calls up the copper content

of bronze, while turquoise blue often appears in the colorful patina that encrusts the surface of old bronzes. Rising out of the gui, the lingzhi was brushed in varied tones of dilute ink that match the tonal range of the ink in the rubbing. The brushwork of the upright stalks resembles the [i script of the Northern Wei period steles known as the “Twenty Works from Longmen” (Longmen ershipin) (Fig. 17), another indication of Xugu’s connoisseurship in jinshi studies. Both the stems and the domes of the lingzhi caps provide counter-rhythms to the upward curve of the bronze’s concentric ribs. After he set down the broad ink outlines of the fungus, Xugu applied gray-tinged blue and white, which blend in with such subtlety that they function as though they were overtones in the chromatic scale of ink. Sturdy and fleshy, the lingzhi opposes the two varieties of fragile, paperthin orchids below. But common to both fungus and flowers is their lack of foliage, an element that usually poses a flat pattern in contrast to bulging blooms or fruits. In this case, flatness lies—almost paradoxically—in the bulky metal containers, for like any rubbing, these masses seem static and thin beside the lively, evocative movements of the master’s brush.

At the same time, the

ephemeral plants accentuate the durable old age of the man-made objects which hold them. Soft and hard, living and non-living, ink and color, wet and dry—these are a few of the other contrasts that Xugu generated in his transformation of an art-historical document into a highly personal artistic tribute to his own cultural heritage. The artist’s signature and seal bring the zigzageging sequence of rubbings to a halt at the lower left corner of the composition. While he made his inscription as brief as the ancient seal style calligraphy in the rubbings to the right, Xugu chose to write in running script, no doubt to carry on the painterly effect of his freely-brushed plants. On the other hand, with his final act of imprinting his engraved stone seal on this work, he reaffirmed the vital role of the jinshi dimension in modern Chinese art.

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Painted with Yang Bairun (1837-1911), Wu Guxiang (1848-1903) and Hu Tiemei (18481899) Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 54 x 18 inches Inscriptions and artists’ seals: Upper right: Tiemei Hu Zhang added the white camellias. Hu Tiemei, square, intaglio In vase: Xugu. Xugu, square, relief Lower left: Yang Bairun. Bairun, square, intaglio Lower right: Qiunong Wu Guxiang, from Xiushui, painted the narcissus. Xiushui Wu

Guxiang changshou yinxin, square, intaglio

This joint endeavor by Xugu and three of his friends may be viewed as a sampler of flower painting by some of the most prominent figures of Shanghai’s art community during the late nineteenth century. It also offers insights into social rituals and decorum as practiced by men of cultivation in the closing decades of imperial China. Exactly when artists in China began collaborating on paintings is not recorded. Ancient murals and certain other large-scale works seem to have involved several painters, but since they bear no signatures, the collective nature of their creation cannot be confirmed. As far as the Chinese literati artistic tradition is concerned,

one

of the earliest recorded

collaborative

paintings came from the unlikely partnership of Ni Zan and Wang Meng. Because the former master was famous for his extremely spare brushwork, and the latter for his complexity, the product of their combined talents lacked cohesiveness.

Their intention, however, would have been less aesthetic than

social; in recognition of their friendship and admiration for one another’s artistic achievement, they composed a picture together. While some such collaborations resulted in images of uneven quality or incompatible styles, others succeeded in integrating their individually painted sections into a unified vision. Many artists of Xugu’s era delighted in passing the brush around at tea parties and banquets. A painting would typically be started by the guest of honor, the most hightly respected artist, or the one who first suggested the activity to the group. Thereafter the sequence would follow descending levels of artistic or social standing. Age was another factor, with younger guests deferring to those more advanced in years. Often such group endeavors afforded a budding young artist the prestigious opportunity of signing his name on the work of a renowned master. But whether the participants differed in rank or were peers, Confucian courtesy required each to yield to the others by refraining from painting in a manner that might dominate over other contributions. The spirit of cooperation and accommodation in this situation could be compared to a performance by an improvisational jazz ensemble wherein each musician extemporizes a melodic (or rhythmic) line which blends with the music produced by the others. Xugu befriended a number of outstanding artists in Shanghai. This undated work documents his association with three younger men who were important figures in that city’s art scene in the late 1800s. These were Yang Bairun, Hu Tiemei, and Wu Guxiang. An analysis of this painting’s composition, the style displayed in each pictorial segment, and the painters’ inscriptions reveals the process through which this work was created—that is, who painted what, and when. The layout follows a linear progression from the lower right corner to the middle left ground, then toward the top and right. Since each element overlaps the one behind it, the sequence of production

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must have been: (1) the dish garden in the foreground, (2) the two clumps of narcissus, (3) the vase,

and (4) the flowers in the vase.

As to the assignment

of artists, much information may be gleaned from the four inscriptions.

Wu Guxiang’s disclosure that he painted the narcissus eliminates him as the originator of any of the other major subjects. On the left, below the vase, Yang Bairun signed his name beside three small fruits. It is doubtful that one of the group’s senior members and its most respected artistic personage would confine his contribution to these minor forms; furthermore, the nearby rocks,

grass, and planter exemplify the expressive idiom he used in other works (Fig. 49). Therefore we may deduce that Yang Bairun was responsible for this entire portion of the painting. The presence of Xugu’s signature and seal within the

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contours of the vase supports the vessel’s linework as the product of the monkartist’s hand. Finally, the proximity of Hu Tiemei’s inscription and seal to the camellias, and their style,

corroborate the identification of the cut flowers

with this painter. While no single passage of this picture’s cumulative design overpowers the others, the camellias are certainly the crowning glory of the scene, even if they were added at the end by a junior member of the artistic quartet. Indeed, the discovery of the date and the circumstances behind this painting’s creation may hinge on Hu Tiemei’s schematic prominence and his final position in the painting sequence. The very inclusion of this artist in the group narrows the time-frame to the decade 1886-1896 (the latter date being the year of Xugu’s death).

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Hu Tiemei, originally named Hu Zhang, came from Tongcheng in Anhui province, but he divided much of his adult life between Shanghai and Japan. His sojourn in Japan, where he engaged in international trade, began in 1879 and lasted until 1886.'* His paintings were much appreciated by Japanese

collectors, who called him Ko Tetsubai. Back in Shanghai, Hu Tiemei sold his paintings to locals as well as Japanese residents, and he began publishing a newspaper. This publication’s advocacy of imperial reforms placed him in peril when Empress Cixi squelched the Hundred Days’ Reform Movement in 1898. Hu Tiemei found refuge in Japan, but died there within a year. His studio name, Shuyuanyishi, sometimes appears on his paintings of landscapes,

figures, and flowers. Depictions of plum blossoms first established his fame, which explains his soubriquet Tiemei or “iron plum blossom.” As he would have been only 31 years old when he first traveled to Japan, and his brushwork in the present painting shows impressive maturity, a date earlier than 1879 seems doubtful. (The advanced nature of the other three artists’ accomplishment in this work also discourages an early dating.) The tensile strength and freedom in the flowers’ outlines, similar to iron wire seal script, represent superior technical facility. This feat alone explains Hu Tiemei’s popularity in Japan and his notable influence on painters of the Nanga school. That Hu Tiemei was in contact with Xugu on more than this one occasion is witnessed by a number of art works. In 1890 a handscroll painting of various flowers was painted jointly by these two artists along with another noted Shanghai painter, Zhu Cheng (Menglu, 1826-1900).'° In an interpretation of the “three friends” theme dated winter, 1893, Xugu rendered the pine tree, Hu Tiemei the plum blossoms, and Ren Bonian the bamboo.'* Two landscapes— a handscroll” and a hanging scroll (Fig. 29)—were created by Hu Tiemei for Xugu, as their inscriptions explain. All of these works strengthen the case for the 1886-1896 time frame for the present “Floral Scene.” Though 13 years younger than Xugu, Yang Bairun eclipsed his Buddhist companion in artistic renown during their lifetime. (This is not to say that Xugu was less adept, since as a monk, painting was not a career to him, nor was he interested in fame.) A native of Jiaxing, Zhejiang Province, Yang Bairun

Fig. 49 Yang Bairun, Plant, Rock and Teapot, hanging scroll, ink on paper. Far East Fine Arts, Inc. collection.

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lake”). He lost most of his family in the Taiping Rebellion, There he supported his mother and himself by painting theories of Dong Qichang transformed Yang Bairun’s expression of his own sensitivity and veneration for the painting. His poetry was accomplished, and he modelled the Song master Mi Fei.

He authored

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(“southern

and fled to Shanghai. landscapes. The art early style into an orthodox heritage of his calligraphy after (In Recognition of

Paintings of the Stone Studio) and Nanhucaotang ji (Collected Works of Nanhucaotang). The stature Yang Bairun achieved is evidenced by his position as chairman of the prestigious Yuyuan Art Society, established in 1909 in Shanghai, of which Wu Changshi and Wang Zhen (Yiting, 1866-1938) eventually became members.'* Yang Bairun probably knew Xugu as early as 1878, when, on behalf of Xugu’s old friend Yuelou (surname unknown), he

Fig. 50 Wu Guxiang, Narcissus, hanging scroll, ink and color on

paper. M.S.T. Enterprises collection.

composed a poem of appreciation and inscribed it on Xugu’s portrait of Yuelou.'”? Hallmarks of Yang Bairun’s approach to painting are seen in’ Floral Scene,” particularly the flowing energy in the lines of the low, footed planter and in the effects of “flying white.” The fine dotting on the rocks and the soft color harmonies reflect another, equally typical dimension of his art. After this master had completed his part, the brush was probably offered to Xugu out of respect for his age, his artistic abilities, and his religious status. If so, his humble refusals finally prevailed, giving one of the younger artists the chance to perform. Wu Guxiang had met Xugu at least once before, around 1883, when he filled in the background on a portrait of the monk-artist by Ren Bonian.” Also known as Qiunong and Qiupu, Wu Guxiang was born the same year as Hu Tiemei. With Yang Bairun he shared a common hometown. Shen Zhou and Wen Zhengming (1470-1559) inspired his landscapes, though he most likely based his interpretations of these Ming masters on the more accessible paintings of Dai Xi (1801-1860). The paintings of Chen Shun (14831544) influenced his floral repertoire, of which orchids and narcissus were his most successful subjects (Fig. 50). Thus his choice of narcissus as a backdrop for Yang Bairun’s dish garden not only establishes a seasonal aspect in the painting, it was also Wu Guxiang’s surest means of demonstrating his virtuosity in front of his friends. Here he proves himself to be in full command of his medium, as the spontaneous precision of his outlines and the subtlety of his coloring impart this flower’s charming form and ambrosial perfume. Next, Xugu added a large vase in ink outline, decorating it with a key pattern around the rim and a molded dragon on the shoulder. A dragon vase rendered by Qi Baishi (see “Peony in a Dragon Vase,” No. 26) makes for an interesting comparison. Because Qi Baishi followed a self-imposed rule of never painting anything he had not seen with his own eyes, he probably used the vase as a ruse to satisfy a patron’s request for a dragon. To Xugu, however, the dragon was a familiar theme which he had portrayed in works depicting the twelve creatures of the zodiac. Here, his baimiao (plain outline) technique is slow and sure. The ease and fancifulness with which he constructed the mythical beast bespeak an artist secure in his proficiency and indifferent to approbation or disparagement. Still, the conventional restraint in his expression and the handwriting of his signature indicate he was in his early sixties at the time of this painting, which would narrow its dating to 1886-89. This dating might even be pinpointed to 1886-1887 (although it remains to be verified), based on the role Hu Tiemei played in the painting’s creation. He may have been assigned the last place in line by his friends precisely because the entire project was conceived in his honor. Moreover, Xugu’s offering of an empty vessel and a vast blank space above set the stage for a tour de force, a

challenge that Hu Tiemei does not fail to meet. These factors suggest that the occasion of this painting might have been more than just a New Year celebration; it may have been Hu Tiemei’s recent return from Japan.

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If Hu Tiemei was indeed being honored in this way, his signing his name, as he did, in a formal and conspicuous manner would not have been considered presumptuous. Had the painting been from the hand of a single artist, his selection of this particular spot for its sole inscription would have satisfied the requirement of preserving schematic proportion. In contrast, with characteristic modesty, Xugu limited his calligraphic notation to his two-character appellation. Its position within the contours of the vase and his placement of a seal at midpoint to the left of his signature turn the entire unit of writing into an ornamental motif for the vase itself. Directly below, just beneath the vase, Yang Bairun similarly placed his seal to the left of his somewhat smaller name. He probably added the three fruits at this time, in order to fill a gap and break the stark linearity of the picture’s design. At this point, Wu Guxiang faced the dilemma of applying the final brush strokes to a now full composition. Ideas may have been exchanged among the friends, and the happy solution of utilizing the space on the front panel of the planter-dish might have resulted from an invitation and encouragement from Yang Bairun. By integrating his inscription into this pre-existing form, Wu Guxiang not only avoided upsetting the painting’s overall equilibrium, he also repeats Xugu’s device of using calligraphy and a seal to embellish the surface of a ceramic pot. The context for the creation of “Floral Scene” may have been a gathering of painters at the Pinghua Society.”! Started in 1862, this artists’ group took Guan Temple as its headquarters. Since Xugu often resided at this temple in western Shanghai, his participation in this organization (even if not as an official member) seems likely. If this collaboration was indeed conducted at a meeting of the Pinghua Society, the painting may well have been donated to that organization’s collection. There other members could view it as a joint exhibition in itself, and as a challenge in recognizing four distinct artistic personalities. But this work is much more than just a patchwork sampler; it discloses a group dynamic that is rare in any artistic tradition. The performance of each participant to an audience of companions, the subordination of personal expression to a cooperative vision—these practices point up the social dimension of painting in China. To the Confucian gentleman, courtesy and ceremony were the building blocks of moral conduct, which in turn were linked to aesthetic beauty as the yin and yang of a great natural harmony. And it was this harmony that was upheld as the guiding light of the literati artist’s training and that was to be reflected in the spontaneous gestures of his

brush.

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Album leaf mounted as a hanging scroll, ink and light color on paper, 11% x 16% inches Inscription:

The waves on the water’s surface are unknown to the fish. Xugu.

Artist’s seal:

Sanshigifengcaotang, oval, relief

Collectors’ seals:

(lower right) Cengcang Wang Jigian chu, rectangular, relief (lower left) Monan dali , square, relief

Among China’s ancient hunting and gathering cultures, fish was a primary source of nourishment. The drawings these people made of their day’s catch on cave walls and pottery, such as bowls produced by the Yangshao culture, were the precursors of the fish pictograph which had evolved by the second millenium B.C.” Just as the modern character for fish retains a semblance of

its pictorial origins, the fish itself continues to figure prominently in Chinese life, both as food and symbolic image. Aside from its associations with abundance and wealth, the fish is featured in parables, proverbs and metaphorical expressions as an emblem of China’s common people. For instance, the term yurou baixing likens the masses to so much “fish and meat” that is destined to fatten the bellies of corrupt rulers and officials. The people’s natural state of unsuspecting innocence is similarly evoked in Xugu’s inscription on this painting. Illustrating a basic notion of Chinese philosophy, this adage may translate into the familiar “ignorance is bliss.” But Xugu does not simply reiterate a worn bit of folk wisdom here; rather, he reveals a personal insight gleaned from trying experiences which ultimately led to his renunciation of secular life. From his vantage as a Han Chinese military officer fighting for the Manchu court to suppress a peasant uprising organized by the Taipings, he witnessed corruption and exploitation among leaders on both sides of the conflict. He had also surely seen bands of frightened refugees rushing from one place to another in search of safety, like schools of fish darting through the water with sudden, seemingly erratic shifts in direction. If Xugu’s withdrawal into monastic life resulted from a bitter disillusionment with society, this painting voices his biting protest against social injustice, and his compassion for the poor and downtrodden. Xugu portrayed fish frequently, giving them a special character never before seen in Chinese painting. A long line of painters, from Liu Cai (active 1086-1100) to Yun Shouping, focused on the attractive forms and leisurely, — dance-like gestures of their aquatic subjects. Zhu Da endowed each of his fish with an individual personality that usually seemed menacing or onimous. But Xugu’s depictions of fish (excluding his goldfish) emphasize the group as a whole and its nimble, rapid movements toward a single direction. His brush methods also differ from his predecessors’. Yun Shouping employed an additive technique of applying washes to describe the markings on his fish with naturalistic precision. Demonstrating his mastery of abbreviated statement,

Zhu

Da rendered

each of his fish with

a few moist, fluid

brushstrokes. This painting displays Xugu’s unique approach to this subject. First using a dry brush to set down a fine, broken, ink outline for each fish’s

back, he then applied a broader, moister and paler stroke along one side of this line. An unpainted gap is left between this stroke and the thin broken line of the stomach. A few simple anatomical details appear in dark ink, with touches of red highlighting the open mouth and eyes.

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Despite the deft accuracy of their physical description, the vitality of the fish springs mainly from Xugu’s vivid communication of their locomotion. We see the dozen slender figures as they flash past us, slightly out of focus due to their swift motion and the distorting effects of the water. The kinetic energy of the group as a body is what concerns Xugu most; even the pale green and blue waterweeds interspersed amongst the fish are caught up in this sweeping movement.

School of Fish

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Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 41% x 15% inches Inscription:

Dedicated to Shaomei. Xugu.

Artist’s seal:

Xugu shuhua, square, relief

Collector’s seal:

Haishang Wulin jizi Shaomeishi zhencang shuhua yin, rectangular, relief

Ming literati artists who deemed common vegetables worthy subjects for their paintings looked back to the precedent set by Song painters, whose taste, values and way of life they much admired. Later artists took delight in rendering fresh produce in the xieyi mode as a reminder that the ideal scholar cultivated his mind and spirit by leading a simple life, which included eating plain, nourishing foods. Besides their symbolic implications, the various forms of vegetables offered opportunities for “ink play” and shows of accomplishment in calligraphic brushwork. In the seventeenth century, Yun Shouping emphasized the elegant visual beauty of cabbage and radishes in neat, fluid renditions. Paintings of the same motifs by his contemporary Shitao demonstrate seemingly effortless spontaneity in the beauty of brush technique and ink tones. In Xugu’s numerous paintings of fresh produce, the subjects seem more as if they fell from heaven than sprouted out of earthly soil. Part of this exaltation of ordinary food stems from the Buddhist belief that a simple, healthful vegetarian diet purifies the mind and nurtures the spirit. Historically, even men of refinement who might not actually adhere to such a regimen often endorsed it as an ideal by painting pictures of vegetables. The monk Xugu was most probably one who did follow the dietary code of his faith. Hence the foods depicted in this painting—a head of cabbage, a squash, and a baihe lily bulb—were the stuff of his daily sustenance. The branch of blossoming plum here hints at the divine fragrance of such a healthy and simple diet. (Qi Baishi similarly juxtaposed a blossoming plum branch with vegetables in his “Plum Blossoms, Bamboo Shoots and Mushrooms,” No. 13.)

This work relates to Western still life painting because it depicts flowers and vegetables that have been removed from their natural setting. But unlike a still life, the motifs are here presented without a physical context or even the slightest hint of the surface on which they rest. Xugu leaves it to the viewer

to interpret a spatial perspective from the four elements themselves and their inter-relationships on the picture plane. Perhaps he was seeking freedom from any conventional order of measurable space.

Viewed logically, the large branch of plum blossoms might have been cut from a tree and placed on the ground with a head of cabbage resting on it. Yet at the same time, because the lower end of the bough extends off the edge of the painting, the ambiguity of its origin and position (upright or prone) supports the impossible but symbolic proposition that the cabbage floats in the air on a par with the exquisite blossoms. In fact, Chinese painters have always treated painting as a strictly two-dimensional art form. Regardless of subject, the objects painted might have depth, formal dimension and order, but the rules of perspective are traditionally disregarded. Although China’s indigenous painting tradition never embraced pure abstraction (the art of calligraphy already served that function), a certain amount of spatial ambiguity has long been considered acceptable, and even sophisticated. On a conceptual level, the leaves of the cabbage may be read as the completion of the plum

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tree, which blooms before its foliage appears. In the same vein, the squash represents the fruit aspect of the plant; the lily bulb, its root system. After the stalks of the cabbage were outlined in light ink, pale green and orange were applied to form the leafy ends. Next, Xugu brushed a wash of white pigment within the outline, and long strokes of white over the green for the veins of the leaves. The final few strands of dark ink issuing from the thick root stub provide just enough realistic detail to suggest the fresh, moist life within the cabbage. A slanted pianfeng brush lined the plum branches. For the flowers, dilute ink contours were filled with pink and white pigment. These blossoms impart the very qualities for which they are admired in China: an unsullied fragrance, delicate forms, the strong life force of tender growth in

the biting winter air. The squash is rendered in a straightforward, leisurely manner. Each brushstroke of modulated orange-brown retains its separate identity as it blends with the others in a spherical whole. Beside the squash, the baihe lily bulb is defined in quick lines of pale ink with black root hairs. These few dark touches, along with those on the cabbage root, provide the only accents of undiluted ink in an image composed entirely of soft, translucent tones.

The major contrast is between these images and the dark ink of the calligraphy, which nevertheless does not dominate the image because of its slender brushwork. Schematically, the artist’s inscription and seal merge with the plum branches as a frame for the cabbage, squash and lily bulb. The seal in the lower right corner, impressed by a collector, unfortunately occupies a vital void in the painting, and so mars the symmetry of Xugu’s original conception.

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16 WISTERIA AND GOLDFISH Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 40% x 19 inches Inscription: Artist’s seals:

Zishou jinzhang (Purple sashes and gold medals). Juefeian, Xugu. Xugu shuhua,

square, relief

(lower right) Genggeng gixin, square, relief

Collectors’ seals:

(lower left) Zhanming zhenshang, square, relief Gushi Wenzheng caicang, rectangular, relief

Xugu often selected themes conveying the symbolic meanings found in Chinese folk art. In this tradition, paintings often function as rebuses for invoking wishes for the longevity, prosperity or professional advancement of the recipient or patron. Hence the goldfish, emblem of wealth and leisure, ironically emerged as a principal subject in the repertoire of this monk artist, who himself foreswore the riches, honors and privileges of a military officer’s career to pass his days in the simple life of a monk. Fish have always fascinated the Chinese with their attractive forms, colors and easy movements through the water.

Because the Chinese word for fish, yu, sounds the same as a term

for “surplus,” fish are thought to augur good fortune and prosperity; jinyu, literally “gold fish,” thus implies the sumptuous wealth that this precious metal represents. This association as well as the decorative colors of the goldfish made it a popular subject for painting among court and scholar artists alike. Generally small in format, pictures of goldfish were usually executed in the fine brush gongbi style. A notable difference between Xugu’s paintings of this subject and those of other artists is the character of his goldfish. Upon careful examination, it becomes apparent that each of Xugu’s goldfish has a unique personality, just like the ink fish of the seventeenth century master Zhu Da. In fact, each one seems to have a sense of self-awareness, unlike real fish. Xugu’s xieyi depictions of goldfish often feature wisteria and are occasionally inscribed with a reference to Hua Yan. Zishou jinzhang (purple sashes and gold medals), the title of this work, imposes special significance on the pendant lavender blossoms and shiny golden-red fish by associating them with the trappings of honor and rank. However, in view of Xugu’s renunciation of position and material wealth, his message may be read on more than one symbolic level. While the painting was probably created with the intention of expressing hope or congratulatory wishes for a patron’s promotion, the artist was no doubt at the same time gibing himself and others for seeking satisfaction in this kind of selfish vainglory. By.;communicating on these multiple levels and working in the large hanging scroll format, Xugu turned this otherwise minor decorative subject into a profound moral statement. The fresh, glowing hues favored by nineteenth century Shanghai painters show up in the palette of this painting. Orange-red and white fish peer out of bulbous eyes of yellow tinged with green. To ensure chromatic harmony, the wisteria foliage was colored in yellow-green modulating to blue and brown, with the vine’s purple flowers omitted entirely from the scene. Pale ink mixes freely with the colors, all of which were applied with a worn brush in Xugu’s distinctive calligraphic idiom. Short, rough, light-toned ink strokes loosely outline the fish’s bodies against a pale ink wash that heightens their radiant whiteness. The horizontal pattern of the ink wash and nearly round shapes of the fish contrast with the vertical emphasis in the wisteria vine and the geometric forms of its leaves. Intersecting at sharp angles, the hanging

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branches exhibit a hardy, gnarled quality that was achieved not with a large brush in extensive meandering strokes, as seen in many works of the Jinshi school, but with a small, worn brush in short, blunt strokes of light ink overlaid

with darker ink and pale brown. Although the linework has been broken down in this way, the intense but calm concentration that went into its creation unifies the individual parts for an integrated image of a living plant. Moreover, the loose layering of ink with color in coarse brushwork captures the appearance of rough, peeling bark. The same brush used for the vine may also have served to write the inscription on the top left corner of the picture; with its rough texture and dramatic shifts from dry to wet and light to dark ink, and from wide to thin strokes, the calligraphy resembles the brushwork of the tough, old branches. Masterfully demonstrating that the subtle coloring and three-dimensionality of an object can be rendered in a single touch, the artist modeled each slightly curling leaf through expert manipulation of his blunt-tipped brush loaded with multiple color values. The resulting chromatic gradations attest to the play of light as well as to seasonal changes in the foliage, while the jagged contours accurately portray the serrated edges of wisteria leaves. Rather than acting as a backdrop for the goldfish, the vine cascades from the upper right corner like a curtain in front. But unlike a two-dimensional curtain, the tangled mass sprays forward and back in space, and so projects a

stepped recession over the water’s flat surface. Through the gaps between the lower branches, four fish may be glimpsed swimming forward in the pond, and a fifth one ahead of the others turns around to face them. The ink wash surrounding the fish indicates the shallow bottom of the clear-watered pool rather than the shadow of the plant overhead. In addition to the sparse and partially brown foliage on the vine, the painting’s crisp, cool atmosphere implies an autumn setting for the scene. Unperturbed by the cares and commotion of the outside world, the goldfish seem the epitome of tranquility in their unsullied, cool acquatic abode. In this appealing picture, with its soft

hues and sedate brushwork, Xugu makes this peaceful contentment accessible to us all.

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CAT AND CHRYSANTHEMUMS Hanging scroll, ink and light color on paper, 57% x 22% inches Inscription: Artist’s seals:

In the style of Jietaoguan. Xinmao (1891), tenth month. Xugu. Xugu shuhua, square, relief (lower right) Genggeng gixin, square, intaglio

Collector’s seal:

(lower left) Wang Jigian haiwai jian mingji, rectangular, relief

Considered pure and noble because it blooms in frosty weather, the chrysanthemum is classed as one of the Four Gentlemen. It symbolizes the character of a lofty scholar or noble lady, for it shares with them the quality of endurance in times of hardship. This appreciation of the flower for its pure,

incorruptible spirit has led it to be treated in Chinese art more like a hardy pine (as an evergreen, a symbol of endurance) than a delicate flower valued only for its outward loveliness. Throughout Chinese history artists have been drawn to the chrysanthemum as a vehicle for expressing their aesthetic principles and conception of inner beauty. The Jieziyuan huazhuan (Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual) and Shizhuzhai huapu (Ten Bamboo Studio Painting Manual), both of which were first published in the early Qing, each include a jupu, or manual on chrysanthemums, explaining in detail the different stages of growth and blooming, and methods for representing these stages in painting. Long, short, pointed and round petals are mentioned. Usually they are outlined even when they are to be filled in with a colored brushstroke, as this imparts body to the flower. Leaves are generally rendered in wash, or pomo, with veins added. The jupu discuss the different views of leaves as they turn through three dimensions, including the fact that the upper and lower surfaces of leaves are different shades.

In addition, it is noted that the artist must execute the

brushstroke in the direction of the leaf’s growth. The various component parts—petals, stems, and leaves—must then be unified into a whole and express the feeling of a flower withstanding cold weather. Finally, the plant may be growing from a pot or the ground, and may be set off by a fence or rock. Xugu, like Qi Baishi, was self-taught; the Jieziywan huazhuan probably played an important role in his training in bird-and-flower painting. A second strong influence on his approach to this genre came from the eighteenth century . Yangzhou Masters. Xugu’s floral works were always stylistically unique, however, because his brush method developed out of his training in calligraphy. In “Cat and Chrysanthemums” the flowers are adapted to the artist’s style of brushwork, instead of the brushwork conforming to the subject. The slow, engraving style petals nevertheless bring the chrysanthemums to life. Subtly outlined and touched with delicate shades of green, pink and orange, each petal appears cool and fragrant. The flowers are scattered through threedimensional space, and serve to relieve the stems’ stiffness. Short, wide strokes

(pianfeng) form the bluish-green leaves, whose hardiness reflects the character of both the chrysanthemum and the artist. The flowers and fence extend beyond the right border of the painting, creating a sense of spaciousness. Beneath the chrysanthemum sits a cat. This rendition is unusual, and at first glance, not swiftly recognizable. The intriguing combination of motifs— cat and chrysanthemum—may spring from the request of the recipient, or from Xugu’s own sense of humor. As with previous artists painting in the

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flower-and-bird genre, Xugu strove to avoid the saccharine or vulgar. He emphasized the stalwartness and freshness of the chrysanthemum, and the independence and strength of the cat, playing down both subjects’ superficial attractiveness.

In order to present the cat in this manner, Xugu abstracted its

form, posing it with its face aimed at the sky, mostly hidden from view, so that its entire shape resembles a rock. Schematically, this peculiar cat, which lacks the soft fur of most felines, is substantial enough to support the abundant blooms above, while not distracting from their beauty. Why does the cat look skyward? One possibility is that the painting is a variant on the maodie (cat and butterfly) theme.

Because the word for cat, mao,

is homophonous with

the term for 80 years old, and the word for butterfly, die, sounds the same as a term for 70 years old, renditions of a cat and butterfly present wishes that the painting’s recipient will live to a ripe old age. It may also be that the cat is simply tipping its head back to scratch its neck. Under the cat a light touch

of moss establishes a smooth, flat ground plane and ea up a little space in front of the cat and flowers. The combination of chrysanthemums with a cat whose shape suggests a rock is thematically harmonious. As the cat enjoys immortality in popular lore, its identification with a rock extends beyond form to character, and the enduring, individualistic strength of both parallels the chrysanthemum’s qualities. Such subtle yet profound philosophical content underlies the highly skilled brushwork and composition of this important masterpiece.

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Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 36 x 15% inches

Inscription:

Meishou (Long-lived as the blossoming plum).

Eighth month of renchen

(1892), Xugu.

Artist’s seals:

Xugu shuhua,

square, relief

Genggeng gixin, square, intaglio

More than any other subject in Chinese painting, landscape has long provided the imagery for the artist’s revelation of his own moral character and world view. Through his treatment of mountains, waterways, rocks, trees and

sky, the painter discloses his understanding of the cosmic forces behind all natural phenomena, and thus his vision of life in the broadest sense. Xugu may be best known for his renditions of goldfish and flowers, but landscapes also hold an essential place in his repertoire. He derived his monk’s name, Xugu, meaning “empty valley,” from a line in the Daoist text, the Daodejing.*® The ideal Confucian gentleman is expected to have a “bosom hollow as a valley” (xuhuai ruo gu) in order to receive new ideas without bias; and followers

of Buddhism likewise attempt to empty the mind in order to realize their true (or Buddha) nature. Xugu’s assumption of this appellation symbolized his renunciation of his own past, his willingness to forgive, and his commitment to cultivating a capacity to accept and remain unperturbed by whatever life might bring his way. His landscapes testify to his attainment of such a purified state of mind with their unsullied air and quiet, expansive mood. In formulating his landscape style, he looked to the works of the fourteenth century artist Ni Zan, whose river scenes illustrate similar qualities of immaculateness, serenity and spaciousness. Ni Zan’s trademark “one river, two banks” schema might have inspired

“Boating Among Plum Blossoms,” but Xugu merely borrows the earlier master’s compositional device as a scaffolding on which he constructs a monument to his own unique vision. Ink and color cover only a small percentage of the picture plane; the two wedges of land with trees and the boats are dominated by two unpainted areas representing a river and the sky. The unusually wide expanse of water, free from so much as a single wave or ripple, sets this painting apart from countless previous Chinese river scenes. While the presence of the boats confirms that the space between the two banks is water, by leaving it utterly blank the artist presents the water as a formless void which, along with the sky, contrasts with the solid objects in the picture. Empty like a valley, open and unprepossessed as the mind of a wise man, the river receives all things and yet retains its original purity and perfect calm. The vast distance separating the two shores might dissolve the landscape’s cohesiveness were it not for Xugu’s expert handling of every detail in his carefully balanced composition. The curving contour of the near shore hints that its unseen far side drops in a gentle slope down to the water. The trees confirm this downhill recession with their gradually diminishing height. Whereas the front bank thrusts downward and off the picture’s lower left border, the far strip of land fades out towards the upper right. This centrifugal

pull is redirected inward, however, by the strategic placement of the boats, the artist’s eight-character inscription, and his two square seals. Half-hidden behind trees, a sailboat floats near the foreground, its mast pointing to the opposite shore. Slightly more than midway across the water, a skiff carrying two figures enters the scene at the painting’s left edge. The positioning of this second vessel is crucial in linking the two land masses.

In addition, since it

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has not yet entered into full view, this boat extends the pictorial space beyond either of the painting’s side borders. The inscription begins at the upper right corner and stops just short of half-way down the paper, connecting sky to water. The vermilion seal that follows calls back to the boat bearing a passenger garbed in a vermilion robe. The text and seal also transfer the eye down to the front bank again, completing a circular course around a central void. By these means every element in this uncluttered landscape plays a critical role in creating a dynamically unified design. Even the seal in the bottom left counteracts the disappearance of the foreground off this lower corner; it also

announces the close of a schematic loop like a period at the end of a sentence. Trees, land, boats, text, and seals—all rotate around a great hollow core in an

endless cycle, echoing the eternal cycle represented by the taiji yinyang symbol. As yin and yang give rise to one another, existing as two mutually indispensable aspects of the whole, so, too, do substance and void offset and define one

another. Here the central core of unpainted paper does not function as a neutral or non-essential aspect of the picture. Endowed with movement and life by the concrete objects surrounding it, this void in turn breathes a cool, clean spirit into the entire landscape. This resulting spirit derives directly from the purity at the heart of Buddhist philosophy. Water and sky alike draw their distinctive character from the plum trees’ rugged, leafless branches and their sparkling white blossoms. A winter bloomer, the plum is considered the most difficult tree to paint. To render a plum forest, then, poses a formidable technical challenge. The foremost ancient master of painting wintry woods was Li Cheng (919-967), a landscapist of the Five Dynasties and early Song periods who strongly influenced later artists. Although Li Cheng’s works had become extremely rare as early as the eleventh century, he has been praised by artists and art historians throughout the thousand years since his death for his sublime brushwork and ink applications, as well as for the rich atmospheric effects he achieved in his depictions of barebranched trees. The chief difficulty of rendering a wintry forest lies in conveying the latent life force within leafless, dormant branches and aged, gnarled tree trunks. In this work, Xugu obtains this sense of life through his highly personal brushwork and subtle ink effects. His intricate tracery of dry, twisted branches ranges broadly in ink tonality and moisture. On both the near and far shores, each individual bough and twig stands out distinctly against the painting’s stark ground. At the same time, the branches create the illusion of thick growth reaching back in depth. Scattered strokes of pale ocher in the trees not only add color and density to the branches but also intensify the bright whiteness of the delicately dotted blossoms. The painting’s perspective is pingyuan, a flat vista viewed from afar. We can almost smell the flowers’ fragrance in the crisp, chilly atmosphere of late winter or early spring. The oblique ink hatching that gives shape to the faraway bank reinforces the idea of the water’s motion and therefore of flowing air currents throughout the scene. Each of these simple strokes, as well as those in the trees, boats and calligraphy, amounts to a signature identifying the inimitable style that distinguishes all of Xugu’s paintings and that made him a leading master of his time.

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Hanging scroll, ink and light color on paper, 40% x 17% inches

Inscription: Artist’s seal:

Third month, spring, guisi (1893), Xugu, in the style of Jietaoguan. Xugu changle, square, intaglio

The unfettered naturalism and vitality pervading Xugu’s paintings testify not only to his keen observation, but also to his personal identification with the flora and fauna around him. His sobriquet, Juanhao, meaning “Weary Crane,” and his frequent choice of the squirrel as the center of interest in his pictures suggest his fondness for these creatures as well as his veneration for their gentle, innocent character. Dwelling peacefully in the forest, uncorrupted by human civilization, content just to have their bellies full, these animals symbolized for Xugu the purity of mind, the freedom of spirit to which he himself aspired. A late example of Xugu’s work,

“Squirrel, Pine and Autumn

Leaves”

presents an intimate view of a squirrel as it climbs up a hanging pine bough. Pictured with anatomical realism, the rodent proceeds somewhat cautiously with its back arched and extended tail curled slightly upward. Its coat of fur is full and bushy in contrast to the matted appearance it has when the animal crawls downward. A further indication of motion may be noted in the eyes, each of which consists of a single spearhead-shaped stroke of the brush. Like the squirrel, the clustered pine branches which cascade from the top of the painting were executed in ink only. Long irregular lines represent thin

but strong boughs, their endings reworked with the brush in imitation of the sac-like thickening where needles form. Although the branches fall in seeming disorder, each appears distinct, except in small areas where ink wash breaks

the monotony which might otherwise result from the repetition of the straight needles. In a bold step that disregards the true downward growth pattern of pine needles, Xugu has turned his needles upward for the sake of schematic rhythm and balance. Countering the downward thrust of the heavy boughs, the foliage springs upward in imitation of the climbing squirrel. By taking the liberty of altering nature for visual effect, the artist has defied one of the most fundamental principles of his artistic heritage. Still, the thin, parched lines, each charged with a subtle tension, are convincing as the spiky leaves of the conifer, and their unnatural direction has been handled with such ease that this deviation from reality might escape notice in an initial viewing of the work. To enrich one of his favorite thematic combinations, Xugu added a few straggly blue stems of a vine sparsely endowed with orange-colored leaves. This lighter plant, picked up by a breeze, reinforces the elements of movement and atmosphere, while its autumnal hues disclose the time setting for the scene. Such lush growth abounds in the moist climate of the countryside surrounding Suzhou. The manner of the artist’s inscription, at once dry, spindly and resilient, complements the brushwork of the pine needles. Its placement along the upper left edge of the painting echoes the pendant formation of both plants’ branches. This mixing of written text with pictorial elements as integral parts of a whole dates back to Shitao and his followers. As was his custom on portrayals of squirrels, Xugu has named Hua Yan as the stylistic source for this work. Actually, however, he departs radically from the eighteenth century master in technical as well as conceptual terms.

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Wholly Xugu’s own are the spirit of untamed innocence and nobility embodied in the squirrel, and the fresh, limpid air emanating from the pine. Much of this painting’s expression comes to us not through sensory or cognitive channels, but through the faculty of intuition. By casting this glimpse of the animal kingdom through the filter of his personal insights, the artist provides us with an experience more vivid and moving than what our own limited senses might perceive in an encounter with the real thing. Here, in its complete freedom from restraint of any kind, Xugu’s brush has traced a direct path to

beauty—a beauty most rare for its clarity and power.

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Album of ten leaves Ink and color on paper, 12%4 x 16%4 inches each leaf

CHRYSANTHEMUMS Inscription:

Artist’s seal:

Huanlai jiu juhua (I'll come again for your chrysanthemum wine). Juanhao, Xugu.

Xugu shuhua, square, relief

Paintings of chrysanthemums growing along a bamboo fence (fences in China are invariably built of bamboo) usually allude to one of the greatest Chinese poets of all time, Tao Yuanming, and his masterpiece, “Drinking Wine” (Yinjiu), which reads in part: Picking chrysanthemums along the eastern fence, I chance to see the southern mountains.

An artist who paints this subject for presentation to a friend expresses his admiration for the recipient’s pure, scholarly character, like that of Tao Yuanming. Although this album leaf by Xugu draws on this theme, the inscription quotes another poet, Meng Haoran.

The phrase which serves as

the title of this painting is a fragment of this Tang writer’s “Stopping by an Old Friend’s Farm” (Guo guren zhuang): Fixing chicken and rice, old friend,

You welcome me to your farm. Green trees encircle the village, Blue mountains past its outskirts incline. Opening your studio window over field and garden, We grasp our cups, talk mulberry and hemp. Then wait till the Double Ninth Festival,

I'll come again for your chrysanthemum wine.”

Xugu’s reference to this poem broadens the original message of the subject matter to embrace warm feelings of friendship. In this work, the artist passes far beyond realistic representation, beyond technical finish, even beyond the limits of personal style. For the artifice of outward appearances, of method, of personality, have all become obsolete to his art. Now fully in command of his creative resources, he plays at painting, indifferent to result, harboring no purpose other than to allow his innermost feelings to flow out unimpeded through his brush onto the paper before him. Nor is beauty, in the common sense of the word, sought after here. Painting with artless abandon, Xugu shows he has arrived at a state of selflessness, a

way of being that is the keynote of Chan practice. Tumbling down the side of a low fence, the leaves and flowers of a chrysanthemum plant fall in disarray from the upper edge of the painting without any apparent attempt by the artist to arrange them in a pleasing manner. Two full blooms near the center of the composition attract immediate attention, one viewed full-face and the other from the side. Also turned to one

side are three more flowers in various stages of opening. The ink outlines of the petals, forming crescent and elliptical shapes, are brushed with no care for exactitude: the two lines describing each petal either do not meet at the tip or cross over each other.

Moreover, the ink of the linework shifts in tone and

moistness, now blurred and gray, now sharp and black. Apparently careless,

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these effects actually inject a sense of animation into the growing flowers, and cause their different parts to move in and out of focus as they would in a real visual experience. The vivid red color applied in small daubs at the centers of the two main blooms is watered down to pale pink in their outer parts as well as in the other flowers. But while the flowers bespeak the freshness of new growth, the leaves show later stages of life as they fade and wither in muted hues of yellowish-brown and gray. Their individual forms are obscured by the absence of outline, their piled placement, and loose, easy brushwork. However, their basic angularity emerges and harmonizes with the sharppointed flower petals and the intersecting lines of their bamboo prop. Just below, light green and yellow-brown patches symbolize weeds or moss, yet no hint of a ground plane or spatial recession is provided. This omittance of setting, typical within the Chinese tradition, allows the viewer to complete the picture within his mind, and places the painted subjects in the nonparticularizing context of the universal. Just as the composition and configuration of the parts are taken to the extreme of informality, the brush technique in this work replaces Xugu’s previous calligraphic idiom with a wholly leisurely, spontaneous method that can hardly be classified as a method or style. This painting thus presents a semi-abstract image that conveys not an illusion of concrete reality but rather a subtle suggestion of the underlying forces of growth and decay in nature. And to Xugu, an important aspect of these natural processes was the creative act in itself. Gone are his eye-catching contrasts in color, ink tone, texture and shape; diffused is his passion for artistic beauty. Here, nature, art and artist are one, and distinctions between concrete and abstract, tangible and spiritual,

dissolve, with the very evanescence of the flowers evoking eternity. Xugu’s painting dates to the last few years of his life when he was in his seventies. A product of what the Chinese would call his “ripe” (shu) or mature period, it is nevertheless also what is termed “raw” (sheng), connoting an unaffected,

boldly original, unlabored expression. Such expression, the highest ideal of Chinese painting, is the essence of Xugu’s art.

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SQUIRREL ON A BAMBOO Inscription: Artist’s seal:

BRANCH

In the style of Jietaoguan. Xugu. Xugu shuhua,

square, relief

The layout of this album leaf painting follows the traditional Chinese approach in which the pictorial elements are not bound to the inscription for

compositional balance. Were the artist’s brief remark and signature omitted, this work would still appear complete, despite the inclusion of only a squirrel and a few branches of bamboo in the picture. Bamboo has long been one of the most beloved plants of scholars in China because it symbolizes the gentlemanly virtues. As an evergreen it stands for endurance; the hollow center of the stems is a metaphor for a scholar’s openmindedness; and the Chinese word for the stems’ joints, jie, also means

fidelity or purity. Bamboo appeared in pictorial art as early as the sixth century, and after it reached a peak in popularity among both literati and court painters during the Song period, it maintained its prominence in artistic repertoires through modern times (see “Green Bamboo,” No. 8). Two features differentiate this depiction of bamboo from most others.

Firstly, the variety seen here appears to be maozhu. Used for making brushes and as a medicinal herb, maozhu is also distinguished from common bamboo by its smaller size, its narrower, drier leaves, and the leaf-like sheath around

the joints of its stems.

Secondly, the outline technique which Xugu has

employed does not occur in Chinese paintings of bamboo as often as the ink silhouette method. Moreover, the conventional use of either plain ink outline or ink outline filled with color has been modified here by an inventive application of blue, green, or blue-green stripes lengthwise within the contours of the leaves. A touch of pale brown added at the tips of some leaves suggests the brittleness of maozhu.

Because the two lines defining each leaf, executed

with the brush held upright, extend slightly beyond the leaves’ tips, a feeling of natural roughness further enlivens the plant. The long, slender forms of the foliage dart through space in all directions like so many miniature swords, their soft rustling in the wind almost audible to our ears. Two main stems entering the picture from the right edge and dropping toward the lower left intersect with several branches hanging down from the top. However, in a characteristic schematic twist, Xugu centers the squirrel right on this crossing. Crouched over, its tail extended straight back, the animal seems to be steadying itself as the bamboo bends under the weight of its body. Because it sits still, the squirrel’s grey and brown fur stands on end, exposing the muscle structure beneath. In an almost comic manner, the animal sticks its

bright red tongue out in readiness to lick up the dew which clings to the leaves. Typically enough, the inscription in the artist’s own brand of running script declares Hua Yan the model for this squirrel. But, as with Xugu’s other versions of this subject, such a humble acknowledgement hardly accounts for his unique creation. In describing a small corner of nature so intimately and succinctly, Xugu directs our awareness to something beyond the forms themselves, even beyond words or logical analysis. By focusing on the essential aspects of the squirrel and bamboo, the painting enhances our ability to apprehend the vital forces within all things and expands our capacity to penetrate the great mystery of the cosmos.

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PLUM BLOSSOMS Inscription:

Artist’s seal:

Guxi.

Xugu.

Xugu shuhua, square, relief

Of the hundreds of varieties of plum grown in China, many are bred for their flowers alone. Plum trees bloom in an assortment of colors: white, pink,

red, orange, yellow, and green. Some types bloom in winter as early as the end of the eleventh lunar month, others in spring as late as the end of the second month. During the cold season in traditional Chinese society, when families enjoyed a respite from the toil of the fields, they busied themselves

with festivals and preparations for the New Year’s celebrations. At this time, every home was brightened by branches of blossoming plum set out in meiping,

vases made especially to hold these flowers. Fancy names such as “ink plum” and “lichee plum” added to the charm of the different varieties. Even in the Tang dynasty, households competed to display the most exotic kind in their garden or home. Year after year through the centuries, plum blossoms have enlivened winter and welcomed spring with their incomparable beauty and fragrance. Painted floral scenes of the Tang period often include plum blossoms. Rendered in the exacting brush techniques of the gongbi mode, the flowers were first outlined, then filled with color wash or white powder. Outline, fine texture strokes, and color or ink wash define the plum branches and trunk. In the Song dynasty, numerous artists excelled in painting plum blossoms in this meticulous and colorful style; among them was the talented Huizong emperor.

The practice of outlining the flower petals continued with the emergence of the xieyi mode. Although the xieyi approach replaces the strict realism of gongbi painting with expressive brushwork and rich ink effects, the xieyi artist must always remain faithful to natural appearances. In the case of the blossoming plum, this involves including five petals for each bloom, properly shaping and proportioning each petal, and clearly distinguishing fully- and half-opened flowers from new buds. Finally, petals, stamens, sepals, and stems must form an organic unit that quivers with life. Every aspect of the picture he intends to create must exist in the artist’s mind before he begins to paint plum blossoms; only in this way will the painting project a unified and natural feeling. In addition to deciding the questions of composition and technique, the artist must also settle on a specific type of plum tree, a particular stage of its blooming season, a time of day (plum blossoms under moonlight are a common theme), and the number and position of old branches, which bear relatively few blossoms, in relation to young branches with their dense florescence. Xugu’s classical artistic training set him on firm footing for painting plum blossoms in a variety of traditional manners. His fellow artists in Yangzhou, including Wu Xizai and Chen Zhao, were masters of the outline (shuanggou) method of flower painting, and no doubt spurred Xugu’s success in applying this technique to plum blossoms. Later, as a student of Chan Buddhism probing the true nature of his own being, Xugu gained insights into the essence of art. As a result of this experience and long years of practice and experimentation, his plum blossoms, whether “boneless” or outlined, illustrate his strongly individualistic vision. In this painting, the irregular outlines of the flower petals give the blossoms both vitality and an unconventional character. Their unusual pale orange hue maintains a uniform shade on all the blooms, while the stems,

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diversity in shape and were applied in a loose, carefree manner. Larger ink dots representing young shoots further punctuate the image. The twigs and branches vary in breadth; the dryness and tone of their ink ranges broadly.

The brushwork of the larger branches proceeds slowly with intermittent pauses wherein the brush was turned toward a new direction. At certain points the hairs of the tuft were allowed to separate to create the streaked effect of “flying white.” From the main bough, extending from the right to the left edge of the picture, thin twigs jut abruptly upward. Patterned on the same general schema that he used for many of his other plum blossom paintings, this composition contrasts two sparse groups of branches on one side with one busy cluster on the other. The arrangement of the branches seems as unruly and uncontrived as natural growth; little more than intersecting lines, the branches nevertheless

disclose their relative positions in three-dimensional space. The sharp angles of the linework impart the hardy, vigorous life force that enables this tree not just to endure, but to bloom in harsh conditions. Quickly drawn, yet demonstrating remarkable control and fluency, the outlines of the flower petals reflect a background of rigorous and prolonged training. The expression here surpasses a mere feat of skill, flowing directly out of Xugu’s deeply felt response to the noble spirit of plum blossoms. The maturity evident in this painting’s brushwork is confirmed by the title the artist inscribed on its left edge. Guxi, literally meaning “old-rare,” refers to a phrase from a poem by the Tang dynasty poet Du Fu (713-770), ren sheng gishi gulai xi, meaning “from ancient times, those who live to be 70 years of age are rare.”*° Xugu undoubtedly meant for this phrase to describe both the plum tree and himself. The inscription on this leaf therefore provides a clue as to the date of the album to which it belongs. As he grew older Xugu felt that life, like the plum blossoms, only became more fragrant.

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Zishou jinzhang (Purple sashes and gold medals). Xugu. Xugu shuhua, square, relief

Despite the abundance of fish paintings that Xugu produced, no two turned out exactly alike. In fact, out of his prolonged repetition of this theme there emerged a stylistic evolution that finally culminated in a major contribution to fish painting within traditional Chinese art. Most artists of the past who specialized in water scenes employed a decorative brush style with washes of brilliant colors for eye-pleasing results. A few painters used ink alone in more scholarly renditions of fish; among these, Zhu Da reigns supreme for his spare, descriptive brushwork and the unique, almost human character of each of his fish. Two centuries later, Xugu surpassed Zhu Da with his lively creatures fashioned out of color and ink in a literati brush mode. Attractive to the eye as well as stimulating to the mind, Xugu’s fish are further enhanced by the symbolic significance that they held for him. Xugu presented his goldfish in various formats and compositions. Although he sometimes portrayed a group of fish alone or with another plant such as blossoming plum, he usually favored wisteria. Most often the vine hangs down from the top of the painting, as seen in the present example. This wisteria plant grows in a tangle of branches and leaves, with just two or three clusters of pendant purple blossoms. Extending all the way across the upper portion of the paper and continuing off either side, this partial view of the vine suggests its massive, flourishing growth far beyond the borders of the painted image. Instead of a ground plane on which various objects are shown to recede in depth, the climbing plant acts like the roof of a tunnel through which three fish are seen to pass. The swimming creatures move freely in the open, unpainted space representing clear water beneath the heavy profusion of greenery. For within this dense network of branches, foliage and flowers, a natural order prevails. Angular crossings among the tenacious old boughs and vigorous young trailers complement the squared shapes of the leaves and the rectangular brushstrokes of the blossoms. Calligraphic technique characterizes the coarse lines of the branches as well as the leaves, each of

which is modelled with a single stroke of color. To indicate changes in light and different stages of growth, the foliage ranges in hue from dark to pale green and yellowish-brown, sometimes modulating within solitary leaves or brushstrokes.

The fine linework of the leaves’ veins, like the broader lines of

the branches, derives directly from Xugu’s distinctive handwriting style as illustrated in the upper left corner of this work. And like the foliage, the individual blossoms display subtle shifts in color, including several shades of purple and lavender, white, and even small touches of red.

Heavier red appears in the fish, especially the two placed towards the upper right. One is viewed from above: outlined in pale, thin strokes of dry ink, its white body and tail set off the crimson stripe down its back. The fish to its lower right poses on its side, its entire back emblazoned with curved strokes of red that meld into a solid block of graded color. Diluted red applied in one sweeping brushstroke composes the tail of this fish. The patch on the back of the third fish is dulled to a ruddy brown, perhaps because it lies in the shade of low-hanging leaves. This more neutral hue serves to link the three fish with the brown passages in the plant above. By relating the separate colors in this way, and more importantly by setting them down according to the expressive discipline of calligraphy, Xugu elevates the role of vivid color

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within the scholarly tradition of xieyi painting. Rather than confining his palette to soft or muted shades that defer to the more highly esteemed nuances of ink, he treats color and ink as equals in their potential for rich tonal and textural effects. Due to constant alternations in brush technique and to the unifying rhythms generated through the use of semi-geometric shapes, this painting transcends the immediate appeal of its picturesque subject matter. Because of the quality of self-contained strength in every touch of the brush, the image gives the impression of being much larger than its actual dimensions. Carried out in the spirit of a sacred ceremony that combines solemn reverence with heart-felt rejoicing, this work celebrates both the seasonal rebirth of nature and the awakening of the human mind to its inherent spiritual wisdom.

Wisteria and Goldfish

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DELICACIES Inscription: Artist’s seal:

RAPA Sie ee aNRGisS

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FROM THE LAKE

Huzhong fengwei (Delicacies from the lake). Xugu. Xugu shuhua, square, relief

Although the red lotus was long thought to have been introduced to China from India, it is now believed that this may be true only for the white lotus. The red lotus is native to China, and this large flower’s dramatic emergence from murky waters inspired Buddha himself to make it a metaphor for the rising of a pure, enlightened mind out of the world of ignorance and confusion. Yet the value of this plant is not limited to its blooms (lianhua).

Farmers in China grow lotus for its edible seeds (lianzi) and roots (actually stems, ou). The seed pods (lianfang), leaves, and other parts of the plant have their own uses as well.

Like a bamboo stalk, the fibrous root of the lotus is

segmented and hollow, but the multiple holes running through it produce a design in its cross-section resembling a cartwheel. Long silken threads (s7 ) inside its tissue hold together when the root is broken apart. Ou is homophonous with a term for “mate,” thus the puns on ou and si in the aphorism ou duan si lian , or “When the couple is separated, their affection still binds them.” Qi Baishi once inscribed a painting of lotus roots with a similar sentiment: “When the ties of affection are long, they never break” (Qingsi chang er buduan).” Lotuses would have been a common sight around Xugu’s temple home near Suzhou. He may have dined on them frequently, since various parts of this plant are included in the Buddhist vegetarian diet. Even the metaphorical meaning of the seeds (offspring) and roots (mate) could apply to the life of a monastic. When he enters a Buddhist order, a novice cuts his ties to people and things of the secular world. He is like the lotus root that has been neatly sliced, threads and all. And although he does not raise a family, the monk’s ethical conduct and charitable deeds sow the seeds of universal love, peace

and wisdom. Perhaps on some level, such symbolism inspired Xugu when he painted in this album leaf three slices of lotus root and three seed-laden pods bound together with string. These two subjects are a study in contrasts of form and substance. The root sections appear in fine, pale ink outline with pale color wash. Their pierced planar conformations draw attention to the volume and abundant content of the seed pods, depicted in mugu (“boneless”) technique. Arranged informally, as if awaiting further preparation on a kitchen cutting board, the roots and pods lie at the upper left corner of the painting, making a top-heavy composition. In the lower left quarter of the work are seven or eight water caltrops (lingjiao). A few more rest in the upper right corner near the lotus stems. Deep red melts into pale pink and white in carefully shaped brushstrokes that suggest the cusped configurations of this fruit. Found in

many lakes and ponds in China’s countryside, the water caltrop retains its pink hue for only a brief time after it is plucked from its aquatic home. These fresh samples, with their tender olive green tips, reverse the seed pods’ chromatic balance of green washes with pink accents. In the absence of lotus flowers, the delicate caltrops evoke the sight of fallen blossoms floating on water.

There is reverence in Xugu’s treatment of these plants, though they may have become ingredients in a meal he consumed right after completing this painting. Whether viewed as delectable edibles, as intriguing botanical specimens, or as symbols of spiritual concepts, the subjects of this still life

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represent the beauty of fresh, wholesome food and of the wondrously varied — forms found in the vegetable kingdom. Roots that grow in a lake’s bottom, fruits that rest upon the water’s surface, seeds that rise above the water, then

fall back into the depths to renew the life cycle—all these levels of existence have their value, Xugu seems to say. For to the Buddhist, all things and experiences, no matter how ordinary, provide material for insight into our own true nature.

Delicacies from the Lake

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SIX PEACHES Inscription: Artist’s seal:

Juanhao painted [this] “from life.” Xugu changle, square, intaglio

During the Southern Song period, the Chan monk-painter Mugi (Fachang, active ca. 1180) executed a remarkably simple ink painting of “Six Persimmons.” Since this masterpiece was taken to Japan shortly after its completion, the impact it exerted on subsequent artists was felt in Japan rather than in China. In recent years this painting has been widely published,’ and it is universally appreciated for its ingenious composition and condensed, spontaneous expression. Tremendous power and subtlety informs both the brushwork defining the fruits and their tightly structured organization. Five persimmons appear in a neat row, each with its stem directed straight up. The large middle fruit, composed of dark ink tones, is the picture’s focal point. Medium values “color” the persimmons to either side of the central one, and those on the extreme ends consist of nothing more than a pale ink outline. The two fruits on the left side, overlapping slightly, are separated from the group of three on the right by a precisely measured gap. Directly below this gap stands a sixth persimmon, providing both a break in the monotony of the flush row above and a suggestion of three-dimensional space. Furthermore, this lower fruit completes the set of three on the left, establishing a schematic balance between the two groupings. With its bold forms, strong symmetry, and “still life’ arrangement on an implied ground plane, this painting readily appeals to Western sensibilities. Still, Mugi’s statement springs directly from his native artistic and philosophic heritage. In particular, this work expresses the cultivated calm that is central to Chan practice. Its monochrome palette and evocative use of unpainted paper, as well as the abstract value of its brushwork, epitomize the subtle sense of quiescence and eternity in Song period taste. Along with Su Dongpo, Mi Fei, Liang Kai (active ca. 1201-1204) and other Song artists, Muqi laid the basis for the literati mode of painting (wenrenhua), which eventually developed a highly refined aesthetic code focusing on calligraphic brushwork and ink effects. Six hundred years after Muqi created his “Six Persimmons,” the Chan monk-painter Xugu painted “Six Peaches.” Like his twelfth century counterpart, Xugu depicted a wide range of subjects but reached some of his greatest artistic heights with his renditions of fruit. The Buddhist vegetarian diet may be symbolized by various fruits, among which the peach is considered to be especially nourishing and balanced in its content of yin and yang properties. The peach carries numerous mythological and religious associations. Folk images often feature the God of Longevity issuing from a giant peach, and it is supposedly by partaking of this fruit that the immortals attain eternal life. A chief figure in popular Daoism, Xiwangmu (Queen Mother of the West), has a peach tree in her palace garden that blooms only once in three thousand years and bears fruit another three thousand years later. Sun Wukong, the heroic Monkey King and Buddhist sage in the popular novel, Xiyouji (Journey to the West), gained his immortality when he stole and ate a peach from Xiwangmu’s sacred tree. In this painting, Xugu organizes six peaches in two groups and suspends them in a void just as Muqi did with persimmons, but Xugu eschews any suggestion of a ground plane or a single focal point. He follows the mainstream of his native artistic tradition by declining to limit his subject matter to a specific perspective or setting. This frees him to fashion and distribute his

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subjects in space as he pleases, provided they retain the essential character of peaches. The three peaches on the right are placed in a circle with their pink, pointed ends towards the center and their stems and leaves fanning outward. To the left, three fruits overlap one another with their stems pointing upward. This closer-knit, leafless group by itself would be insufficient to counter the impact of the peaches on the right, but the four characters written in the upper left corner rectify the imbalance. In fact, the artist’s inscription (and, to a lesser extent, his seal) serves as an indispensible component of the painting’s design. The fluid running script thickens and thins out in leaf-like formations, and trails in dry, slender strands similar to the strokes of the peach stems. The ink of the calligraphy also parallels the stems and leaves with its shifts in tone and moisture, including crusty passages of “flying white,” wherein the brush hairs are allowed to separate and form streaks of ink. The brushstrokes in the text and peaches alike project an engraved feeling, a prime characteristic of the Jinshi school of painting. In addition to this “engraved” brushwork and the vital role of the inscription in the composition, another feature of this painting clearly identifies it as a product of the nineteenth century. Utilizing an important advance in literati art of the 1800s, Xugu supplements his modulation of ink tones with a skillful application of graded color values using calligraphic brushwork. This technique not only introduces a new aesthetic element, but also transmits the inherent qualities of peaches that Xugu wishes to convey. The colors (scarlet fading to pink, and yellow-green with tinges of blue) demonstrate an updated version of the “boneless” method. Instead of building the form of a peach by a gradual build-up of color washes, Xugu sets down his colors in brushstrokes disciplined by the techniques of writing. And as in the ink of the leaves, stems, and inscription, the tone of a given color changes within a single brushstroke.

Each transition in value or tint, in moisture or texture, results

from disciplined control over the distribution of color and water in the brush, and the speed, pressure and gesture of every touch. The red portions of the peaches show exceptional command of sophisticated brush technique. The rich harmonies produced by the juxtaposition and subtle blending of the scarlet and green hues leave no doubt that these fruits are ripe, plump, and juicy; yet somehow we are not moved to reach out and take them for the eating. These peaches might be food for the altar, but for mortals they are embodiments of sensitivity and serenity, meant to feast not the body but the soul.

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GRAPES AND PEARS Inscription: Artist’s seal:

In the style of Kugua Heshang.

Xugu.

Xugu shuhua, square, relief

Grapes were prized for their sweet delectibility in China as early as the third century B.C., as evidenced by the inclusion of this fruit in the Shen Nong bencao (Shen Nong’s Herbal), a text dating to the Qin dynasty. The illustrious prime minister Cao Cao (155-220 A.D.) so loved eating grapes that he used them to concoct a wine which he claimed allowed for a quicker recovery from its effects than did rice wine. During the Tang dynasty, Middle Eastern methods of fermenting grapes for wine became widely adopted in China. Praises to this red-hued liquor were intoned by many poets of this era, including Wang Han (active early eighth century) in his Liangzhou ci: Wine of the grape from cups that glow in the night— We long to drink but the pipa ” urgently summons. If we lie drunk on the battlefield, don’t mock us, friend:

Since the old days, how many fighters have ever returned?”

Shortly after the Tang dynasty, grape wine all but disappeared from the Chinese diet. Still, fresh grapes continued to be consumed, and artists since Song times delighted in depicting this fruit growing on the vine. Among the literati masters of the Southern Song who excelled in this subject, the monk painter Wen Riguan (active ca. 1230-1294) won the most fame. Nicknamed Wen Putao, or Wen of the Grapes, he applied his skill as a calligrapher to rendering ink grapes that seemed round as pearls, with rough leaves that were compared to the tattered clothing of a mendicant monk. His technique influenced the grape paintings of Chen Shun, Xu Wei and Yun Shouping, which were in turn followed by some of the Yangzhou Masters of the eighteenth century.

Xugu seldom observed the time-honored custom of inscribing on a painting the name of a previous artist who had inspired him. Since he had lived in Yangzhou for some time as a young man, he naturally absorbed the influence of Shitao and Hua Yan, two masters who had also made that city their home. Kugua Heshang (“bitter melon monk”) was Shitao’s Buddhist appellation. One of the most original painters of his time, he depicted fresh fruits and vegetables in addition to landscapes and flowers. Although Xugu | notes his indebtedness to this seventeenth century artist on this painting of grapes and pears, he also practices Shitao’s belief that ancient models should be studied and then not imitated, but transformed into a personal style. For while Xugu borrows motifs from Shitao and shares his deep appreciation for the rich colors and forms of common fresh produce, the manner in which Xugu presents the fruits in this work is wholly his own. The simplicity of the subjects’ shapes posed a challenge to the painter’s ingenuity in arranging them in a striking and balanced design. Xugu’s solution was to start with an upright pear near the bottom edge, add two inverted pears to the left, then one upright pear to the right. Except for the first one, the pears all tilt toward the right, where a bunch of grapes emerges from beneath a canopy of leaves. All the fruits appear on a blank ground without modeling or precise clues to their positions within three dimensional space. Aside from a rudimentary suggestion of a flat surface and depth established

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by the overlapping sequence of pears beginning with the one standing in front, the criteria underlying the composition of this work differ from those relating to a Western still life. Most important to the Chinese eye is a feeling of naturalness in the layout of a painting. Xugu’s fruits seem to have been set down casually, as if they had just been picked. But behind this apparently accidental arrangement, line, shape and unpainted voids work together to create a cohesive equilibrium based on linear rhythms, repetition, spatial tensions and directional thrusts that could hardly occur by serendipity. Moreover, even in the album leaf format, the artist’s inscription and seals play a significant part in the schematic balance. The fresh look of the leaves on the grape branch announces the brief time that these fruits have been separated from their sources. In the foliage we witness the artist’s proficiency at employing pomo or “splashed ink.” Wielding the brush at a slant, he obtained an impressive array of modulations in ink tones and moistness. The leaves’ rough quality finds further expression in the contours

of the fruits.

Xugu’s trademark

outline technique—dry,

sketchy,

broken, angular—imbues the pears in particular with an aesthetic which the Chinese call “raw” (sheng). Washed in yellow, the pears derive some degree

of palpability from light ink mottlings. The sprig of grapes shows several bare twigs, suggesting that some of the succulent fruits have already been plucked and eaten. Thin blue color mixes unevenly with red-violet within the light ink oulines of the grapes. These circles are transformed into spheres by the addition

of a single black dot or hook to each one. Poised lightly in space, the pears and grapes appeal less to the taste buds than to the mind and spirit. Instead of capitalizing on the roundness of the subjects, especially the graceful curves of the pears, Xugu has served up an unexpected twist in his rendition of form. In their tenuous, squared contours and translucent hues, the fruits tend toward abstraction and insubstantiality.

They seem suspended in a reality all their own, calling into question the meaning of “reality” as commonly conceived. Yet this image is not remote; in a quietly powerful way, it restores our capacity to savor the loveliness of nature in the rough, in its ceaseless process of becoming.

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Dashou (Great longevity). Xugu. Xugu shuhua, square, relief

The turtle held an honored place in ancient Chinese culture. Symbol of winter, the north, and longevity, it was one of four animals believed to possess unusual spiritual powers. (The other three were the dragon, phoenix, and unicorn.*') In the Shang and Zhou dynasties, tortoise shells were set on the altars of worship as sacred implements; they were also employed by shamans in rites of divination. Some of the oldest specimens of Chinese writing known to exist are engravings on animal bones and tortoise shells. The discovery at the turn of the century of these “oracle bone inscriptions,” dating to the second millenium B.c., provided essential data on the origins of the Chinese written language. Despite its auspicious beginnings in Chinese history, however, the turtle assumed some negative associations during the Ming period. This reptile’s reputation for promiscuity, along with its seemingly cowardly habit of hiding inside its shell, explains the use of its name in two abusive terms, one referring to a cuckold, the other to illegitimate offspring. Emperor Yongle (reigned 1403-1425) went so far as to issue an edict in 1413 assigning the latter term to be the official designation for all children born to prostitutes. Still, because of its ancient symbolism and links with the divine, and also because of the traits of patience and perseverance observed in its slow, plodding movements, the tortoise continued to be revered as a noble creature. Folk tales and literature helped to preserve the favorable view of this animal. The philosopher Zhuangzi, writing in the fourth century B.c., pointed to the tortoise as an example of how human beings might live in harmony with nature. In his Qiushui (Floods of Autumn), he tells of two high-ranking ministers from the court of the king of Chu who approached Zhuangzi as he was fishing one day. Delivering a message from the king, the officials asked Zhuangzi if he would be willing to take charge of the entire kingdom of Chu. Zhuangzi continued to hold his fishing rod without moving, and said, “I have heard in Chu there is a divine shell of a tortoise that died at the age of 3,000 years, which the king keeps wrapped in a cloth inside a bamboo case placed in a high spot in his ancestral temple. Now, as for this tortoise: would it have preferred to have died in order to leave its shell to be thus honored, or would

it have preferred to live and keep on dragging its tail through the mud?” The two ministers answered, “It would have preferred to live and drag its tail through the mud.” Zhuangzi said, “Then go. I shall keep on dragging my tail through the mud.”” As a Chan Buddhist monk, Xugu would have appreciated the lesson of this story, since the development of Chan in China was profoundly influenced by Zhuangzi’s Daoist philosophy. In addition to the turtle’s connotations of longevity and perseverance, Xugu would have admired this animal as a humble creature content to live its unglamorous existence in accordance with nature.

Little wonder, then, that he painted this subject during the last few years of his life, after he had renounced his own ambitions for glory and fame, and discovered the spiritual freedom that comes with the abandonment of desire. In this album leaf painting entitled “Great Longevity,” two turtles crawl along some fallen leaves in an otherwise blank setting. The slight overlap of their two massive oval shells joins them into a single cohesive compositional unit. Flowing circular movements within this unit are generated by the

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rounded contours of the tortoises’ bodies as well as the curving gestures of their heads and feet.

Roundness occurs in the third dimension as well, with

the suggestion of the shells’ convexity. These curving formations counter the pentagonal and hexagonal designs of the multi-faceted armor. The soft, fleshy heads and legs also contrast with the horn-like material of the shells. The sturdy, rough ink lines delineating the shells resemble the brushwork of Xugu’s calligraphy. Gripping his brush shaft firmly in an upright position, and wielding it slowly and deliberately along the paper, the artist followed a discipline similar to that required for writing seal script. The likeness of these strokes to chiseled stone characterizes the shells as hard and unyielding, while patches of diluted ink provide their mottled markings. The pale blue-green of the animals’ heads and daubs of vermilion in their eyes match the slender leaves beneath them. Each leg is described with a single stroke of dark ink so carefully that, in the tortoise on the left, the front leg appears to push the front of its body up, and the hind legs seem extended back as if thrusting the body forward. The toes, added on individually, and the one stroke representing the tail, contribute to the quality of animation in the two reptiles. In his spare and quietly compelling manner, Xugu captures a pair of tortoises going about their daily lives in their natural habitat, perhaps beside a river or pond. And even while he pays admirable attention to realistic detail, he takes full advantage of the adaptability of his subject’s form to his personal brush style. But this painting is more than a naturalistic study of two reptiles executed with a measure of artistic flair. For Xugu brings us into the turtles’ own world, a world that is oblivious to the extremes of exaltation and disgrace that human civilization has at different times projected upon them. Like Zhuangzi, Xugu deemed no living thing, great or small, unworthy of reverence; to him, all creatures are equally capable of revealing the beauty and wisdom of nature.

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LOQUATS Inscription: Shujie baozhen (Trees produce treasures). Xugu. Artist’s Seal:

Xugu shuhua, square, relief

Collector’s seal:

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Inscription:

Artist’s seal:

Cao Zhongying shending zhenpin zhi yin, rectangular, relief

Shujie baozhen (Trees produce treasures). Xugu.

Xugu changle, square, intaglio

In his later years, Xugu resided mainly in Shanghai. At that time the city was a “treaty port,” where foreign merchants were free to engage in unrestricted trade. Beginning in 1843, this small town grew almost overnight into a major metropolis where Western and Chinese businessmen built fast fortunes and had their every need served by large numbers of relocated Chinese peasants and laborers. In the midst of its stark contrasts of indigenous and foreign, traditional and modern, rich and poor, Xugu stood apart. The city was a source of companionship, intellectual stimulation, and artistic challenge for him. But as a monk he no doubt felt keenly aware of the futility of people’s

incessant struggle for wealth and security. And as an artist he beheld nature as a vast storehouse of treasures that are available to all, though not through consumption or possession. Buddhism cultivates an attitude of wonder toward all phenomena, each of which is but a temporary manifestation of a timeless, spaceless reality. Only a personal realization of this deeper reality can bring true contentment.

This philosophy shaped Xugu’s mature artistic style, and it finds perhaps its clearest expression in his renderings of loquats. The present album of ten leaves includes two examples of his loquat paintings. The first, the ninth leaf in the set, shows the ends of two branches hanging down from the upper edge of the picture.

Both heavy with fruit and massed with leaves, the boughs

nevertheless seem to be swept toward the left by a breeze. This leftward pull draws emphasis away from the blankness of the picture’s right side (about one-third of the picture plane), except for the inscription and seal along the right edge. This gives a sense of “stopped-action”: now the painted elements occupy the left part of the image, leaving the right part empty; but at any moment what was solid may become void, what was void, solid. Other aspects _ of the painting appear in pairs as well: the subject matter consists of fruit and leaves only (the branches are virtually unseen); their shapes are two—round and crescent—while the color scheme is confined to orange and ink. The foliage is the work of a brush held slantwise (cefeng). With concentrated ink lodged in the tip of the tuft and watery ink in the upper portion, a single brushstroke created each leaf, producing dark tones along the left edge and lighter tones on the right. The rough edges of the leaves and the irregular linework of their venation suggest at once the qualities of loquat foliage—sharp-toothed, prominently veined—and the blurred effect of their movement.

Evanescence characterizes the fruits, which fade into thin air before

their globular forms reach completion. Confrontation with an image of a delectible food that shuns its appetizing features, even its own tangibility, gives a gentle jolt to our deeply-entrenched assumption that all things in the world exist for the purpose of satisfying human desires. The second loquat painting comes close to being a double of the first.

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These two branches could be the same ones as those in the earlier piece, now viewed from a slightly different angle or in changed conditions of weather or light. They were clearly painted with a similar aesthetic outlook. Xugu may have felt the need to prod us with his message repeatedly, just as the Chan master raps his student with his stick one time, then another, to help him

break out of his habitual thinking pattern and attain enlightenment. The leaves here fan out from unseen boughs that fall almost vertically. The foliage is more abstract now: squared, seemingly flat, and relatively uniform in tone. Numerous passages of “flying white” impart either brittleness or the reflection of light. In contrast, the leaves in the previous album leaf look like they may be soaked by rain. Further comparison of these two similar paintings would illuminate the distinctive features of each, and thus offer fresh insights into Xugu’s creative process.

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IMMORTAL

IMAGE

Handscroll, ink and light color on paper, 10% x 24% inches Artist’s seal:

Xugu, square, intaglio

Titlepiece preceding painting: Inscription:

Artist’s seal:

Ink on gold-fleck paper, 10% x 33% inches

Xianying (Immortal image). [For] Mr. Yongzhi. Xugu.

Xugu changle, square, intaglio

From earliest times the basic human yearning for immortality has shaped Chinese religions and folklore. Popular Daoism conceives of death not as the extinction of life but as a transformation from the physical to the spiritual

plane. Most human beings (and animals) live on after death as common ghosts; utterly evil souls are demonized as yao. But those who cultivate the Dao and thoroughly purify themselves eventually find release from ordinary life and

death in a perpetually divine state. Such beings, known as xian, may manifest themselves in any number of forms. The best-known xian are the Eight Immortals, whose exploits are related in numerous legends and who are easily recognized in artistic portrayals by the attributes special to each one. Xian usually reside on remote mountain tops or on mythical islands, but they often play a benevolent role in human society. The term xian is also bestowed on historical individuals whose accomplishment in any chosen field immortalizes them; for example, Li Bo (701-762) is Shixian, or the “poet-xian.” The concept of xian was so prevalent in traditional Chinese culture that a Buddhist monk like Xugu could entitle a painting Xianying, “Immortal Image,” without compromising his religious beliefs. Such a title is one of several indications that this work is a portrait of a deceased person, but not a funeral portrait, that is, a ceremonial depiction

intended for a family altar. Xugu had experience in the latter type of painting, which was based either on observation of the living subject (xiezhen) or post mortem on a deathbed inspection or verbal descriptions by family members (zhutying).** We do not know which portraiture specialty Xugu practiced early in his career, but we can assume that many of his portraits, including those of Zeng Guofan, Zhang Mingke and Canying (see “Portrait of Canying,” No. 5), spring from the artist’s firsthand knowledge of these men’s appearances. Other examples, including some portraits of monks, may depend on spoken descriptions or possibly on photographs. Besides his commissions from Zeng . Guofan and noted figures in literary and art circles, the fact that Ren Bonian yielded to Xugu the portrait element of at least two collaborative works™ bears out Xugu’s prominent place among the throng of portraitists gathered in Shanghai. “Immortal Image” shows Xugu at the height of his genius for extracting exquisite subtleties from his brush to convey not just physical traits or mere personality, but a living human presence in all its psychological and spiritual depth. This is the only portrait of a woman by Xugu known to exist at this point, but it is unusual for additional reasons. Although it is commemorative, its mood is decidedly celebratory. Xugu observed the convention for funeral pictures by omitting his written signature from the painting itself, but he imprinted his seal with red ink rather than the customary blue or black of mourning. He selected festive gold-fleck paper on which to emblazon his poetic title, which does not disclose the subject’s identity, and his prominent dedication and signature conclude with a large red intaglio seal. This work is

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also distinctive for its dimensions. Funeral portraits are invariably large hanging scrolls which are displayed prominently in the home for prolonged periods. The small size and handscroll format of “Immortal Image” confirm its intended function as a personal keepsake for private viewing. All of these

details imply that this painting was a gift for a close friend to honor cherished memories of a departed loved one. But who is this unnamed woman? The man named in the dedication is none other than Xugu’s long-time patron and faithful companion, Gao Yong. The subject may have been his wife or concubine; clearly she was someone who had died young and was sorely missed. It is probable, then, that Xugu had actually seen this woman,

and he

could have painted her likeness either from memory or with the aid of a photograph. However, a photograph would have served only as a starting point for developing his own vision of his subject. While it is true that from the late nineteenth century the camera made an impact on art in China (where the painter would come to compete with the photographer in the business of portraiture), the inherent limitations of photography actually reaffirm the value of brush art with its characteristic subjectivity. For as the present work illustrates,

a master of the brush can communicate in dimensions beyond the

scope of any mechanical technology. The economy of touch and perfect confidence with which the face in this work is executed represent a mature stage in Xugu’s career. The simple ovi-

form contour of the woman’s head houses two sparkling, intelligent blue-gray eyes that gaze in the soft focus of deep thought. The lower lids are slightly puffy, and the thin, high eyebrows arch in a graceful “willow leaf” (liuyemei) curve.

Two short vertical lines mark the nostrils of a slender nose, and the

pink lips are shaped into fullness by means of an ink line at their white highlights to indicate convexity. Such modelling of form taps artistic influences, but rather indigenous portraiture techniques. band of visible hair begins high above the woman’s eyebrows, confident, positive-minded

individual who

would

closure and not Western The narrow hinting at a

not lower her head in

affected coyness. Her fine jet black hair seems wondrously alive, as does the smooth pinkish skin of her face and bare neck. Pendant earrings are her only adornment. Her gown consists of a diaphanous blue wash within a fine, rough, pale ink outline. This yousimiao or “floating thread linework” demonstrates Xugu’s proficiency in seal script writing and proceeds at a leisurely pace, wending a gently curving path around the figure’s frame. Inflected in Xugu’s trademark manner of stops and starts, it fades in and out, at times present only as the merest whisper. The resulting ethereal feeling is as close as Xugu comes to projecting an aspect of otherworldliness. We see only the woman’s upper half as she leans against the tree’s trunk in a pose of quiet composure. Yet Xugu’s sensitive handling of her entire form imparts a strong sense of her spirituality. The plum tree nearly encircles the figure in a canopy of rugged branches and lightly dappled blossoms. The gnarled lower portion of the tree appears in light brown wash with a broken ink outline remarkable for its variety of textures, tones and configurations. Parched ink gives way to wet, broad strokes to thin, straight lines to narrow, and dot to dash in an energetic dance 'that accentuates the woman’s calm. Stiff twigs criss-cross to the same lively tempo, shifting often from thick to thin and watery to dry in a rich display of Xugu’s technical might and expressive freedom. The flowers, each a single dot of dilute ink, ocher or white pigment, flit through the scene with a lightness of touch that defers to both the robust branchwork and the flower-like beauty seated below.

Indeed, the woman

herself seems the embodiment

of all the

virtues associated with the plum blossom—feminine beauty, purity, integrity

174

THE

IP 9S a WY ae TNE eS

OF

XS Woetw

and, given the painting’s title, survival. The calligraphic component of this work, an important example of Xugu’s writing, is written in bold running script (xingshu) in a manner reminiscent of the Tang master Zhang Xu (act. 713-740). In addition, the powerful chiseled effect and blunt tips of every line refer to the monumental style of Wei steles. The overall effect is in fact similar to that of a stele titlepiece, but one where

solemnity is replaced with the informal tone of running script. By composing this separate panel of text to accompany the unsigned pictorial panel, Xugu celebrates the memory of his subject in a duly respectful manner and expresses his warm regard and sympathy for a dear friend.

(Titlepiece preceding painting)

175

THE

PAWN be LaNees

OF

>< 1h)16)

AON Da @ ie Sa Amiesmitel

31

SQUIRRELS AND LOQUATS Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 53 x 13% inches Inscription:

Artist’s seals:

Juanhao, Xugu.

Xugu changle , square, intaglio

Collectors’ seals:

(lower right) Tan Guancheng yin, square, intaglio Haichao, square, relief

Shusheng bense, square, intaglio Lingnan Liang Shaonan cang, square, relief

Two squirrels strike gold: a loquat tree heavy with ripe fruit. In this painting featuring two of his favorite subjects, Xugu makes one of his strongest expressive statements yet. The brushwork and signature assign this work to the final year or two of his life. But this energetic celebration of nature’s bounty is hardly what might be expected from the brush of an aging Buddhist monk. In fact it differs in approach from most of his latest paintings, such as “Squirrel on a Branch” (No. 33) and “Juefeian” (No. 32). The latter work, a monochrome ink landscape, bespeaks a mind removed from ordinary experience. Presumably in his old age, after many years of practicing Buddhism, Xugu had attained either complete or nearly complete freedom from

ambition

and

attachment.

“Juefeian,”

with

its tendency

toward

dissolution of form and method, offers a glimpse of such a heightened consciousness.

But “Squirrels and Loquats”—buzzing with color, form, texture,

growth, activity, and even desire—brings Xugu’s vision full circle, back to the realm of the mundane.

Buddha Mind does not, after all, dwell in a time or

place other than right here, right now.

“The great virtue of the universe is

life,” and once perfect detachment is achieved, the illusory nature of dualism,

and thus any separation of the spiritual from the material, becomes clear. So it was that in his eighth decade, Xugu could create a nature scene with more zest than ever before. Spontaneous in feeling, this painting nevertheless presents an imposing structure of dynamic exchanges between varied ink and color tones, lines, patterns, and directional thrusts.

One bushy tree fills most

of the narrow pictorial space. Its bunches of fruit alternate with sprigs of leaves in a zigzag progression from top to bottom. Extremely dry branches, typical of the end of Xugu’s career, bear leaves applied with wet ink brushstrokes. In some areas, dry-lined venation and streaks of “flying white” at the leaf tips relate the foliage to the parched limbs. An accumulation of dry and wet dots and short‘lines in pale ink shapes the trunk, its unseen portions connected to those exposed by a continuous flow of energy. Alongside the sturdy tree trunk, amidst spiky twigs and dagger-shaped leaves, clusters of golden-orange fruit grow. Their vivid hue combines with the pronounced contrasts in ink values in a chromatic feat of unprecedented power within Xugu’s oeuvre. The loquats display impressive handling of color and water content in the brush. In consummate xieyi technique, a single deft twist of the brush forms each small succulent globe. The pair of squirrels pictured here clearly aim to reap the benefits of this bumper crop. The upper animal straddles two bunches of loquats; the other emerges on the right from behind the tree trunk. Guarding their treasures jealously, their eyes betraying excitement and anxiety, the squirrels mirror our own selfish cravings. But their endearing innocence, as well as the painting’s sheer beauty, communicates the artist’s sympathy for the creatures and his sense of wonder toward their life in the wild. The surprised looks on the

176

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&

AMEN, i LeNeGeS

s.Orr

"eX UlLGU

aR

wep

W ‘

yey

ony Squirrels and Loquats

177

THE

PASIAN

hueNNGas

OF

Xen

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AND

QO1

BAISHI

squirrels’ faces, and the extemporaneous quality in both composition and technique, evoke the idea of discovery—of a fine feast, of a moment in the lives of two animals, of the inexhaustible abundance of nature’s riches. There

is discovery here, too, of the ripening of Xugu’s creative sensibility. His chief purpose in painting the squirrels is not to capture their likeness or even some abstract essence of “squirrelness;” nor does he seek to make our mouths water with a palatable tangibility in the loquats. Rather, animals and fruits alike are none other than the artist himself, a man who not only communed with nature

and found his identity as a part of it, but who realized he could embrace all things within the vast expanse of his own consciousness. Juanhao, or “weary crane,” is an appellation Xugu used near the end of his life for signing his art works. On this painting, however, the character hao lacks the component which means

“bird”; and the remaining unit denotes

“flying high.” In his old age, Xugu apparently felt tired of striving for artistic recognition, perhaps even for religious illumination. This signature, then, could clarify the intent behind this work as a comment on gluttony and greed. Or it may confirm the artist’s reverence for nature as the ultimate spiritual guide. The second half of the signature is also peculiar. The upper portion of gu follows close below xu and has the appearance of a ditto mark, while the lower part of the character lies some distance beneath and resembles the character bai (white). This segment of the inscription could therefore be read either “Xugu” or “Xu Xubai,” the latter name being one of the artist’s early sobriquets.

Xugu, Squirrel, Apples and Loquats

178

THE

32

LANDSCAPE:

IP ZX CONT SP tt IW ES

OF

IX Wi SE 1G

JUEFEIAN

Hanging scroll, ink on paper, 44% x 15% inches

Inscription: Artist’s seal:

Juefeian tu (Picture of Juefeian). Painted by Juanhao. Xugu changle, square, intaglio

Sages, harboring the Dao, respond to things. The virtuous, purifying their thoughts, savor images.*

The Chinese artist paints landscape—broad vistas of the external world— to mirror the inner world of mind and spirit. The two lines quoted above come from the earliest known treatise on landscape painting, Hua shanshui xu (Preface on Landscape Painting), by Zong Bing. A reclusive mountaineer and a follower of the Metaphysical school (xuanxue) of philosophy, Zong Bing sought to identify the universal principle within all things. Even at this early date, then, landscape was seen as a vehicle for the artist to record his responses to the world and to “expand the spirit” (chang shen). By borrowing the infinitely varied and constantly changing forms found in natural scenery and perceiving their underlying order, the painter could create images that reflect the greater order of the cosmos as filtered through his own artistic sensibilities. This pursuit of the spiritual dimension of reality runs as a common thread through more than 1,500 years of landscape painting in China. But for the painter to grasp the spiritual in objective phenomena and to then communicate it in the concrete terms of art is no easy matter, as the

philosopher Laozi observed: The Dao of all things is elusive and vague, Elusive and vague, yet within it is form.*°

For this reason, a fundamental requirement for the Chinese landscapist, apart from mastering basic techniques for using brush and ink, was always to study nature closely, not by observing it analytically from the standpoint of an outsider, but rather by sensitizing himself to its inner workings and tempering his behavior to accord with the Dao. The concept of the natural world as a source of moral and spiritual guidance is illustrated in the aphorism, “In mountains there is benevolence; in water, wisdom.” Once he had penetrated the deepest mysteries of the universe and attained technical proficiency in his medium, the artist would be qualified to paint landscapes that represented more than the outward appearance of hills, plants, water, and sky. His works would now reveal essential truths in nature; they would portray his own character—that is, the extent to which he had cultivated these truths or virtues in himself; and ultimately, his works would demonstrate a harmonious union

of human culture with the natural world. The concept of Dao has been the most salient and abiding theme of both landscape art and philosophic speculation in China. The rise and fall of numerous schools of thought, not only in Daoism but also in Confucianism and Buddhism, each with their own emphases and interpretations, has directed

the course of landscape painting from the time of Zong Bing down to the twentieth century. Borne up by these divergent philosophic currents, the

stylistic evolution of landscape art has continually fluctuated between various extremes, such as simple and complex, realistic and abstract. In the long run, however, it has gradually favored the simplification and abstraction of painted

forms for an increasingly direct realization of the ineffable. Xugu followed a similar path in his own artistic development.

After

179

THE

RA

teN ei len eGis

OF

MOG wi

eaioy

Oi

BANS: He

Landscape: Juefeian -f

180

THE

RAN) Uiel ING ES

OF

XO

Guu

beginning his study of painting with portraiture in the exacting gongbi method, he turned to the more condensed expression of xieyi painting for rendering plants, animals, and landscapes. The relatively abstract style of the latter mode released him from a concern with the superficial features of his subjects and provided the framework for an exploration of their inner qualities. As his intuitive understanding of these deeper levels of reality progressed, fostered in part by his practice of Chan Buddhism, his art reflected this understanding with ever greater lucidity. Eventually, he all but dispensed with form itself; at this point, his paintings had become pure revelations of a mind enlightened to ultimate reality. This culminant phase of Xugu’s work is represented by this monochrome ink landscape showing his studio, Juefeian. The brush styles of both the pictorial image and the artist’s inscription display the same level of maturity

as that in “Squirrel on a Branch” (No. 33), which bears the date 1896. The use of the appellation Juanhao alone in the signature without the monk name Xugu rarely occurs in his paintings. Another peculiarity of the signature is the appearance of only the phonetic portion of the character hao (crane). The elimination of the right-hand component, derived from an ancient pictogram meaning “bird,”*’ may relate to the painting’s philosophical statement regarding the emptiness of form. Xugu portrays Juefeian as a humble cottage surrounded by bamboo ona high, rocky bank overlooking a stream. These elements, in addition to the large boulder and reeds issuing from the water, are treated in an extremely informal, sketchy manner with dry, rough brushwork. The amorphous daubs and streaks of ink that make up the image possess little grace or logic; individually, they have no clear identity of their own. Indeed, many strokes seem hardly there, so light and fleeting was the touch that limned them, so shapeless and devoid of method do they appear. These brushstrokes offer little to satisfy the connoisseur who would trace their origins back to painting masters of old. At close range, all recognizable form dissolves, as if the ink had been applied haphazardly. Only with a distant viewing do the various landscape elements and simple house emerge from out of the haze and disorder. The rational mind, which naturally looks for logical structure, can muster only a tenuous image from this spontaneous assemblage of ink touches. The sensory faculties, seeking pattern, texture, and color, are similarly deprived. The beholder’s primary response must finally spring from intuition, that faculty that enables us to pierce the enigmatic and to find meaning in paradox. For “Juefeian” is a product of Xugu’s own acute intuitive sense, sharpened over the years through his practice of both meditation and painting. Having tasted the bitterness of life under foreign rule in his own country, and disillusionment with material wealth, rank, and desire in general, Xugu ultimately came to view life itself as an abstract matter, as a pure state of mind at every moment awake to the deeper significance of things. In the Chan tradition, all unnecessary ritual, scriptures, even words and thoughts are avoided so as not to distract the devotee from the direct experience of his true nature. In like manner, Xugu reduces the outward vestments of his art—pictorial and artistic form—to a minimum. Because the brushstrokes and their intervening voids simultaneously affirm and deny tangible matter, the painting projects a feeling or atmosphere more than a description of a landscape. This mysterious atmosphere describes neither certain weather conditions nor a particular time of day. It is rather an unpremeditated expression of the artist’s quality of mind, itself an extension of the invisible and all-embracing, the elusive and vague Dao out of which all form arises.

181

THE

PaASIN: de liNme ss

OF

XeUmenu

ACNEDs

33

Or

DeAN TTeSirial

SQUIRREL ON A BRANCH Hanging scroll, ink and light color on paper, 43% x 14 inches

Inscription:

Artist’s seals:

Painted in autumn, the seventh month of bingshen (1896), by Juefeian Xugu in Shanghai at Wangyuntang. Xugu changle, square, intaglio Sanshiqifengcaotang, oval, relief

It is unclear exactly when Xugu began painting the squirrels that were to become one of his favorite subjects. The earliest examples known today were completed when he was in his late fifties, but as these pictures display a mature style, he must have started before that time.

In the last decade of his life,

hardly a year passed without his depicting this animal, altering his method slightly each time. According to historical records, squirrels have been a subject in Chinese painting since Song times. Perhaps the most famous early portrayal of this creature is a thirteenth century handscroll by Qian Xuan (ca. 1235-1301), now in the National Palace Museum in Taiwan.* The beauty of this piece lies in its elegant design, the coloration of the peaches and leaves, and the movement suggested in the form of the squirrel, which appears to be just landing after a

leap onto the branch. But in its refined technique and picturesque arrangement, this scene represents nature idealized rather than in the wild. It was probably around this time that, like the crane and deer, the squirrel took on symbolism

as an art motif.

For the scholar-official who was obliged to live in urban

surroundings, this harmless little rodent signified the freedom, innocence and

tranquility of life in the wilderness. During the Qing dynasty, the most notable painter of squirrels was Hua Yan. The frolicsome character and brisk movements of this animal are conveyed in Hua Yan’s depictions of squirrels leaping and crawling about on trees.” While Xugu’s squirrels retain these traits, they are enriched by an exaggerated whimsical quality and relatively abstract brush technique. A distinctive feature of Xugu’s early squirrels is their bushy fur. In some examples each hair stands out with such tension that the animal could almost be mistaken for a porcupine. Later works emphasize the muscles beneath the coat of fur and the motion or mood of the squirrel. When actively climbing or waiting cautiously, its fur stands on end; when sitting at rest the fur is smoothed down. Even the eyes vary: some consist of a small ink dot within a large blank space; others are a dot within a circular outline, and some have triangular strokes as pupils. The setting for squirrels is generally comprised of a few branches of bamboo, willow or reeds, executed in the outline technique

and usually accented with harmonizing colors. By way of contrast, the precise delineation and somewhat decorative aspect of the plant life offsets the softer contours and more naturalistic effect of the animal.

This late work shows a squirrel climbing down a hanging branch. The main bough is formed by one bold sweep of the brush in the “flying white” technique, adding a sense of dryness and age to the tree. Leaves grow sparsely in all directions at the lower end of the branch. They are rendered in lines showing the artist’s mastery of the official writing style. The dimension of depth in the leaves’ groupings has been accomplished by subtly varying the ink tones and adding just the tips of certain leaves. Some, painted with either an upward or downward motion, are torn from the branch by the wind; this reinforces the suggestion of swift air currents throughout the scene. The light touches of reddish-brown color, at times extended freely beyond the ink

182

THE

iP A. SPOON) ar Th NE ES

OF

XAUnGau)

Squirrel on a Branch

183

THE

Pa AMieN eT eNiaGus

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XW

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AANjey (Ow

38} AN eG Te A

linework, indicate the smoothness of the old branches and the slightly blurred focus due to the strong breeze. The soft hues also serve to warm the dominant monochrome starkness of the picture. Clinging to the top of the bough is one seemingly apprehensive squirrel, its tail thrust upward and its fur bristling. In contrast to the bold and generally light strokes of the tree, the animal’s fur is represented by fine, dark lines executed with a brush held upright. Tiny ink dots accentuate the roundness of the squirrel’s figure. With a hint of humor, Xugu’s treatment of the wideeyed rodent moves the viewer to sympathy and amusement. This example of xieyi painting demonstrates how utilizing calligraphic brush techniques frees the artist from the problem of objective representation. This mode allows for a simplified, spontaneous rendering of the idea of the subject, bringing its inner substance or essential nature to the fore. Through these means Xugu has captured the withered quality of the tree, the force of the air currents, and the distinctive character of the squirrel.

The artist’s inscription bears weight equal to both squirrel and tree in terms of compositional balance. Arranged in two columns in the upper left corner, the date and signature are written

in running script, which

here

incorporates certain elements of Wei style scripts. While exhibiting the fluidity of running script, the characters have the sharp-edged, squared contours of writings engraved in stone (bei) during the Northern Wei dynasty. In most of

Xugu’s other paintings the calligraphy combines running script with seal script and, commencing with dry, bony, dark strokes in “flying white,” gradually thins down to light, wiry lines as if the brush had been allowed to run out of ink. The lines in the inscription on this piece, however, retain uniform width throughout. Asa whole, the two columns possess all the power of a stone cliff standing solid and indifferent to the gale. Painted in the year of his death, this work marks the height of Xugu’s artistic maturity.

He never ascribed to any particular school; however, he can

be linked to the Jinshi circle through the bei flavor pervading the brushstrokes with which he rendered plant and animal life. The bold, new approach of Zhao Zhigian and Wu Xizai, two outstanding exponents of the Jinshi movement, had a profound impact on Xugu in his late years. In fact, the abstract quality of the branch and foliage in this work anticipates effects developed by Qi Baishi some 50 years later. Xugu’s aim here is not merely to describe the squirrel’s character and the special properties of the tree; more than this it is to capture an impression of certain kinds of movement, atmosphere and mood. The motion of the branch, the wind tossing the leaves about, the animal’s nervous hesitation—these are all implied through the _ artist’s imaginative handling of the brush, ink and light color.

184

Is 2

IP NTN

RIN

ECS

OF

Mim

ew

NOTES

1 2 3

P.12. The rectangular intaglio seal reads Juefeianzhu *%t4: =. The image features birds close to the style of Ren Bonian. In his Wei Jin shengliu hua zan 4% & it (Appreciation of painting masterpieces of the Wei and Jin periods). For example, see Lefebvre d’Argencé, Treasures from the Shanghai Museum: 6,000 Years of Chinese Art, plate XXXIII.

4 5

Zhang Mingke 5k°&31, Hansongge tanyi suolu 34s PA 2k 34 SR, p. 7 For instance, see his “Portrait of Monk Hengfeng” in Cai Geng ## and

6 7

Xugu’s ancestral home was in Xin’an #f- (in Anhui Province). Lu Tongxin #12, “Zhu lei zongheng tan” 44 #44€#22k (General discussion of bamboo varieties), Lin Haiyin ###47, ed., Zhongguo zhu ? B4+ (Chinese bam-

Fu Hua & #, eds., Xugu huace = & ¥ Ht, plate 63.

boo), p. 1.

8 9

Collection of the Shanghai Museum. Xugu huace, plate 101.

Reproduced in Cai Geng and Fu Hua, eds.,

LiLin-ts’an # #% (Li Lincan), “Zhongguo mozhu huafa de duandai yanjiu” ?

4s SE MIE

BS

(Study of periods of Chinese ink bamboo painting), Zhongguo

huashi yanjiu lunji P BE& & 4F Fs % (Collected articles on Chinese painting studies), pp. 45-116.

10

The earliest known instance of the “dark joint technique” is represented in a bamboo painting by the 14th century monk-painter Fangyai 7 J£ (collection of the National Palace Museum); however, this technique was not widely used until

the late Ming period. See Li Lin-ts’an, pp. 51-52.

11.

A more legible imprint of this seal appears in Shanghai Museum, ed., Zhongguo

shuhuajia yinjian kuanshi ? Bl& & R Ep 44K HR (Seals of Chinese calligraphers and painters) (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe x44 #4 hii4£, 1987), p. 1181, seal no. 9, which

transcribes it as xie % (p. 1182). 12 13

See Introduction for further discussion of this topic. Dedicated to Ren’anzhu 4, this painting was one of four panels, presumably all of which displayed rubbings of bronze objects. See Ding Xiyuan T #&2,

Xugu yanjiu ji. AFH, p. 76. 14

Steve Addiss, ed., Japanese Quest for a New Vision: The Impact of Visiting Chinese Painters, 1600-1900, p. 97-101.

15

Collection of the Anhui Provincial Museum.

16

Collection of the Palace Museum, Beijing.

17

Collection of the Suzhou Wenwu Shangdian #)!] £49 7 Jé.

18

Anaccount of this society’s creation is presented in the biography of Qian Huian

19

Ding Xiyuan, p. 86.

20 21

Ding Xiyuan, p. 72. This painting was colophoned by Zhang Xiong ik 7&. Information on the Pinghua Society #747 may be found in the biography of Wu

3% % 32 in Haishang molin #4 B+, juan 3, p. 20.

23

Zonglin % mB in Yang Yi, juan 3, p. 7-8. See Zheng Wei ¥8&, Zhongguo caitao yishu ¥ Bl#4) #44 (Colored Pottery Art of China), (Shanghai, 1985), pp. 7-8. Laozi #4, Daodejing 4&4, chapter 15.

24

MaMaoyuan

22

47x, et al, eds., Xian Qin Han Wei Liuchao shi jianshang cidian AA

SRILAHAat BH mF FL, p. 863. 185

THE

Raw iN

Tate Ne es

O

F

Xeueeaw

AN

BS

D

OR

BeAr Sener

Quan Tang shi 4 %* (Complete Tang poems) (Kangxi edition reprint, Taipei:

Hongye shuju & % & * , 1977), Vol. 1, p.413 (juan 160, p. 1651). 26

Du Fu #44, “Qiujiang ershou” #/2— 4 (Two poems on the winding river), Quan Tang shi , Vol. 1, p. 603 Guan 225, p. 2410). The last two lines of the poem read: “Wine debts are common everywhere you go/From ancient times those who live to be 70 are rare .” It this poem that led to the modern usage of gu xi $4

to

mean “70 years of age.” 2

Chi Pai-shih: Collection of Yakichiro Suma, plate. 12.

28

For instance, see Sherman Lee, A History of Far Eastern Art, fig. 468.

29

The pipa #6 is a musical instrument similar to the lute; it was used in the Chi-

30

Translation, slightly adapted, from Innes Herdan, trans., The Three Hundred T'ang

nese army to call troops to battle. Poems (1979; rpt. Taipei: Far East Book Co., Ltd., 1973), p. 420. For original poem,

see Quan Tang shi (Complete Tang poems), juan 156, p.'1604. oe

Liji #23, juan 22, Liyun #2 %£ Section, chapter 9, page 197. Zhuangzi #4, Zhuangzi quanji #:F & & (The complete works of Zhuangzi), XVII (Qiushui 4k 7K ), 11.

33

See, for example, “Portrait of Monk Dawei” in the Suzhou Museum, illustrated in

Sl

Cai Geng and Fu Hua, eds., Xugu huace, pl. 19.

34

Namely, “Portrait of Yongzhi’ in the collection of the Shanghai Wenwu Shangdian, illustrated in Cai Geng and Fu Hua, eds., Xugu huace, pl. 24, and “Portrait of

Yuelou at 30 Sui” in the Palace Museum, Beijing. 3D

Trans. by Susan Bush in her “Tsung Ping’s Essay on Painting Landscape and the “Landscape Buddhism of Mount Lu,” in Theories of the Arts in China, ed. Susan

Bush and Christian Murck, p. 144. 36

Laozi, Daodejing, chapter 21.

37

According to the Shuowen jiezi

tlXA#, China’s earliest etymological diction-

ary. See Gao Hongjin #84, Zhongguo zili ¥ Bl # 4| (Origins of Chinese characters), vol. 2, page 53. (See also Xugu’s signature on “Squirrel and Loquats,” No.

38

31.) Illustrated in Chinese Art Treasures: A Selected Group of Objects from the Chinese National Palace Museum and the Chinese National Central Museum, Taichung, Taiwan

(U.S. exhibition catalogue; Government

of the Republic of China, 1961-1962),

plate 68. 39

See illustration of Hua Yan’s “Wutong Tree and Squirrel” (collection of Palace

Museum, Beijing) in Chinese Paintings of the Ming and Qing Dynasties, 14th-20th Centuries, catalogue no. 71, p. 150.

186

Xugu’s Dated Works REFERENCES DXY

Ding Xiyuan, Xugu yanjiu

KCG NCZ

Kindai Chugoku no Gaka Nie Chongzhen, “Huajia Xugu shengping zhongde yige wenti”

TSM XHC

d’Argence, René-Yvon Lefebvre, ed., Treasures from the Shanghai Art Museum Cai Geng and Fu Hua, Xugu huace

XSHJ ve ZJH ZMK

=Xugu shuhuaji Yang Yi, Haishang molin Zhongguo jinbainian huihua janlan xuanji = Zhang Mingke, Hansongge tanyisuolu

Painting titles in bold type are featured in this book. The format of all paintings is hanging scroll unless otherwise noted. DATE & ARTIST’S AGE

SUBJECT

COLLECTION

1866

Tongzhi-5

Orchids, Chrysan-

Unknown

bingyin

44 sui

themums, Narcissus

REF.

and Peonies (handscroll)

1869 jisi

Tongzhi-8 47 sui

Plum Blossoms & Birds

1870 gengwu

Tongzhi-9 48 sui

Portrait of Yongzhi (Yongzhi wushisui xiaoxiang), collab. with Ren Bonian

Shanghai Wenwu Shangdian

Portrait of Zhang Mingke

Plum Blossoms, album

1871 xinwei

Tongzhi-10 49 sui

Figures under a Tree (Yi yin sanbai bei tu) (possibly earlier;

colophon by Xu San’geng dated 1871) 1872 renshen

Tongzhi-11 50 sui

Guangfu’s Xianshoujiao Monastery (Guangfu Xianshoujiao si tu)

Nanjing

Pine, Rock & Narcissus

Palace Museum,

DXY, NEZ

Museum

DXY

Beijing

1875 yihai

Guangxu-1 53 sui

DXY

Portrait of Qin Zanyao “The Fisherman of Fengshan” (Fengshan

Palace Museum,

DXY

Beijing

diao tu; portrait of Shen

Linyuan)

187

iia

IP AN

RUN

eS

One

Mie Ww

Ain

1876 bingzi

Wri

IB Aw

Sari

Guangxu-2 54 sui

Landscape album for Gao Yong

Shanghai Museum

XHY

Shan cheng shi du album leaf

1877 Guangxu-3 dingchou 55 sut

~~Hollyhock and Loquats (Wurui tu)

Palace Museum

DXY

1878 wuyin

Guangxu-4 56 sul

— Portrait of Yuelou at 30 sui (with Ren Bonian)

Palace Museum, Beijing

DXY

1879 jimao

Guangxu-5 57 sul

Chrysanthemums, round fan

XHC

1880 Guangxu-6 gengchen 58 sui

Scene of Ruilian (Ruilian fangcan tu)

XHC

Teapot & Orchids in a Vase

XHC

Running script, for Gao Yong

DXY

Peaches

DXY

Flowers in a Basket

XHC

Squirrels, Apples and Loquats (dedicated to Hua Chang, 12th month,

ninth day) 1881 xinst

Guangxu-7 59 sul

—_Landscape & Flowers, album of 12 leaves

Shanghai Museum

DN

Landscape album for Gao Yong (addition to 1876 album)

Shanghai Museum

DXY

Fruit; orchids: Bamboo; 4 album leaves

Shanghai Museum

XHC

Clouds and Rain on the Summer Mountain (album leaf)

1882 renwu

Guangxu-8 60 sul

Chrysanthemums ina Vase

DXY

Palace Museum, Beijing

Chrysanthemums (Sanjing lengxia tu)

1883 guiwel

188

Guangxu-9 61 sui

1884

Guangxu-10

fiashen

62 sui

— Landscape album for Gao Yong

DXY

XHC

Shanghai Museum

XHC

Spring Scene, handscroll (Liuhe tongchun tu)

Shanghai Museum

XHC

Portrait of Daiweilaoren

Suzhou Museum

XHC

Xu

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WorRkKs

Snow Landscape

1885 yichou

Guangxu-11 63 sui

Narcissus (Xianzi lingbo tu)

1886 bingxu

Guangxu-12 64 sui

Portrait of Hu Yuan

Chrysanthemums

Shanghai Museum

DXY

GY, Palace Museum,

DXY

Beijing Red Plum Blossoms & Cat

Palace Museum,

DXY

Beijing

XHC

Squirrel on Inkstone

1887 dinghai

Guangxu-13 65 sul

Ren Bonian’s Studio (Shanyin caotang tu)

Anhui Prov. Museum

DXY

Crane, Chrysanthemums & Pine

Palace Museum,

XHC

Plum Blossoms & Goldfish

Tianjin People’s Art Publishing

DXY

Plum, Bamboo & Two

Zhang Chengwang, Najing

DXY

Palace Museum,

DXY

Cranes (for Zhang Jingfu), gold fan Mynah Birds in Autumn

Beijing

Baijing Squirrel; Loquats; Goldfish; Peach Blossoms & Bamboo Shoots; 4 leaves

1888 WUZI

Guangxu-14 66 sul

Baiyuntang (Huang Chun-pi), Taipei

t

DXY

Four Gentlemen, 8 leaves

(Jieziyuan huayuan) Landscape after Hongren

KCG, DXY

Plum Blossoms; Loquats;

XHC

Squirrel & Pine; Plum Blossoms & Baihe, 4 panels

1889 yichou

Guangxu-15 67 sui

Peaches in a Basket with Rock

Shanghai Museum

XHC

Scholar at a Mountain Dwelling (Shanju gaoshi tu)

Tianjin People’s Art Publishing

DXY

XHC

Calligraphy, pair, for Xibo Peaches

1890 gengyin

Guangxu-16 68 sul

Central Art Academy

DXY

Chrysanthemums, fan Flowers, handscroll, collab.

DXY

Anhui Prov. Museum

=DXY

with Hu (Zhang) Tiemei and Zhu (Cheng) Menglu XHC

Cranes and Pine Trees

Chrysanthemums, fan

Tianjin People’s Art

DXY

Publishing

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1891 xinmao

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Guangxu-17 69 sul

Three Purities (Sangqing tu). for Monk Huiyuan

Cultural Bureau of Zhoushan, Zhejiang Province

DXY

Album with Fish, Squirrels, Cat

Palace Museum,

DXY

Beijing

DXY

Lotus and Goldfish (collab.

with Wu Changshi) Cat & Chrysanthemums

KCG

Goldfish Squirrel on Bamboo with Goldfish

1892 renchen

Guangxu-18 70 sui

Shanghai Museum

XHC

Bamboo & Rocks, folding fan

XHC

Stationery for Jiuhuatang:

XHC

Rock; Gourds; Fruit; Lingzhi

Squirrels & Pine, for Shuchang

Shanghai Museum

Plum Blossoms, Crane &

Art Institute of Chicago

Spring

DXY t

Boating among Plum Blossoms Loquats

KCG

Three Squirrels on a Plum Tree

XHC

Dog (Huang’er tu), after Hua Yan

Palace Museum

DXY

Mountain Dwelling (Shanju tu)

Shanghai Museum

DXY

Five Good Omens (Wuruti tu)

Palace Museum,

DXY

Pine & Plum in a Vase

Tianjin Art Museum

DX¥

Wisteria & Goldfish

Palace Museum,

DXY

Beijing

Beijing

Squirrels on a Willow

Suzhou City Museum

XHe

Camellias & Baihe Lily Buddha’s Hand

1893 guisi

Guangxu-19 71 sui

DXY

Tianjin Art Museum

DXY

XHC

Four Squirrels on a Willow

Squirrel, Pine & Autumn

Leaves

Crane & Plum after Hua Yan

Goldfish 190

Palace Museum,

DXY

Beijing

KCG, DXY

x GG

Goldfish, round fan, for Chuchen

Shanghai Wenwu Shangdian

DXY

Plum, Bamboo & Pine, collab. with Ren Bonian

Palace Museum,

DXY

y

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JD 3 2) 16)

WoRKsS

Beijing

& Hu (Zhang) Tiemei 1894 fiawu

Guangxu-20 72 sul

Squirrels on Bamboo, after Hua Yan

Yangzhou Museum

XHC

DXY

Landscape with Pagoda (Shuanglin hanta), album

Plum, Orchids, Bamboo

Chrysanthemums

Hangzhou Calligraphy & Painting Society

XHC

(Xiling Seal Society)

DXY

Squirrels Orchids

Tianjin People’s Art Publishing

DXY

Mynahs & Willow 1895 yiwei

Guangxu-21 73 sul

ZJH

Goldfish & Wisteria (beg. summer)

XHC

Goldfish & Wisteria (3rd mo.)

Palace Museum Beijing

DXY

Goldfish & Wisteria

Paris Art Publishing Center

DXY

Loquats, signed 72 sui

Shanghai Museum

Plum Blossoms on

Private Ningpo coll.

DXY

Shanghai Museum

DXY

TSM, XHC

Rubbings of Antique Bronzes, four panels Album of ten leaves; Fruits, Fish, Flowers, Squirrel, Cat

DXY

Cursive script, pair, for Xuangqing 1896 Guangux-22 bingshen 74 sui

Loquats, painted at Chunhuitang

Nanjing Museum

DXY

New Year’s Scene (plum

Anhui Prov. Museum

XHC

blossoms, vase with fish decor, Buddha’s hand)

Squirrel on a Branch Goldfish & Bamboo (dated 8th mo.)

KCG

* Illustrated in catalogue for Christie’s sale, Fine Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Chinese Paintings at the Hilton Hotei, Hong Kong, Christie’s Hong Kong, January 18, 1988.

+ Baiyuntang canghua, Vol. 2 (Taipei: Cathay Art Museum, 1981), pl. 2-5. + Brown, Claudia and Ju-hsi Chou, Transcending Turmoil: Painting at the Close of China’s Empire: 1796-1911, (Phoenix: Phoenix Art Museum, 1992), plate 45.

191

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Fig. 51 Qian Shaowu, Portrait of Qi Baishi, ink on paper. Gift from the artist for The Paintings of Xugu and Qi Baishi.

192

The Life and Art of Qi Baishi (1864-1957)

CLIMBING

TO THE HEAVENS

For a child from an impoverished family to grow up and make a mark in society is as difficult as climbing to the heavens. I grew up in poverty, and now

that I am

old, I may be said to have achieved a little fame. As

I think back on my life, it is such a long story filled with so many different feelings, where shall I begin?!

S, opens Qi Baishi’s autobiography. As he relates the experiences of his formative years, he voices the seldom-told story of the struggle for subsistence that defined the daily lives of countless peasants in China’s recent and distant past. The eldest son of a farming family whose land holding amounted to less than one-sixth of an acre, Qi Baishi was a sickly child. That he was able not only to weather the physical assaults of privation—strenuous labor, a meager diet, disease—but also to claim merit and fame as an artist in the literati tradition, rates him as

a rare exception in a stratified society in which virtually every educated man at least dabbled in painting. In this light, the heights to which he ultimately ascended become wondrous indeed. Yet a thoughtful consideration of both his life and his creations reveals how frequent adversity, and his response to it, actually instilled strength in his personal character and depth in his artistic vision. Although in his early years his weak constitution obliged his parents to find him an alternative livelihood, some hidden source of hardiness kept

him firm and active until he was 95 sui.? The span of his career thus doubled that of many other artists; still, the freshness of conception and simplicity of spirit that informs even his latest works are unsurpassed by any modern master. Starting with nothing more than a stick with which to practice drawing and writing in the dirt outside his home, he had nothing to lose, took nothing for granted. All he had was a passion for making pictures and for learning everything he could in\order to make better pictures. Add to this a happy blend of humility and faith in his natural abilities, an insatiable fascination with nature in all its forms, as well as a seemingly unlimited capacity to persevere, and we begin to see the man who, by synthesizing diverse approaches and time-honored techniques with ingenious invention, delivered Chinese painting into the modern age. Like all Chinese, Qi Baishi considered his familial origins a basic component of his personal identity. He could trace his ancestry back to the early fifteenth century, when his forebears left their home in Jiangsu province and resettled in Xiangtan district in Hunan province. During the eighteenth century his great-great-grandfather moved within the district to Xingdoutang

(“star pond”) in Xingziwu (“apricot valley”). From his paternal grandfather, Qi Baishi acquired such facts about his family’s past, and also a strong feeling of pride in the simple farming life that had occupied his ancestors for generations. The first grandchild, he inherited the patriarch’s straightforward man-

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ner and intolerance for people with social pretensions who live off the labors of others. While his father toiled daily to grow enough food to feed his family, his mother, in addition to fulfilling her household duties and caring for her husband’s parents, devised her own means of providing for the family. Her dowry had reflected her own family’s poverty, but her mother-in-law initiated the young bride into the Qi clan’s philosophy, saying, “Good girls don’t wear bridal gowns everyday. A family prospers only through self-reliance.” Qi Baishi’s mother took these words to heart. Not only did she raise pigs and fowl, she also made a habit of gleaning bits of grain from the hay pile. When she had accumulated several pecks, she would exchange the grain for cotton, which she would then spin, weave, dye, and sew to make clothing, first for her father- and mother-in-law, then for her husband, and finally for herself. The

mother’s example instilled in the son the values of persistent effort, patience,

and frugality. Qi Baishi admired her as a woman of unusual strength and ability who voiced her convictions. His characterization of his father is less complimentary: he was an honest but ineffectual man who submitted to suffering and insult in silence. Beyond this blunt description, Qi Baishi makes few references to his father in his memoirs. The artist clearly identified with the personalities of his mother and paternal grandfather. It was to such a place and family that Qi Baishi was born on the twentysecond day of the eleventh month in guihai, the year of the boar, the second year of the Tongzhi reign. This birthdate, based on the Chinese lunar calendar, has generated some confusion regarding the corresponding year in the Western time-keeping system. Many sources cite the year of this artist’s birth as 1863, which coincides with the greater part of guihai, but guihai also extends into the first part of 1864. Consultation of a comparative table for the two different calendars discloses that Qi Baishi’s birthday actually fell on January 1, 1864.2. Named Chunzhi (“pure nature”) at birth and nicknamed Azhi, he was the first child born to his parents, who eventually had six more sons and

three daughters. Qi Baishi’s paternal grandfather figures prominently in his early years. Although the old man knew how to write only about 300 characters, he taught them all to his beloved grandson. Undaunted by the unaffordability of paper, the two conducted lessons by writing with a branch in the dirt or a poker on

their ash-strewn hearth. The youngster was eager to learn, but his teacher exhorted him, “If you are greedy, and memorize (a character) only to turn around and forget it, and don’t understand the meaning, this would just be cheating yourself.” Heeding this warning, Qi Baishi eventually overcame his lack of formal education by always admitting what he didn’t know, and taking ~ full advantage of every opportunity for learning that came his way. Within three years, he had mastered the entirety of his grandfather’s written vocabulary. His mother sacrificed her small personal savings to pay for the supplies her son would need to attend a school run by her father in nearby Baishipu. The eight-year-old performed the customary bows to a portrait of Confucius and to his teacher, and commenced to study such texts as the Sanzijing (Three Character Classic). He recalled being a good student, but the drudgery of filling page after page of practice books with well-written characters gave way to doodling and picture-drawing that became the talk of his class. Encouraged, one day he stood on a stool to trace a thunder god image posted on the door of a house where a new baby needed protection

from evil spirits. His rendition won demands for additional copies from his friends, and so he gave himself over to the cultivation of his obviously unusual talent in art. Then everything around him became fit material for paintings on paper torn from his exercise book. Flowers, birds, bugs, farm animals, people—all these he tried to portray as they actually appeared in nature. An

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old fisherman was the subject of his repeated attempts to capture a certain degree of verisimilitude. When he finally succeeded, he felt a boost in selfconfidence as well as a new determination to paint only things that he could see with his own eyes. So, by the time his mother gave birth to a third son, the eldest brother declined to adorn his own door with a thunder god. Only for a brief period in his twenties did he reluctantly return to depicting imaginary beings, mainly so as not to lose orders from insistent patrons. In no time, the boy’s idle jottings turned into an obsession for painting pictures. The threat of a swat with his teacher’s ruler persuaded him to keep up with his school work and be discreet about practicing his new pastime. When

his creative use of his exercise book was discovered, he switched to

used wrapping paper and pages torn from old ledgers. In autumn of the same year, shortly after he had begun memorizing Confucius’ Lunyu (Analects), school recessed to allow the students to help their families with the harvest. But 1870 was a lean year in Xingziwu. The Qi’s had to dig up wild taro roots and cook them over a fire made with ox dung. (In later years, after he had attained fame and financial security, he inscribed renditions of taro plants with a reminiscence of this period of want, when a wild vegetable so satisfied the palate with its sweetness.) As if times weren’t hard enough, Qi Baishi fell seriously ill. After he had finally recuperated, there was no money for him to resume his studies; he would have to stay home and help out. Although he lacked the strength for heavy farm work, he could carry water, gather firewood, tend the ox and care for the younger children. And so, within less than a year, Qi Baishi’s schooling came to an end. The boy’s health continued to worry his mother and grandmother. To keep close tabs on his whereabouts, the old woman had him wear a bell around his neck. To the bell she linked a tag bearing the Buddhist invocation Namo Amituofo. In adulthood, Qi Baishi had a replica of this bell and tag made, and he engraved a seal with the epithet Peilingren, or “Bell-bearer.” Daily now, he would climb up the hillsides near his home, ox and often two small brothers

in tow, to cut wood for the family stove. Although this and other chores filled the remaining days of his childhood, he made the best of the circumstances. Games with other young wood-gatherers and even studying brightened his heavy workload. And when he could be sure no one was watching, he indulged in his greatest joy—painting. The practical demands of manhood soon began to encroach upon his boyish pursuits, however.

His grandmother scolded him for wasting time,

reciting the adage, “After three days of wind and four days of rain, can literary works be cooked for a meal?”* As much as the family valued education, he would have to remember he was just a poor farmboy and knuckle down to help provide for his family. At 12 sui, he was betrothed to 13-sui Chen Chunjun. The girl came to live with the Qi’s according to the customary arrangement: she would immediately take responsibility for various domestic tasks, but several years would pass before the marriage would be consummated. Meanwhile, if the young couple could learn to live together harmoniously, all the better, but romantic love was not a consideration in such matters. Nevertheless, Qi Baishi recalled feeling delighted with his bride from the start.

That same year grief struck hard when his paternal grandfather died. The man who had taught the boy all he knew, who had walked him to school everyday,

who had fostered in him strong self-respect, courage, and a love of learning, would be sorely missed. A touching scene of an old man accompanying a child to school later became a subject in the artist’s repertoire.” With the patriarch gone and a new baby son, the burden of the farmwork fell heavier than ever on Qi Baishi’s father. It could no longer be avoided: weak constitution or not, the eldest son must learn to plow the field. The

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youth gave it his best, but try as he might, he could not guide the ox and manipulate the heavy plow at the same time. Then surely he could transplant the young rice shoots? This he did, his back bowed through the day, his legs

bloodied by the grass shrimp in the flooded paddies. These hard experiences in coaxing sustenance out of the earth left him with a lifelong feeling of closeness to nature as well as reverence for the simple things in life: a rake or hoe, fresh produce, baby chicks, even insects and shrimp. In each of these things he

saw a noble beauty, a beauty that stirred in him an irrepressible impulse to respond with creations of his own making. Because they spring from such heartfelt responses to life, his art works move us to behold the world around us in new ways, to find meaning in what cultural convention might deem insignificant. Had Qi Baishi not known firsthand the farmer’s close relationship to the earth with its plentiful hardships and inconspicuous joys, the seeds from which his later masterpieces blossomed might never have taken root and grown. Fortunately for posterity, his frail frame precluded him from following in his father’s footsteps for his life’s vocation. By the time Qi Baishi was 15 sui, it was clear that he must give up farming and learn a trade instead. A distant relative agreed to apprentice him in carpentry.° The job entailed large-scale construction, and after just a few months, the teacher grew impatient with the pupil's inability to lift heavy wooden beams and sent him home. But Qi Baishi’s father did not give up; he found another carpenter to train his son. This time the boy was treated with more tolerance. “Just keep practicing,” the teacher encouraged him, “anything can be learned through practice.” For the rest of that year (1877), Qi Baishi concentrated his efforts on learning to build houses and other structures, as well as simple furniture and large wooden implements.

During this period he also had a lesson in China’s social hierarchy that whetted his sense of ambition. On the way home from work one day, the teacher and apprentice encountered three men who were loaded down with carpenter’s tools. Qi Baishi was astonished when he saw his teacher bow reverently and address the men with great deference. They responded only briefly with a slight nod and a superior air, then moved on. When he asked why their fellow carpenters should be treated with such respect, his teacher explained, “Child, you don’t understand propriety! We do large-scale construction, we make coarse things; they do small-scale work, they make fine things. They can make fancy, delicate things, and they can carve designs. Were you to spend your whole life, you couldn’t learn this kind of craft unless you were exceptionally smart. How can we large-scale carpenters presume to be at the same . level as they are?” This assertion of his inferior status chafed Qi Baishi’s pride. He decided then and there that he wanted to study fine woodworking, vowing to himself, “If they can learn it, who says I can’t learn it too!” His chance came soon. His mother and grandmother still worried about him, and feared that in the long run he could not keep up with the heavy labor required by his job. They proposed another change in the boy’s trade to his father, and when the youth of 16-sui expressed his interest in fine woodworking, his elders agreed to let him try. Through inquiries, his father contacted a woodcarver named Zhou Zhimei, who happened to be seeking an apprentice.’ The match was made, and the teacher and new pupil got along so well together that Qi Baishi believed they must have been predestined to meet. Zhou Zhimei proudly predicted his apprentice would one day become among the best in his field. For three years and three months (excluding a period of several months when he was ill), Qi Baishi accompanied Master Zhou to the homes of wealthy families in Xingziwu and other villages. There they made furniture, often for a girl’s dowry. The student gradually acquired dexterity with the

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carving knife and a familiarity with the floral and figural motifs traditionally used in furniture decoration. As time passed, he grew bored with the same

old, highly conventionalized designs. So to a flower basket he added grapes and other fruits, and instead of common

Neat TWmeehot

folk stories, he sometimes chose to

depict famous episodes from novels and history. He also experimented with carving techniques. People addressed him now as Carpenter Zhi (Zhi Mujiang), or even Master Zhi. On payday he took all his earnings home to his family, which was still growing. In 1881 at 19 sui, he completed his apprenticeship and consummated his marriage. Finally trained in a trade in which he could excell and which could provide support to his family, a ray of hope shone on his future. The dedication with which he applied himself to his new endeavor typified his approach to all the other skills and arts that he eventually practiced, including painting, calligraphy, seal carving, and poetic composition. Also typical was the motivation behind his resolve to master wood carving, namely, his desire to prove that he was not inferior to those “fine” woodworkers. The incident on the road foreshadowed his experience later in Beijing where many art connoisseurs snubbed him because of his supposed lack of schooling. Insults of this sort, which he encountered repeatedly throughout his lifetime, ignited in him feelings of outrage at society’s injustices and a fierce determination not only to equal the feats of his adversaries, but to surpass them. And this he always did fully on his own terms, articulating his own perspective and sensibility, with no attempt to win the approval of his detractors by employing stylistic allusions and other devices identified with the “gentleman artist.” There were other kinds of stimuli that opened new doors in his artistic development. When he was 20 sui, while working in a patron’s home, he came across a copy of the well-known Jieziyuan huazhuan (Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual) (Fig. 52). It was a five-color woodblock edition from the Qianlong period in poor condition and with one volume missing. But Qi Baishi

SHE

viewed the find as a treasure of enormous value, for it offered a model for him

to follow for the proper proportioning of people, animals and plants. He likened his response to that of “a silkworm, starved for seven days and nights, getting sight of some mulberry leaves,” and he nearly forgot to eat and sleep.® He sent a go-between to ask the owner for permission to borrow the book, but his request was initially refused. Only after he supplied a guarantor was he loaned

the manual.’ He obtained his mother’s consent to use part of his earnings to buy paper, colors and brushes. Then he set to work tracing every illustration in the compendium. Sitting at his table under the poor light of an oil lamp into the late night hours, he labored for six months before he was ready to bind 16 volumes of his own hand-brushed version. After this monumental exercise in draftsmanship, his wood carving designs showed marked improvement. So did his reputation and his income. Still, his family could barely make ends meet. His grandmother served herself only small portions of food so that her eldest grandson could get sufficient nourishment. Ever enterprising, Qi Baishi began to pass his spare

time fashioning small items out of wood or ox horn to sell in local shops. He especially liked making tobacco boxes, and kept one for his own use. His teacher Zhou Zhimei smoked a pipe, and Qi Baishi had lately taken up the habit, too. (He quit in 1894.°) He also carved musical instruments such as the flute, but he so loved playing them that he declined to sell them. He further

Fig. 52 Two pages from Jieziyuan huazhuan (Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual), early 19th century edition. Far East Fine Arts, Inc. collection.

supplemented his income with his original embroidery patterns, which had won the enthusiasm of the wives and daughters of his carpentry patrons. Even painting, his forbidden hobby, was now helping to put food on the table. The other Qi children, as soon as they were old enough, spent their days working either on the farm or elsewhere. The third oldest boy found employ-

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ment in a Daoist monastery. And whenever Qi Baishi’s wife finished her household chores, she busied herself growing vegetables and spinning thread for clothes. The artist later remembered these bittersweet days of constant toil and family togetherness in verse (see his poem quoted in the essay on “Grapes and Grasshopper,” No. 32). For now he had to limit himself to subjects that were currently popular around Xingziwu. By his early twenties he had already formulated a motto concerning the selection of painting themes: “In speech, use language that people can understand. In painting, depict things that people have seen.”" However, he would not have the luxury to follow this rule for some time to come. Since he had begun to study the Jieziyuan huazhuan and to use opera performers as models, his commissions for figures in ancient-style attire had increased steadily. But so many patrons specified Daoist or Buddhist themes, the artist found he could not refuse to render beings that people had never seen. His one consolation was that rather than drawing on other artists’ works for the characterization of such familiar heroes as the God of Wealth, he tapped his own memory of the faces of schoolmates and other friends, especially those with strange features. The freshness of these images delighted their buyers and caught the attention of at least one local scholar. This scholar was Qi Tieshan, a frequenter of the Daoist monastery where Qi Baishi’s brother worked. Qi Tieshan invited the young artist to his brother’s

home where a respected artist, Xiao Xianghai (Chuanxin) had been commissioned to paint portraits. Qi Baishi had heard of this painter. Originally a paper-maker, he had versed himself in classical studies and art, to become the finest portraitist in Xiangtan district. This was a chance not only to meet a noted artist, but to ask to become

his pupil. After all, Qi Tieshan advised,

painting portraits would be a step above painting religious icons. Instead of making a personal appearance, Qi Baishi sent a portrayal of the immortal Li Tieguai, and asked Qi Tieshan to act as a go-between for his request. Xiao Xianghai accepted the proposal, and Qi Baishi commenced to study the art of portraiture. His teacher also passed on his skills in landscape and figure painting. A friend of Xiao Xianghai, portraitist Wen Shaoke, shared his expertise with the young painter as well. The same year that Xiao Xianghai began tutoring Qi Baishi, 1888, the Lai family in a nearby village hired the young journeyman to carve furniture. In the evenings during his stay at the Lai home, Qi Baishi used his hosts’ abundant lamp oil to brush pictures in the flower-and-bird genre. Much impressed with his artistic talent, the Lai’s asked “Master Zhi’ to design embroidery patterns for ladies’ shoes and bed curtains. He worked there through the winter, . and shortly after he returned to the Lai residence following the New Year holiday, his hosts introduced him to a Mr. Hu. A distinguished calligrapher, painter, poet, and collector, Hu Qinyuan (Zizhuo), specialized in li style calligraphy from the Han dynasty, and in flower-and-bird themes in the fine gongbi brush mode. He often held literary gatherings at his studio, Ouhuayinguan, named for its proximity to a lotus pond. Qi Baishi accepted an invitation to one such gathering, where he met an elderly Confucian scholar named Chen Shaofan (Zuoxun). When the host suggested that his young guest study art under his own direction, and literature under his friend Mr. Chen,

Qi Baishi expressed his willingness but feared his circumstances would not allow it. No problem, interrupted Mr. Hu. “You can sell your paintings to support your family. They will sell at a good price, don’t worry!” But wasn’t 27 sui too old to begin formal studies? The elder artist reminded him that Su Dongpo’s” father did not begin his studies until he was 27. Futhermore, tuition would be waived. That settled it. After lunch that very day, Qi Baishi performed his ritual bows and became the pupil of these two generous men.

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His autobiography relates that he then moved into the Hu residence. a different story is given by his daughter in a recent series of articles on father’s life. It seems he did often stay at his teacher’s home for weeks time, but at some point in 1889 Qi Baishi actually moved with his wife

But her at a and daughter from his parents’ house into a rented dwelling in Baishipu.” It is doubtful that the artist’s version reflects a lapse in memory, since more than ten years passed and three children were born to him and his wife in Baishipu before they changed their residence again. Insufficient living space since the birth of Qi Baishi’s ninth sibling in 1888 may have been a factor in his decision to find separate shelter. But the eldest son’s departure from the multigenerational household in Xingziwu may also have been his way of escaping some familial disharmony. His grandmother’s disapproval of his literary and artistic activities seems to have been shared by other relations. Qi Baishi’s grandson has written of the resentment felt by at least one of the artist’s brothers.'* To these young men with presumably no education, no exceptional talents, and so virtually no alternatives to eking out a living on a small plot of land for the rest of their lives, Qi Baishi’s life of reciting poetry with friends, studying the classics in a scholar’s garden, and brushing ancient scripts and colorful pictures on paper, might well have appeared impractical, if not selfindulgent. A strict interpretation of the Confucian social code required the first son to remain at home to serve his parents, and to shoulder increasing responsibility for the support and welfare of younger family members. In a culture that stressed filial piety and “knowing one’s place,” Qi Baishi’s singleminded pursuit of art no doubt made him look to many like the black sheep of the Qi clan. If he were to come and go as he pleased for lessons and poetry society meetings, and spend his hours at home in quiet pursuit of his studies and artistic career, he could do so free from disapproving eyes in a separate house a mile down the road from the old homestead. Qi Baishi’s two teachers decided on some new appellations for their pupil, including the student name Huang and the zi (courtesy name) Binsheng. It was Chen Shaofan who gave him the hao (sobriquet) Baishishanren (from which were derived Baishilaoren and simply Baishi) after the town in which the young artist now resided. Chen Shaofan’s instructions in literature emphasized the close relationship between poetry and painting. He advised his student to read Tang shi sanbaishou (Three Hundred Poems of the Tang Dynasty), since these works offered much to any level of literary understanding. Qi Baishi memorized all 300 poems in two months. He then went on to study the Lunyu (Confucius’ Analects), the writings of Confucius’ chief disciple Mencius, Shiji (a classic on history), Tang and Song period essays, Liaozhai zhiyi, and numerous other texts. The moral teachings of Lunyu, with Confucius’ humanistic principle of ren, exerted a profound influence on him. From Tang shi sanbaishou he absorbed an appreciation for an outward plainness and simplicity of form with a depth of inner meaning, qualities which became the hallmarks of his own art. And his reading of Liaozhai zhiyi exposed him to colorful expression in concise, unlabored terms. To Qi Baishi, these three books

were like sutras to a Buddhist monk. He took them as guiding lights in his own development, and integrated their lessons into his own conduct and creative work. Concurrent with these intensive literary studies, Qi Baishi received artistic training from Hu Qinyuan. Instruction in painting consisted of the fundamentals of the gongbi mode, which features fine brushwork and meticulous detail. The student was coached on recording accurately on paper or silk his direct observations of plants, birds and insects. The master stressed the importance of procedure and method in every phase of creating an image, from conception and composition to brushwork and color application. He brought out from his

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collection paintings both ancient and modern for Qi Baishi to study. Guidance in landscape painting came from Tan Pu (Lisheng), an associate of Hu Qinyuan. A sure sign of Qi Baishi’s progress and literary talent came at a gathering of poets hosted by Hu Qinyuan. The sight of full-blooming peonies in front of his teacher’s studio inspired Qi Baishi to dash off the following verse: Do not praise the peony, token of wealth, For it lags behind the pear and tangerine in sweetness.’°

As soon as he had written the poem and handed it over to Hu Qinyuan, his heart pounded with embarrassment. But the older man lauded his student’s first attempt at poetic composition and read it aloud to his guests. All present agreed that the poem demonstrated Qi Baishi’s great potential. After this

successful debut, he wrote poetry regularly, and was soon inscribing his own verses on his paintings. Increased faith in the full range of his artistic abilities prompted him to think seriously about painting for a living. Woodworking was tedious and exhausting, while painting required less time and allowed for more freedom. He had lately been receiving requests for portraits, partly through Hu Qinyuan’s proud recommendations. As business improved steadily through the last months of 1889, the carpenter finally decided to throw out his woodworking tools and change his trade to “artisan painter” (huajiang). Throughout the years 1890-1894 (when he was 28-32 sui), he supported his family by the sale of portraits to local patrons. At first, his earnings were so small that he had no oil with which to light his home after dark, making it virtually impossible to read or paint at night. Still, he continued to study under his two teachers and to expand his clientele throughout the district. The monetary

results of his efforts elicited a change in his grandmother’s attitude toward his “literary works.” She acknowledged with a repentent chuckle, “Now I see your paintings can be cooked ina pot!” With this blessing from his elder, the artist carved a seal proclaiming himself to be a “Chef who cooks paintings” (Zhuhua shanpao)"’ and proudly hung his own paintings on the walls of his home. He now applied himself to his work with deeper confidence, trying his hand at portraying figures from his imagination. Locals dubbed him “Qi of the Beauties” for his popular depictions of attractive women. If he seemed to be on the road to success, he still had to hurdle the road-

blocks erected by his lower-class origins. Name-conscious collectors asked him to omit his signature from his paintings; to put food on the table, he swallowed his pride and complied. Rather than reacting with discourage- _ ment, however, he seems to have deepened his resolve to cultivate a level of

artistic excellence that would transcend the stigma of class distinctions. On the other hand, being spurned in this way no doubt reinforced his tendency to select his friends carefully. The friendships he had formed over the years provided not only companionship, but also valuable encouragement and opportunities for learning and advancement. He maintained contact with his carpentry teacher, Zhou Zhimei, and he returned to his former portrait instructor, Xiao Xianghai, to study the craft of mounting works of art. Old friends introduced him to their families and friends, many of whom offered something—be it knowledge, skills, or access to an art collection—to Qi Baishi’s

receptive mind. Some acquaintances who had passed the government examinations for civil positions pressed Qi Baishi to do the same. Although officialdom continued to promise rank, a dependable income, and numerous

incidental advantages to educated men, he had no aspirations for wealth and prestige. He would let nothing distract him from his art.

But when his peers selected him to chair their Longshan Poetry Society,

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they would not take no for an answer. Moved by this show of respect from his friends, most of whom had undergone more years of study than he had, Qi Baishi steeped himself ever deeper in literary lore. In a room at a monastery, the members of the society shared their creations and ideas not only in the field of poetry, but music, painting, and seal carving as well. One member, Li Song’an, organized a second literary group in his home. Qi Baishi joined this Luoshan Poetry Society too and provided painted decorations on stationery for fellow members to use for their poetic compositions. He was also encouraged to practice letter-writing, a highly conventionalized branch of traditional literary composition. It was through the activities of the poetic societies in 1896 that Qi Baishi was initiated into the world of seal carving. An encounter with a noted seal engraver from Changsha two years earlier had sparked his interest in this discipline. Qi Baishi took an uncarved seal to the master carver, asking him to engrave his name. When Qi Baishi returned to fetch the seal, the job had not been done. “Grind it smooth and bring it back,” he was told. Qi Baishi examined the seal and saw that it was already very smooth and even, but he did as he was ordered. Again, he took it to the Changsha engraver, and was met with the same blunt rebuff. Qi Baishi finally got the message: either his seal, he himself, or both, were beneath the master seal carver’s personal standard. The

painter went home and tried carving the seal himself with a pedicure knife. He knew his attempt fell short, but a patron to whom he showed it praised it for displaying more refinement than the seals of that Changsha engraver. From fellow members of the Longshan Poetry Society, Qi Baishi learned about the script forms that were used for seals. Under Hu Qinyuan and Chen Shaofan he had practiced the writing style of the famed calligrapher He Shaoji (1799-1873).

To master

seal carving, he should

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ancient official (guli) scripts as preserved in inscriptions cast on antique bronze tripods and engraved in ancient stone monuments. This he did, exchanging samples of his writing and carving at society meetings. But he remained dissatisfied with the quality of his seals, and asked an engraver-friend how he could improve. The reply was that he should go gather stones from a spring, carve each one, grind it down, and carve it again and again; after he had carved enough to fill three or four pastry boxes with stone powder, he would notice improvement in his seal engraving. Though half in jest, this advice appealed to Qi Baishi’s love of challenge. He periodically went to stay with Li Song’an, skilled in seal carving as well as poetry. There the painter would “fill” the guest room with the shavings of the seals that he had repeatedly carved and ground smooth again. One of his premier seals, much admired by Li Song’an, read Jinshi bi, or “engraving fanatic.”'* He began to study the

methods used by the famous engravers Ding Jing and Huang Yi (Xiaosong, 1744-1801) from rubbings of their seals he had received as a gift from Li Song’an. When he was 36 sui, another friend who was aware of Qi Baishi’s

new passion gave him yinpu (books of seal impressions) of works by Ding Jing and Huang Yi. Exposure to these masterpieces, and the zeal with which he plied his knife, ensured Qi Baishi’s swift progress to heights of excellence in the art of seal engraving. In the first month of 1899, a wealthy resident of the town of Xiangtan

named Guo Baosheng (Baosun) sent a messenger to Qi Baishi inviting him to his home to paint and carve some seals. Reluctant to meet this aristocratic son of a famous Qing general, he finally yielded to his wife’s urgings to go.”” It was fortunate that he did, for this first venture beyond his village into the city some thirty miles away was to bring him far more than a commission. Sooner or later, Guo Baosheng and other acquaintances he made in Xiangtan would open doors to entirely new phases in his career. One scholar-official, Xia Wuyi,

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would give him the chance to travel. Another, Zhang Zhongyang, immediately offered the artist an educational opportunity he had never even dreamed of. This former ironsmith was at the time a student of Wang Xiangyi (Kaiyun, 1832-1916), an illustrious scholar of the classics and mentor to some of the

most important minds of early twentieth century China. Within weeks of meeting Qi Baishi, Zhang Zhongyang arranged for the artist to meet his teacher. Presenting samples of his poems, calligraphy, paintings and seal carving to the literatus, Qi Baishi requested a critique. Wang Xiangyi exclaimed, “Your paintings and seals are those of another Huang Jichan!” This comparison of his work to that of a celebrated monk-artist from Xiangtan of the previous century was no small honor, especially coming as it did from this great teacher under whom even those already possessing power and fame clamored to study. Zhang Zhongyang pressed his friend to formally request Wang Xiangyi’s instruction, but fearing others would think he was a social climber, Qi Baishi hesitated. The elder scholar was puzzled. He noted that among his students there was a coppersmith and an ironsmith, but here was this studious carpenter from his own town who seemed unwilling to become his pupil. Zhang Zhongyang heard of his teacher’s sentiments and went to talk to Qi Baishi again. This time Qi Baishi was persuaded. In the tenth month of that year, he was formally installed as Wang Xiangyi’s student.” His acceptance into this exclusive circle signified his entry into the highest stratum of Chinese society, the literati class. Still, he fretted about his scholastic deficiencies. His instructor

judged his new pupil's essays to be competent, but compared his poetry to the doggerel attributed to the loutish character Xuepan in the novel Dream of the Red Chamber (Hongloumeng). Qi Baishi acknowledged the truth of this criticism, for hadn’t he always written verses that simply vented his deep feelings without concern for literary refinement? This honest appraisal of his poems drove home an important lesson for him on the integral relationship of form, style, and content in poetic expression. ! Even while he honed his skills in calligraphy, seal carving and poetry, he continued to paint, drawing from an ever growing repertoire of subjects. He continued to draw his income mainly from portraiture; his renditions of flowers and birds, and of landscapes, had not yet been “discovered.” His break came in 1900. A wealthy salt merchant in Xiangtan had just returned from a trip to Hunan’s scenic Heng Mountains, and he now commissioned Qi Baishi to paint a large scale work showing various views of the 72 peaks in that mountain range. His specifications called for twelve panels six feet in height, and the use of heavy color. By the time he had finished, the artist had used up over three pounds of malachite green pigment. The patron was satisfied, and, upon receipt. of 320 ounces of silver, so was Qi Baishi. This sum was far beyond what he had been used to earning. As word of this transaction spread, local collectors began to view the portrait painter in a new light, and his business in other painting subjects burgeoned. With his small fortune, Qi Baishi leased a house located on the sacrificial

farm plot of the Meigong Ancestral Shrine. Plum trees surrounded the dwelling, and lotus ponds and hibiscus bushes lined the road between the artist’s new home and his parents’ farm just five li away. He moved in with his wife, two sons, and two daughters, and planted banana trees for shade and poetic inspiration. He carved himself a seal with the name of his new studio, Jieshanyinguan, meaning “borrowed mountain poetry hall.” He began to use this name, or Jieshanweng (“old man of the borrowed mountain”) to sign his

paintings. In his first year at Meigong Shrine he wrote several hundred poems. He visited his parents, siblings, and grandmother often. In 1901, the old woman

died.

At 40 sui, Qi Baishi had never ventured outside Hunan province. Now

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Xia Wuyi wrote to him from his new post in Xi’an, inviting him to make a trip there and give instruction in painting to Xia Wuyi’s concubine. Knowing his friend might be disinclined to venture far from home, the official enclosed an advance as well as travel money. Their mutual friend, Guo Baosheng, who had likewise been transferred to Shaanxi province, also wrote pressing him to come, citing the time-honored belief that artists can “obtain help from the rivers and mountains.” The letter went on: If a painter only copies old masterpieces or painting manuals, his work will fall to second-rate. If one only relies on ‘eating with the ears’?! and casual dabbling, it would be like scratching one’s boot, and this has no merit what-

soever. If you can travel often, your perspective will broaden and your personal vision will expand; it will enhance your natural talents and

profound scholarship, and your achievements will know no limits. Compared to those who hole up in their homes and gloat in close-minded selfsatisfaction, really, the difference is immeasurable...”

Here was yet another case in which friends provided Qi Baishi with encouragement and opportunity.

Sure enough, the sightseeing he did during his slow trek north in late 1902 proved invaluable to his art. The realization that painting must be closely related to nature came to him as he recorded images of the scenery he observed. Plein air painting, nearly a lost art among landscapists in China, was an effective means for Qi Baishi to pursue his quest for fidelity to nature combined with personal expression. His confrontation with one scenic spot after another during his travels persuaded him to dispense with fine detail in his depictions and to learn to encapsulate the intrinsic character of a subject in a more condensed style. The sight of the famous Mount Song in Henan so moved him that he borrowed a table from a nearby inn and set up an outdoor painting studio. With the actual subject before him and his inspiration still fresh, he was able to transmit the essential physical and atmospheric features of the scene through the lens of his own immediate experience of it. Upon his return home, he selected the finest among the album leaf-size paintings created on this journey and titled them collectively Jieshanyinguan tujuan.* He later added other, often larger, choice works to this series. Two of his favorite entries were “Watching the Sun Over Dongting Lake” (Dongting kan ri tu)** and “Wind and Snow at Ba Bridge” (Bagqiao fengxue tu). Many of these studies would be utilized as prototypes for the landscapes he painted in the years that followed. Once he reached Xi’an, he toured other points of interest, including Beilin,

literally “monument forest,” the site of the Imperial Academy as early as the seventh century. In response to this repository of over 1,400 stone tablets engraved with writings by China’s finest masters of calligraphy, Qi Baishi enthused: “Beilin was a feast for my eyes!”” After he had been in Xian a little over three months, Xia Wuyi was preparing to take his family to Beijing, and

asked Qi Baishi to accompany him. Fan Fanshan (Zengxiang, 1846-1931), noted poet and provincial judge of Shaanxi, was now a patron of Qi Baishi’s seal carving. He generously gave Qi Baishi access to his fine collection of old masters’ paintings. Fan Fanshan was also planning a trip to the capital and made a proposal to Qi Baishi. It was well-known that the empress dowager Cixi liked art and wanted to be known as a painter. Fan Fanshan happened to know that she paid a certain widow from Yunnan a handsome salary to paint works on which the empress would sign her own name. He offered to use his influence to procure a court-artist position for Qi Baishi. Xia Wuyi entertained similar plans for the Hunan artist’s future, painting a glowing picture of Beijing where “the streets are paved with silver.” Adverse as ever to fortune-hunting

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and civil employment, Qi Baishi nevertheless saw there was no use arguing. He agreed to go to the capital without committing himself to his benefactor’s scheme. At any rate, his distaste for government service, with the constrictions

and moral compromising it would surely impose, could not counteract the relish with which he took in the broad vistas and noble heights he encountered on the way to Beijing. Such sights were sustenance for his sole ambition—the cultivation of his art. Beijing of 1903 was the gathering place not only of the politically powerful but also of many of China’s most prominent scholars, artists, and collectors. During his two- or three-month sojourn there, Qi Baishi instructed Xia Wuyi’s wife daily, and hobnobbed with old friends and new acquaintances in artistic circles. He was introduced—though not always willingly, so much did he loathe high society—to some big names of arts and letters. Among them were the jinshi-degree scholars” Zeng Xi (Nongran, 1861-1930) and Li Ruiquan (Jun’an, late nineteenth to early twentieth century), who were highly accomplished calligraphers.” Qi Baishi had no problem selling his paintings and seals in the capital, but when he heard Fan Fanshan was on his way, he was intent on avoiding pressure to work as a court artist. He departed at once,

making his way home over a leisurely two months by way of Tianjin, by sea to Shanghai, by riverboat to Wuhan, and finally back to Hunan. Fan Fanshan, upon arriving in Beijing and finding Qi Baishi gone, remarked, “Mr. Qi’s moral character is lofty, but in disposition he is something of a loner!”

The trip north had been profitable, and enabled Qi Baishi to lease some land adjacent to his house. But his travel bug had yet to be satisfied. In spring of 1904, Wang Xiangyi asked his students Zhang Zhongyang and Qi Baishi to come to see him in Nanchang. Together, they took in the scenic spots of Jiangxi province. That summer Wang Xiangyi patiently reviewed Qi Baishi’s recent writings and seal imprints, and obliged the student’s request for a preface for these works. On the festival of the seventh day of the seventh month, the teacher invited these two and one other pupil to celebrate with him. Expressing his hopes for reviving the cultural refinements that had once flourished in Nanchang, Wang Xiangyi offered the opening line of a couplet and asked his guests to complete it. All three students drew a blank, their embarrassment written on their faces. Returning home in mid-autumn, Qi Baishi still felt troubled by his failure to complete his mentor’s poem. To rectify his tarnished self-image as a poet, he dropped the yin, meaning “to recite poetry,” from Jieshanyinguan, and thereafter used the sobriquet Jieshanguan. Only decades later did he restore yin to his name, either for the sake of early reminiscences or in recognition of the progress he had made in his poetry. His work in the visual arts, meanwhile, was undergoing a transformation. In Xi’an, he had started to experiment with the xieyi approach to painting. Having mastered the basic skills of draftsmanship and brush technique in the gongbi mode, he felt ready to break out of the confines of laborious detail and explore more openly expressive—and less time-consuming—methods of painting. Then in Beijing, Li Ruiquan had tutored him in the script styles of Northern Wei dynasty steles. This experience deepened Qi Baishi’s understanding of beixue (the study of inscribed stone monuments),”* and he began to devote his calligraphic practice to the study of ancient engraved inscriptions. Not only was his writing style changed by this new interest, his carving knife cut with more robust vitality. Moreover, his painted images became simpler and stronger, with hints of the jinshi aesthetic manifested in his brushwork. These changes occurred gradually, with inspiration and instruction coming from friends and mentors, books and original art works, as well as personal reflection and the artistic process itself. In 1905 Qi Baishi borrowed an original edition of Erjindietang yinpu, an album of seal impressions by Zhao

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Zhigian.” This Shanghai master had been a major pioneer of modern jinshi art, integrating the incisive strength of engraved line into his calligraphy and paintings alike. Just as he had done with the borrowed painting manual, Qi Baishi took this eight-volume seal album home and copied it, this time using cinnabar pigment to trace the linework of the seal impressions. The chance to study this collection of masterworks of engraved stone clinched Qi Baishi’s conversion to the jinshi aesthetic. From the age of 43 sui on, every stroke of his knife or brush evinced his pursuit of this unique stylistic trait. In his autobiography, Qi Baishi entitled one chapter “five trips and five returns,” for between 1902 and 1909 he made five separate journeys within China. His third trip took him to Guilin in the seventh month of 1905, on the invitation of his friend Wang Songnian. The spectacular scenery there motivated him to paint numerous landscapes during his stay. Making use of the price list Fan Fanshan had created for him,*’ he generated a brisk business in paintings and seals within the Guilin area. Early the following year he received a letter from his father at home, asking him to go to Guangdong province. The family was worried about Qi Baishi’s fourth brother and eldest son, who had gone to Guangdong to join the army. Qi Baishi found them in the town of Qinzhou in Guangxi in a unit under the command of his friend Guo Baosheng. Qi Baishi was pressed to stay by Guo Baosheng, who painted flowers and birds and owned an extensive collection of paintings by old masters. The artist spent several months there giving lessons to his host’s concubine, “ghost painting” for Guo Baosheng himself, and copying works by such artists as Xu Wei, Zhu Da, and Jin Nong (Fig. 53). Shortly after Qi Baishi’s return home in autumn of 1906, his lease expired. His considerable earnings from his recent trip now placed him in a position to purchase property of his own. He bought 20 mou of land at the foot of Mount Yuxia (see “The Yuxia and Lianhua Mountains,” No. 16), several miles from Baishipu. It was a tranquil setting of paddies surrounded by old maples and pines. The house on the property was run down, but he refurbished it to his liking and named

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Jipingtang or “hall of the sojourning duckweed.” To his new studio, attached to the single-story dwelling, he gave the impressive title Bayanlou, literally, “multi-storied house of eight inkstones.”*' If he was indulging in a bit of vainglory, he had good reason to. Having

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lifted himself up from ignorance and poverty to become a successful professional painter, poet, calligrapher and seal carver, he was now a homeowner, and even a grandfather. He could breathe easy now: his own future, and therefore that of his family, was secure. He

planted over thirty pear trees and built himself a wire-screen cubicle

just outside his studio door. Here he could read, write or paint without the company of insects. Day and night he sat in this enclosure, totally immersed in his studies and art. His son later recalled that on the evening of the Yuanxiao Festival* one year, a noisy celebration with a dragon dance, drums and firecrackers paraded right past their home. His father, meanwhile, was sitting in his “green screen

cupboard” poring over Song dynasty poetry. Finally, in the middle of the night, Qi Baishi stepped outside and inquired why the dragon dance hadn’t come by yet. New Year festivites were among the few distractions that might have occasionally aroused Qi Baishi from his total absorption in literature and art during most of the years that he passed at Jipingtang. It was a time of concentrated study (still under the guidance of Hu Qinyuan), of family life and friendships, of steady artistic development and production. In his daughter’s estimation,

“ Fig. 53 Jin Nong, Peonies, hanging scroll, ink on paper. Reverend Richard Fabian collection.

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the decade after he moved into Jipingtang was the happiest of his life, and his poetry of this period conveys an inner peacefulness and joy.* But he was not yet ready to stay home. He had promised Guo Baosheng he would return to Qinzhou. Arriving there in the spring of 1907, he once again instructed his host’s concubine and accompanied them on their travels. They ventured across China’s southern border to Vietnam, where the lush green fields and banana groves inspired Qi Baishi to paint. Back at Qinzhou, his muse was stirred by fruit-laden lichee trees and the performances of a certain lady singer. Lichees now showed up in his paintings, and he lightheartedly agreed to exchange bunches of this sweet fruit for his art work. He reminisced about the leisurely pleasures of this fourth excursion, which lasted most of the year, in a poem: That silly old dream of my sojourn in Qinzhou, With drizzle falling on the river at South Gate, I won't have the chance to live like that again,

When that delicate hand taught me to peel lichees.™*

Yet another invitation to travel came in the beginning of 1908. Luo Xingwu, one of the original members of the Longshan Poetry Society, was Commissioner of Education in Guangdong province. He also was a participant in Sun Yatsen’s revolutionary society known as the Alliance (Tongmenghui). After his arrival in the second month, Qi Baishi found that his paintings did not appeal to Guangzhou collectors, who preferred landscapes in the orthodox manner of the Four Wangs. They did, however, keep the artist busy carving seals. Luo Xingwu apprised his guest of his clandestine political activities, and asked him to help out by transporting secret documents for the Alliance. So on a pretext of selling his own art work, Qi Baishi delivered documents that were hidden among his wrapped paintings. That autumn, his father called him home, then asked him to go to Qinzhou to get his fourth brother and eldest son. Qi Baishi complied but did not rush home. He passed New Year’s in Guangzhou and within the month moved on to Qinzhou where Guo Baosheng again offered him accommodations. That summer the three Qi family members headed for home via Hongkong, Shanghai (by sea), Suzhou, and Nanjing. In the ninth month of 1909, the artist concluded the last of his “five

trips and five returns.” Without a doubt, he had benefited from his travels, and the gains were not only monetary. He had extended his patronage in terms of geography as well as artistic sophistication. Most importantly, he had raised his aspirations and expanded his artistic horizons. His association with many distinguished figures of arts and letters had underscored the intimate relation of literature to’ painting. After his final return home, he immersed himself in classical writings and poetry, and composed poems in informal contests with his old friends from the poetry societies. He sorted through all the landscape studies he had executed during his trips. After repainting them, he added the finest to his Jieshanyinguan tujuan, bringing the total number of works in the series to fiftytwo. A major commission in 1910 kept him busy for three long months. One of his friends from Shimen had asked a member of the Longshan Poetry Society to write twenty-four poems about the scenery of that area; now the friend came to Qi Baishi for just as many painted scenes. The artist worked over his ideas and rough drafts for three months before he was satisfied. When the patron and poet surveyed the finished product, they marveled at the progress Qi Baishi had made in broadening the scope of his artistic vision since he left home for the first time. He went to stay with friends in Changsha. There, the changes in his seal carving caught the eye of his associates. In Qi Baishi’s fusion of the Han style

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with the manner of Zhao Zhiqian, one friend noted a decided primitivism. Two brothers who in previous years had ground the work of Qi Baishi’s knife off their seals now asked him to recarve them. Thenceforth, orders for seals

poured in everyday. He chuckled over this long-awaited recognition, recalling one of his own verses: “Fame comes only when one’s beard has grown long” (i.e. in old age). Even so, he continued to accept commissions for portraits. In his memoirs, the painter tells of a portrait of this period that featured a robe with a dragon design showing through a gauze over-garment. On a rug in the same work, Qi Baishi brushed the imprint design from one of his seals; this painted seal impression was the trademark of his portraiture during this period.»

The year of the Xinhai Revolution (1911) found the artist still in Changsha. Hearing that Wang Xiangyi was in town, he went and asked him to write an epitaph for his grandmother’s grave. Qi Baishi then lovingly engraved the eulogy on the matriarch’s tombstone with his own hand. His family had to bury two more members within the next three years. At 51 sui, Qi Baishi decided to divide his savings among his three sons, telling the older two (25 and 20 sui) that it was time to find their own means of support. But his second son, Liangfu, a hunter, fell ill and complained to his mother that he couldn’t make it on his own. The parents decided not to take their son’s “whining” too seriously. Five days later, Liangfu died. Qi Baishi felt consumed with regret. A chronic disease took his own sixth brother at just 27 sui in the summer of 1914. The news came a few days later that his teacher and confidant Hu Oinyuan had passed away. Cast into deep mourning, the artist executed twenty paintings, mounted them, placed them in a box, and burned them at Hu Qinyuan’s funeral. He also composed a eulogy and fourteen poems in memory of his beloved teacher. Yet another blow fell in 1916 with the death of Wang Xiangyi at 85 sui. Qi Baishi would remain forever grateful to these two great men from whom he had received so much knowledge and encouragement, so many insights and opportunities. All he wanted now was to pass the remainder of his days in his home district, enjoying the moderate success he had achieved and continuing to work on his painting, calligraphy, poetry and seal carving. But the instability of the new republican government had fomented a power struggle among various political factions and numerous warlords who were amassing their own armies in hopes of conquering ever greater portions of a divided China. Their battles, along with frequent raids by bandits who roamed the countryside unchecked, had thrown much of Hunan into turmoil. In the ensuing political free-for-all, local officials attempted to cash in on the disorder by levying excessive taxes and demanding contributions from anyone who had anything to give. By 1917, not a day passed in which Qi Baishi did not feel harrassed or seriously threatened. An offer of shelter came from Fan Fanshan in Beijing. The artist packed a simple bag, took leave of his family, and hastened to the capital. Not long after his arrival in the fifth month, a coup led by the pro-Qing general Zhang Xun (1854-1923) frightened Guo Baosheng enough to flee to Tianjin where the foreign concessions ensured a measure of security. Qi Baishi went with him, but with Zhang Xun’s defeat a month later, he returned to Beijing, taking up residence with a friend at Fayuan Temple. To drum up some business, he went to Liulichang, Beijing’s antique and art bazaar, and posted his price list at the Southern Paper Shop. Not long after, the noted painter Chen Shizeng went into this paper store and was attracted

by the seals that Qi Baishi had imprinted on his price list as samples. Chen Shizeng sought out the seal carver at Fayuan Temple and introduced himself. In no time the two became close friends. Although the Beijing artist was the younger man by twelve years, at their first meeting Qi Baishi pulled out his

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Jieshanyinguan tujuan and asked for a critique. Chen Shizeng praised the Hunan artist’s well-developed style, pointed out certain areas in need of improvement, and argued persuasively for him to work

towards creating expressive forms of his own instead of catering to common

tastes. Qi Baishi was of the same mind on this and, it

turned out, many other counts. Through long discussions with Chen Shizeng, he discovered that he and his new companion concurred

in their viewpoints on art and other matters, despite the dissimilarity of their backgrounds. Born in Xiushui (Yining), Jiangxi province, Chen Shizeng came from a distinguished family of scholar-officials. His father was Chen Sanli (Sanyuan, 1853-1937), one of the most

influential poets of his time. After studying in Japan, Chen Shizeng returned to China and taught in Nantong and Changsha. He later worked for the Ministry of Education, and was among the first professors on the staff of the Beijing Art Academy. Best known as a painter (Fig. 54), he was, like Qi Baishi, also an accomplished poet,

calligrapher, and seal carver. When he noticed the fresh quality of Qi Baishi’s seal carving in the Southern Paper Shop that day in 1917, he wanted to go straight to its source to see and learn more about it. His unquenchable thirst for beauty and the spirit of equality and sharing in his friendship with Qi Baishi speaks to Chen

Shizeng’s passionate yet selfless devotion to art. Although the

Fig. 54 Chen Shizeng, Bamboo and Lamp, hanging scroll, ink on paper. Reverend Richard Fabian collection.

influences on Qi Baishi’s artistic development were many and complex, his relationship with Chen Shizeng stands out as a turning point of inestimable importance. Around this time, Qi Baishi also received encouragement from another friend, in this case for his poetic endeavors. He gave a collection of his poems to Fan Fanshan in order to have them critiqued. The poet-official composed a preface for the collection and urged Qi Baishi to have it published. Not until ten years later, however, was his Jieshanyinguan shicao published, complete with Fan Fanshan’s preface. Qi Baishi encountered many other old friends in Beijing on this trip; he also met a number of prominent

artists including Wang Yun (Mengbai, 1888-1934), Chen Banding (Nian, 1876— 1970) and Yao Hua (Mangfu, 1876-1930). Among these men who shared his dedication to the arts, Qi Baishi hardly had a chance to feel lonely. But there was one new acquaintance in his circle who treated him with disdain. A civil degree-holder, painter and poet, this man spoke to Qi Baishi with a distinct air of superiority, and behind his back, derided his paintings and poetry as coarse, uncultivated and utterly worthless. Qi Baishi took a philosophical attitude toward this detractor, who relied on the prestige of his literary credentials to sell his own, quite ordinary paintings. There was no use in getting angry, since time would tell which art works were the best. But he did make a retort in the form of a poem called “The Stupid Tree”: I'll let you tirelessly peel me thousands of times, Then when the wind blows I'll feel so light.°°

This incident and other such insults in the years to come prompted a number of paintings entitled “If Someone Reviles Me, I'll Revile Him Too.”” In the ninth month he returned to Hunan, only to find that, while his family members were hiding from a military raid, his house had been robbed clean. By 1918 conditions in the area grew even more serious. Robberies and kidnappings were taking place in broad daylight. A rumor began circulating that Qi Baishi had become rich, and that he would be the next one to be

kidnapped. Alarmed, the entire Qi family went into hiding on the remote, thickly wooded property of a relative at the foot of Zijing Mountain near

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Baishipu. For most of the year they passed a harsh existence, stowed away in a primitive grass hut with little food and no relief from the stifling heat and bugs. Qi Baishi changed his name and avoided

contact with the outside world. He became “skinny as a rail” as he waited for the crisis to pass.** While he waited, he made a crucial decision: in the following year he would move to Beijing and never return to his home town as long as he lived. In that great metropolis, he could live in peace and relative obscurity. But when it came time to say good-bye to his family, he was sick at heart. His aged parents repeatedly pleaded with him to promise he would come home once the situation improved. His wife would stay behind; she could not tear herself away from the family, their house and their land. She assured him that if he could make a go of it and settle down in Beijing, she would visit him often. Unwilling to leave, yet knowing he had no choice, he set out in early 1919 and arrived in Beijing in the third month. He was 57 sui. He took up residence once again in the Fayuan Temple and resumed the sale of his paintings and seals. The streets were not “paved in silver,” he soon discovered, and he just managed to get by. Sundown brought him memories and worries, and long sleepless nights; then his only comfort would be writing poetry. That fall his wife wrote that she was coming to see him. He rented some rooms in another temple where they could stay together. During her visit his wife helped him to set up housekeeping with his new concubine, Hu Baozhu, 18-sui, from Sichuan. In the winter came news that the warfare in

Fig. 55 Zhu Da, Bird, hanging scroll, ink on paper. Michael Gallis family collection.

Hunan had flared up anew. Qi Baishi accompanied his wife back home and stayed there through the New Year holiday. He returned to the capital in the spring, bringing his third son Liangkun and his grandson Qi Bingling so they could study there. Except for a period of several days when they took refuge with Guo Baosheng while the armies of two powerful warlords fought a major battle near Beijing, Qi Baishi, his son and his grandson lodged at various Buddhist temples for the next few months. They finally found permanent lodging in the Xisipailou district in western Beijing. Throughout the first half of the year 1920, only a handful of art collectors took an interest in Qi Baishi’s paintings. Few people other than Chen Shizeng appreciated his style, which for some flower-and-bird subjects approximated the lengyi manner of the xieyi master Zhu Da (Fig. 55). For certain other themes, Qi Baishi was still employing the meticulous brush mode that he had learned from his first painting teacher. The price Qi Baishi charged for one fan painting—two silver dollars—was only half the going rate, yet inquiries regarding his art work were few and far between. But Chen Shizeng saw great promise in his friend’s paintings and persisted in urging him to forge a new direction for himself. Of Qi Baishi’s painted plum blossoms, Chen Shizeng said, “Gongbi plum blossoms waste energy and are not attractive.” Finally, the breakthrough came. Qi Baishi’s autobiography does not relate the details of how it occurred, but at some point in 1920 he painted an image of red flowers with ink leaves in a broad-stroked xieyi style. Not only did the results of his new approach satisfy him, they also pleased Congressman Yi Weiru, who purchased a fan painting from Qi Baishi and showed it to the painter-author Lin Su (Qinnan, 1852-1924). In a now oft-quoted statement, Lin Su remarked,

“Wu in the south and Qi in the north may be considered a pair.”*” Wu Changshi was at that time the greatest living exponent of the Shanghai school of painting. He was also a distinguished calligrapher, seal carver and enthusiast of jinshi studies who infused his brushwork with the subtlety and rugged strength of hewn stone. Lin Su’s comparison of Qi Baishi with this famed Shanghai

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master was like a shot in the arm for the “northern” artist’s morale. It also procured alliances with influential artistic figures such as Lin Su himself and Xu Beihong. In the ninth month of the same year, the dramatist Qi Rushan (1877-1962)

took Qi Baishi to a party at the home of the star opera singer Mei Lanfang (1894-1961). Qi Baishi felt at ease with the host’s gracious congeniality, and was captivated by his garden, in which over 100 varieties of morning glories bloomed. The artist befriended Mei Lanfang’s teacher for painting plum blossoms as well as his poetry tutor. But on another occasion when Qi Baishi accepted an invitation to a gathering of government dignitaries, none of the other guests would deign to associate with this country fellow in commoner’s attire. Only after they glimpsed Mei Lanfang greeting him with respect and warmth did a few show some courtesy toward the painter from Hunan. For his friend’s kindness, Qi Baishi painted for him “Delivering Coal in the Snow” and inscribed the verse: “Just when I had sunk into ruin like the city of Chang’an/Fortunately there was Mei Lanfang to recognize my name.”” The following summer took the artist to Baoding to see Xia Wuyi. A family reunion back in Xiangtan that autumn assured the 59-sui artist that his parents were healthy and doing well. Notice from Beijing of his grandson’s illness sent him back north with his wife Chen Chunjun, but the young man had recovered by the time they arrived. That winter, in early 1922, Hu Baozhu gave birth to her first child, a boy named Liangchi, Qi Baishi’s fourth son. Chen Chunjun stayed on to help with the baby, and the father was touched by the way she gave the boy the same loving care she gave to her own children. Chen Shizeng came to Qi Baishi in the spring of 1922 with an exciting proposition. Two Japanese artists, Araki Juppo and Watanabe Shimbo, had written to Chen Shizeng about an exhibition they were organizing which would feature paintings by both Chinese and Japanese artists. To this end, they were now soliciting works from China. Qi Baishi eagerly provided his companion with a number of paintings for him to take to Tokyo. In autumn, Chen Shizeng returned from Japan with the results of the exhibition. Not only had all of Qi

Baishi’s paintings sold, they had fetched prices that were beyond his wildest dreams. They had all sold for at least 100 yuan, with some large landscapes selling for 250 yuan. In addition, two of his works were selected for public display in Paris, and he and Chen Shizeng would be featured in a film to be shown at a Tokyo museum. Qi Baishi was stunned by his sudden success. From this time on, a steady stream of foreigners came to him for paintings. One of them was Yakichiro Suma, a diplomat from Japan, who, beginning in 1927, bought hundreds of Qi Baishi’s works.*! Local antique dealers and. collectors began to take notice as well. As business improved daily, Qi Baishi felt deep gratitude toward Chen Shizeng. But that year family tragedy struck again. In the summer Qi Baishi accompanied Chen Chunjun back to Hunan. There he saw his second daughter Amei for the first time in four years. She was ina haggard state from enduring years of physical abuse by her husband. More than once she had had to flee for her life, and this time she was refusing to return to her husband’s home. Appalled

by her situation, Qi Baishi encouraged his daughter to start a new life, for herself and composed two poems decrying her suffering and affirming the right of a woman to break free from marriage. Such a liberal sentiment was not commonly voiced in China of the 1920s, especially by a man of his generation and background. Then in the eleventh month, Bingling, Qi Baishi’s eldest grandson, who had been sick in the previous year and who had recently

graduated from Beijing Law School with honors, succumbed to an illness at the age of 17 sui. The grief-stricken grandfather eulogized the boy in a tender poem recalling the days when they had planted pear trees together. Another

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death the following year hit so hard it may as well have been a blood relative: Chen Shizeng, having just rushed south for his step-mother’s funeral, contracted dysentery and died in Nanjing. He was 48 sui. Hearing of this loss, Qi Baishi described feeling “exceptionally empty,” as his “tears flowed uncontrollably.” His statement “Without me you would not progress, without you I would regress,” summed up the relationship between these two artists. During the five years of their friendship, Chen Shizeng had been Qi Baishi’s mentor, promoter, and intimate companion. It was through his friend’s advice and encouragement that the Hunan painter had mustered the courage to transform his art and create what came to be known as his moye honghua (“ink leaves with red flowers”) style. And it was through his friend’s willingness to share his own opportunities for advancement that he had exhibited in Japan and won international acclaim. Qi Baishi never forgot the enormous debt he owed to Chen Shizeng. Qi Baishi’s first entry in his diary, called the Journal of the Three Hundred Stone Seals Studio (Sanbaishiyinzhai jishi) dates to 1923. In autumn of that year he moved to no. 1 Gaochala in the Taiping Bridge area. On the wall of his new home he hung the tablet reading “Jipingtang” inscribed for him by his teacher Wang Xiangyi. In the eleventh month Hu Baozhu gave birth to another boy, officially named Liangsi, and nicknamed Chichi (“late-late”).” It was Liangsi who later became the subject of Qi Baishi’s paintings of a boy sleeping at his desk.* Meanwhile, Qi Baishi’s third son, Liangkun, was showing fair promise as a painter. Having studied under his father, by his early twenties the young man had established a clientele of his own. His wife also painted. In early 1925, an old friend from Xiangtan came to visit. Bin Kainan had recently taken up Buddhism. He asked Qi Baishi why, since his art had been so well-received in Japan, didn’t he tour that country to secure even more fame and wealth? The artist’s answer reaffirmed his disinterest in getting rich: “T have been living in Beijing almost nine years now! This year my income from selling paintings right here in this country is already enough to sustain me, not like when I first came to the capital and could barely eke out a living. Now when I am hungry, I have rice to eat; when I’m cold, I have coal to burn. Life’s contentment may be found in just having enough food to eat; why go after so much money and wear oneself out?” Amused, Bin Kainan suggested that Qi Baishi take up the study of Buddhism. But even a brush with death from a serious illness shortly thereafter would not kindle any religious ardor in the 63-sui artist. Nor did the month-long ailment slow him down once he recovered. He soon returned to his daily routine of painting, writing and carving. Later that year he took on a new student: Mei Lanfang wished to learn insect painting. Just as Qi Baishi began to enjoy a life and career of moderate success in the northern capital, the family and friends he had left behind were moving into dark days. He embarked on a trip to Hunan in spring, 1926, but when he got to Changsha, he found all the roads blocked off. The state of disorder that had driven him from his hometown in the first place had now degenerated into utter chaos. Though he had come within a hundred li of his home, rampant warfare in the region barred him from his destination. A few days after his return to Beijing, he received a letter from his eldest son saying that Qi Baishi’s mother was seriously ill, and that money was needed. There was nothing to do but send funds and wait. For a month or so, worry and frustration prevented him from working; then the dreaded news came. On her deathbed, the 82-sui woman had cried out, “Has Chunzhi come back yet? I can’t wait for him any longer! If I don’t get to see him, even in death I'll be wondering about him!” From over a thousand miles away, the bereaved son

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was beside himself with sadness and self-reproach. Not only had he failed to be at his mother’s side in old age, sickness and death, now he could not even

attend her funeral. He never forgave himself for this breach in the filial conduct expected of the eldest son under the Confucian social system. Tragically, he faced the same circumstances when three months later he learned of his father’s critical illness. He considered taking a southern route from Guangdong into Xiangtan, but with fighting between the revolutionary troops and warlord forces pressing on the district from all sides, he once again had to resign himself to being absent from his parent’s final days and burial rites. In the seventh month of 1926, Qi Baishi’s father died. Dressed in mourning clothes,

Qi Baishi performed rites at a local temple, and asked his friend Fan Fanshan to write epitaphs for each of his parents. For some time he lost interest in everything. At the end of the year he

bought a house at no. 15 Kuache Lane and moved in with his family. Then in 1927, Lin Fengmian, director of the Beijing Art Academy, invited Qi Baishi to teach traditional painting at that government sponsored school. The Hunan artist feared he lacked the qualifications, but he was ultimately persuaded to take the post. To his surprise, his students gave him their utmost respect and attention, and he took great pleasure in teaching them. When the Beijing Art Academy changed its name to the Beiping* Art College in 1928, Qi Baishi became a professor. The fact that he had worked his way up from farm-boy to carpenter to professional artist and now to the position of professor made even the 66-sui painter himself marvel. He also became a published poet with the first printing of his Jieshanyinguan shicao in the fall of that year. Sadly, Fan Fanshan, the man who had recognized the quality in Qi Baishi’s poems and who had written the preface for the volume, passed away only three years later. Around this time Qi Baishi also suffered the loss of two of his brothers,

one a casualty of the warlord-Nationalist conflict. On a happier note, during the same period two daughters were born to him and Hu Baozhu: Lianghuan in 1928 and Liangzhi 1931. All his life, Qi Baishi avoided direct participation in politics. But he made no secret of his feelings in cases of injustice or national humiliation. His entry into his memoirs for the year 1928 complains at length of unchecked corruption among Beijing’s bureaucrats. The artist commented on their greed and indifference in two paintings of roosters which he inscribed, “Have you heard the sound of the cocks across the land? Their crowing has lasted through midday even unto nightfall,” and again, “Fine fowl would do well to keep their mouths shut. Only awaken the gentlemen when the sun returns to the west.” He was indignant over the Mukden Incident in September, 1931, when Japan attacked Shenyang (Mukden) in what became the prelude to their takeover of all of Manchuria. As the invading army pushed steadily south, friends tried to persuade Qi Baishi to move away from the capital. But he knew there was no corner of China left that would be completely safe and decided he would rather “muddle along until the last breath” in the city he had called home for the last twelve years. He and his friend Li Song’an observed the festival of the ninth month, ninth day with the customary ritual of climbing to a high place. As they ascended a tower of the Xuanwu Gate, their view of the city ravaged by fires filled them with deep sorrow. At least two of his poems written at this time satirize his fellow countrymen who put their faith in the League of Nations to save China from the Japanese. Ever skeptical, he nevertheless cited patriotism as his motive for refusing to associate with natives of Japan throughout that country’s occupation of China. At first he politely received those who came professing their admiration for him and offering gifts and invitations to dine. But such ploys invariably turned out to be “treacherous schemes” aimed at obtaining his paintings for free and then selling them in Japan for high

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prices. Repelled by their “abominable intentions,” at one point he began to keep his door locked and when someone came calling, he would first peek out and see who it was. If the caller was Japanese, he would instruct his servant to say he was not at home. Better not to let them in at all, he reasoned, than

to meet with them and then try to refuse them. At least twice during this period he retreated to the homes of friends in safer areas within Beijing. Tranquility and a sense of seclusion could be had at the estate of Zhang Huangxi, father of Zhang Cixi who recorded Qi Baishi’s oral memoirs. In this country-like setting in 1931, the artist was accommodated in three rooms just off the garden. Here, he put up a sign reading “Jieshanjun” (“gentleman of borrowed mountain”) and passed his time painting and relaxing. The younger Zhang boys eagerly hunted insects to serve as specimens for their guest to paint. Qi Baishi studied closely the anatomy and movements of these tiny creatures and also those of the shrimps and fish in the garden pond. For three days in winter of 1932, Qi Baishi heeded rumors of a Japanese invasion of Beijing by taking refuge at the home of his student Ji Youmei in a section of the city dominated by foreign embassies. In addition to his duties at the art college, Qi Baishi taught privately. Among his pupils at this time were Zhao Xianyu (Mingxian) from Shanxi, and a poet-calligrapher from Anhui named Fang Junzhang (Wenxi). Another was a monk named Ruiguang, noted for his ability to capture the spirit of the seventeenth century master Shitao. Ruiguang was one of Qi Baishi’s favorite students, so his death in 1932 at 55 sui affected the teacher deeply. The imminence of his own death began to weigh heavy on his mind, and in weary moments he asked himself why he continued to toil day after day. On a painting titled Xijiantu or “Resting the Shoulders” (perhaps of a man carrying a heavy load on his back), he inscribed a poem: I watch my friends one by one pass away, Has any one of them taken along a single penny? This man of 70 laughs at himself, Giving his all to toting a copper mountain when he should be resting his shoulders.” But for Qi Baishi, to live was to work, be that work painting, writing, carving,

or teaching. Although by the 1930s he and his family were finally en-joying a comfortable standard of living, he never chose to retire. Over the decades, he

gave painting lessons to beginners and masters alike. He shared his skills with

all his sons (except the eldest, who inherited the family farm in Hunan). In 1932 a student of Western art who supported himself by pulling a rickshaw came to Qi Baishi and asked to be his student. Sensing the young man’s sincerity, Qi Baishi not only agreed to teach him, he also waived his tuition. This student was Li Kuchan, one of China’s best-known artists of this century. There were others who passed through Qi Baishi’s training to go on and become leading masters of their time, including Lou Shibo, Li Keran, Li Baiheng (contemporary), and Wang Xuetao (1903-1982). All were encouraged to not

simply copy their teacher’s style, but to develop an individual manner of expression. When Qi Baishi queried Li Kuchan on the technique that would best convey an eagle’s fierceness, the novice painter replied, “When I paint an eagle’s beak, I use square brushstrokes for strength.”*° The master accepted the validity of his student’s approach, though he himself always used rounded brushstrokes for the beak of an eagle. And when Li Keran showed a desire to emulate Qi Baishi’s style, he was cautioned, “If you learn

from me, you will have life (a future), but if you imitate me, you will die (have no future).”*” Baishi shicao, a collection of Qi Baishi’s poetry in eight volumes, was

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published in the beginning of 1933. The same year produced a ten-volume seal album or yinpu, imprinted personally by the artist with cinnabar seal ink. Qi Baishi’s published seal albums trace the evolution of his carving style and testify to his creative revitalization of this ancient art form. In contrast to his initial attempts at seal carving, when at least one professional carver rejected his stone and two brothers ground smooth the stones he had carved for them, a master seal carver now (in 1932) came to him asking for a demonstration of his technique. Luo Xiangzhi watched and listened as Qi Baishi cut into a stone and explained his methods. Hit as though “by thunder” with a sudden insight, Luo Xiangzhi begged Qi Baishi for the chance to be his pupil. Around the same time a gentleman from Sichuan made the same request, which Qi Baishi likewise granted. Through such demonstrations in 1932 and 1933 alone, he carved over three hundred seals, and made impressions of them all for his children and grandchildren. Again in early 1933, the threat of further Japanese incursions drove Qi Baishi from his home to that of his student Ji Youmei for twenty days. That summer one of his brothers who had opposed his pursuit of art accepted the painter’s invitation to journey to the capital. The painter received his younger brother warmly and offered gifts for him to take back to the family. By the end of the month-long stay, the younger Qi was reconciled with the eldest. Even so, between his anxiety over China’s political situation and his longing for his

old home, Qi Baishi often felt heavy at heart. At the end of the year, the 71-sui artist commemorated what would have been the one hundred twentieth birthday of his paternal grandmother, now dead for 32 years. In addition to engaging Buddhist monks to recite sutras and perform ceremonies at his home, the filial grandson himself burned “spirit money” and a written statement expressing his deep regret that he could not return home to sweep her grave. He was feeling older by the day, and feared he would never again see the family, friends, and farm he had left behind. He began having dizzy spells and pain down the right side of his body. But he felt well enough in the summer of 1935 to make the trip to Hunan, accompanied by Hu Baozhu. There he found his house in good shape and a smoothly run household of twenty people, with his eldest sons, Liangyuan and Liangkun, serving as good models for the youngsters. Only Chunjun, his wife, who appeared unhealthfully under weight, worried him. After only three days, having dutifully swept his ancestors’ graves, he slipped quietly away, unable to face his wife and many friends who were eager to see him off. He arrived in Beijing heavy at heart, and wrote in his diary: The crow has its personal affection, But before serving them their fill, It must mourn its parents,

Wanting to care for them, they are gone.*

He then carved a large seal reading Huiwutang, “Hall of the Regretful Crow” (see Seal No. 20), which he used, as though it were an instrument of penance, on many art works from that time on. An injury to his leg from a fall in the sixth month of 1935 laid him up for three months.’ The following year he received an invitation to visit Sichuan province from a military officer named Wang with whom he had been corresponding for some time. Sympathizing with Hu Baozhu’s desire to return to her homeplace, he decided to go. The two departed in the third month with their two youngest children, Liangzhi and Liangnian (born in 1934). He accompanied Hu Baozhu to her mother’s grave. Moving on to Chengdu, Qi Baishi saw old friends including Huang Binhong. Students from Sichuan who had attended Qi Baishi’s classes at Beijing Art College took advantage of the chance to entertain their teacher during his visit. The heights of the Chingcheng

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Mountains and the Emei Mountains he found even more breathtaking than the scenery of Guilin. Yet the entire trip produced little in the way of painting or poetry. When asked whether he had been feeling unhappy while he was away, he replied, “Absolutely not! We were four when we went, and four when we returned, what was there to be unhappy about?” Rather, he had been hampered by foggy weather, which had obscured his view of the mountains.

Qi Baishi met the year dingchou, 1937, with some trepidation. A number of years earlier, back in Changsha, a fortune teller had warned him that dingchou would be a critical time for him, when he would meet with either great fortune or serious misfortune. To ward off malevolent influences during that year, he

should recite Buddhist and Daoist invocations, wear metal jewelry, and on certain days avoid people born in the years of the dog, dragon, ox and ram. The artist took all of these precautions plus one of his own devising: he “skipped” the ages of 75 and 76 sui. Thus from 1937 until his death, he claimed to be two years older than his actual age, and observed this rule when inscribing his paintings. When he died in 1957, then, by normal Chinese calculations he was 95, according to Western custom he was 93, but by his own reckoning he

was 97. He did not, however, escape calamity completely. A baby girl born to Hu

Baozhu in the second month of 1937 died after just a few days of life. Then, that summer, the Sino-Japanese conflict escalated into all-out war, and the outnumbered Chinese army had to abandon Beijing and Tianjin to Japanese control. This turn of events shook Qi Baishi to the core. In protest, he locked

his door and refused to go out or receive most guests. He quit his teaching post at the Beijing Art College and the Jinghua Art Institute. (When and how the second teaching position came about has not been recorded.) Of the few times he ventured out, two were to attend funeral rites for Chen Sanli, re-

nowned poet and father of his friend Chen Shizeng. He continued to produce paintings, including one promised to Ju Duizhi entitled “Gathering at Chaolan Pavilion” (in memory of a party in Changsha in 1911 to which Qi Baishi had been invited but did not attend). And Hu Baozhu continued to bear his offspring: a boy born in 1938 was named Liangmo. Xu Beihong sent a painting of “The Qi Family’s Thousand Li Horse” in honor of the new baby. Qi Baishi reciprocated with an album of ten leaves. At the end of the same year, their oldest son Liangchi sired a son, Bingsheng, making Hu Baozhu a grandmother at 37 sui. (At this time Qi Baishi already had many grandchildren, the offspring of his children by Chen Chunjun. He also had great-grandchildren, the offspring of the second son of Liangyuan, Qi Baishi’s eldest son.) But the couple’s joy turned to pain when their sixth son, Liangnian, an unusually bright child of five sui, succumbed to an illness. Qi Baishi’s personal bereavement was compounded by his nation’s territorial losses, which now included Shanghai and Nanjing; he feared his home province, Hunan, would be next. His spirits sank to a new low, and he stopped writing in his diary. Still, he painted, composed, and carved. He had little choice in the mat-

ter—the family had to eat, and runaway inflation was consuming his income nearly as fast as he could make it. At the same time, he would not budge from his stance of noncompliance with solicitations from Japanese officers and their Chinese agents. Such “patrons” had been persistently beating a path to his door, giving him no peace. In hopes of putting an end to such visitations, he posted a sign on his door announcing “Old Man Baishi has had a recurrence of heart sickness and has stopped receiving guests.” In his memoirs he confesses that while he had previously suffered from a minor heart ailment, it now served as a handy pretext to avoid dealing with unwanted callers, as well as a veiled description of his true inner condition.°° However, the ur-

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gency of earning some cash necessitated an amendment reading, “Regarding paintings and seals, please contact the Southern Paper Shop.” By virtue of these signs, he was left in relative peace while drawing a steady stream of orders by way of the stationery store. At the end of 1939 he decided to take a respite, so he attached another notice on his door refusing all orders. After New Year’s he resumed business, but up went a sign headed by the pointblank statement: “Paintings will not be sold to officials; I’m afraid it would be unlucky.” The notice went on: Officials both Chinese and foreign who wish to buy Baishi’s paintings may send a representative, they need not come in person. Officials customarily do not enter civilians’ homes; to do so would be inauspicious (buli) for the host.

I respectfully submit this announcement; please forgive my refusal to see you.

He further proclaimed, “Absolutely no discounts, absolutely no restaurant meals, absolutely no photo-taking.” Underneath “Absqlutely no discounts,” he noted, “I am an old man of 80. One foot length, six yuan. [For greater lengths] add 20 cents per yuan.” One more sign declared: “Friendship is not discussed in the sale of paintings. Gentlemen respect one another. Please pay up front.” Perhaps his door was by now fully covered, for the next sign got tacked onto a wall, and targeted the translators for Japanese patrons. “No brokers, please,” it warned, “my heart condition has recurred and I couldn’t

possibly fulfill your orders.” And again, “Those who translate for foreigners will not be remunerated, and are asked not to reeommend me, as I would be

hard pressed to compensate you for doing so.” The doorman, Yi Chunru, a former imperial eunuch, was instructed to keep all these signs posted until the Japanese surrendered. But he failed to bar entry to several Japanese MP’s one day in the fifth month of 1941. They rushed into the house and demanded in broken Chinese, “We're looking for old Qi.” The artist sat motionless and silent in his rattan chair. Even when the men came close and fired questions at him, he remained stone-still, as though he did not see them. After chattering unintelligibly for a moment, the intruders left as abruptly as they had come. Qi Baishi never found out what it was that they had wanted of him. While he relaxed at home in Beijing over the New Year’s holiday in 1940, back in Hunan his wife lay dying. Word of her passing came in a letter from Liangyuan in the second month. Qi Baishi was cut to the quick. Not even “words equal to all the grains of sand in the Ganges” could sufficiently describe the deprivation and hardships Chunjun had endured, or the long, rich relationship between husband and wife. Nonetheless, he recounted her life and her virtuous character in an eulogistic piece, and lamented in a funerary couplet: I blame the Old Man of the Red Cord Who binds people together as husband and wife, Why does he also cause them to part? I shall go ask the dark-faced God of Death Who determines birth and death,

Why won’t you grant us a reunion?”!

He was cognizant of the many blessings he enjoyed—his own longevity, his six sons, six daughters, and more than forty grandchildren. But when he reflected on the fact that his wife’s death preceded his own, and the impassable distance between him and his old home, he felt as if his “soul were locked up in darkness.” Hu Baozhu stayed by his side as ever, his tireless personal attendant, mother of five of his children, and intimate companion. She also assisted him in his studio: she ground ink, readied his paper, and sometimes even critiqued

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his brushwork. Moreover, she could detect the hand of a forger at a glance. Since Chen Chunjun’s death, some of Qi Baishi’s relatives had suggested that he officially marry Hu Baozhu, since, in China’s age-old social hierarchy, as long as they remained unmarried, her status would be that of a servant, not

of a full-fledged family member. The painter set a date in the fifth month of 1941 for the wedding ceremony and invited about twenty close friends and relatives. Just before the nuptials, he announced to his family and guests the distribution of his property among his heirs. To his three sons by Chunjun he allotted equal shares of his house and land in Hunan. To his three sons by Hu Baozhu went his house in Beijing and all his savings. The documents attesting to his marriage and will were signed by all present. The octagenarian artist thus provided for his family, but he had yet to settle the matter of his burial. In 1942 he renewed his efforts to select a suitable plot of land and make arrangements for his interment. Eight years earlier, at a gathering at Zhang Garden, he had told some friends of his plans to find a burial place at Xiang Mountain west of Beijing: “A few years ago, I asked my fellow townsman Wang Songnian to write for my tombstone the seven large characters “Tomb of Retired Scholar Qi Baishi.’ I have the tombstone, but have

not yet obtained the plot. Iwould now like to request of you renowned writers to favor me with some compositions which may be kept for the future, to bring honor to my resting place.” Within days of the party, Chen Sanli and two others obliged him with essays. Near the end of 1941, Qi Baishi asked Zhang Cixi to go to Taoran Pavilion and talk to the head monk of Cibei Chan Temple

there. The monk offered to donate a piece of land near the pavilion. In the first month of 1942, the artist went to see the place and finalized the arrangements. To ensure that his wishes would be followed by his heirs (particularly those in Hunan who might want to have his remains moved closer to home), he stipulated that he be buried at Taoran Pavilion in two separate statements, one of which he entrusted to Zhang Cixi. In spite of the messages trimming his door, Qi Baishi continued to be badgered by callers who feigned interest in buying his paintings, when they were actually currying favors. Tired of having his energy depleted by their doubletalk, in 1943 he posted a simple sign proclaiming “Painting sales discontinued.” Even orders coming through the channels of the Southern Paper Shop or friends’ introductions were refused. Although he never stopped painting for a day, his creations of the next two years went to his children. Concerned companions wrote to him asking after his health and circumstances; to them he replied in verse: Not to be dead at such a late age is as shameful as thievery, But not so ugly as those voracious gluttons of Chang’an.”

Now in the seventh year of his self-imposed house arrest, his personal protest of Japan’s stranglehold on his homeland,

the artist was worn

with worry,

frustration, depression. Just as total despair had nearly engulfed him, Hu Baozhu died. It was the twelth month of the year guiwei (early 1944 by the solar calendar); she had lived to be only 42 sui. He was inconsolable. His plan

to have her buried back in Xiangtan was at first temporarily postponed during the Japanese invasion, then permanently relinquished during the civil war. She was ultimately buried in Beijing. But the fact that he had defied custom and intended for a woman who had been his concubine to be buried in his own ancestral cemetery demonstrated how much he cherished his relationship with Hu Baozhu. He also thereby acknowledged his children by her to be on an equal standing with his children by his first wife. At this dark hour, he took refuge in his creative work, channeling all his anguish into his brush. Full of fear for his nation’s future and concern for his

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family’s well-being, he nevertheless shrugged off the threat of dire consequences to his own person that could well result from the plaintive reflections and sometimes thinly-disguised satires that weave through his poetry of this time. Asked to colophon a friend’s landscape, he wrote in seven-syllabic meter: Facing your scroll, I recall those years That smashed the gold cup of our nation poor. Under the lamp I look, wiping my tears: Such untouched landscapes are China’s no more.”

On one of his own depictions of cormorants and boats, he wrote a poem: Rivers and mountains are torn asunder,

But cormorants know nothing once full, The fisherman ignores civilization and its demise, Tipsy, he ties his skiff to a willow branch.

And on a cormorant painting by his student Li Kuchan, he inscribed in prose: This kind of fish-eating bird eats neither grain nor its own kind. Sometimes when the river is dry, some of them will starve to death. A fisherman may give them cormorant meat to nourish them, but the hungry birds will refuse. There is an old saying: Cormorants don’t eat cormorant meat.

In Qi Baishi’s view, cormorants may be selfish, but they don’t compare in

moral degeneracy to traitors of China who prey on their own kind. Rats and crabs show up frequently in his paintings of this period, often with tart commentary such as the following: Rats, rats,

So many of them! How they do pester! First they nibble my fruits,

Then they chew my corn. The candle burns low as the sky brightens, Winter’s harshness is giving way to the dawn.

And on a portrayal of crabs: All over the countryside is grass and mud, Where will you go next? Last year I saw many of you, This year I see few.

In the latter poem, the artist intimates that the invaders of China were show- ing signs of sinking into a morass of their own making. His acts of defiance were not limited to his art works alone. In 1944, a

time when many commodities such as coal were scarce, Qi Baishi received an unexpected notice from the Beijing Art Academy™ informing him that he could pick up his coupons for coal. (At this time, instructors at educational institutions were provided with rations of certain scarce supplies such as coal.) Having severed his ties to the academy seven years previously when it fell under Japanese control, he was suspicious of the motives behind the offer. He returned the notice with a polite letter saying he was not a member of the school’s faculty and that the notice had been sent to him in error. Privately he snapped, “If they think Qi Baishi is a spineless sponger, they’ve got me all wrong!” Unwavering in his defiance of the foreign overlords, even to “throw away his old life” would be no cause for fear. But at least on the subconscious level, death was a troubling specter. A dream in early 1945 haunted him to such a point that he immediately wrote a pair of poetic tablets for his own funeral, and later described the dream in

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detail in his autobiography. It was set in front of his Jieshan Studio back in Hunan. He saw a funeral procession approaching. People bearing an empty coffin rushed toward his house, and he thought, “This must be my coffin; why do they run so fast? It seems I don’t have long to live.” His self-composed

eulogy light-heartedly jabs at his own fear: I have a world-famous name as a painter,

Do I not compare with a loyal official or a dutiful son? I don’t have an ugly face like some people, Why should I fear the horse’s face and ox’s head?

Through his daily regimen of producing poems such as this one, in addition to paintings and seals, he retained his wits and creative powers for another decade. But after Hu Baozhu died, he missed the care and companionship that she had provided. Less than a year after her death he hired a nurse named Xia Wenzhu to live at the Qi home as his personal attendant. The artist and his nurse quickly became inseparable. One of his daughters, a teenager at that time, has characterized Xia Wenzhu as a refined, shrewd woman in her forties

who took good care of her father and youngest brother, but whose presence

caused some feelings of resentment among the older children.* All of Qi Baishi’s household employees were paid in paintings, with the size and number of paintings corresponding to the wage scale. This method of payment was well received since the paintings could usually be sold for more cash than a normal salary, and their value kept up with inflation. But Xia Wenzhu was paid at least twice the amount (in paintings) of anyone else, and regularly received cash bonuses. As time passed, she sought more and more control of the artist’s business affairs, presenting herself to his clients as his personal agent. On occasion she would leave the house in a huff, and stay away for days until Qi Baishi apologized and offered more paintings to her. In 1951, she left rather suddenly and married shortly thereafter. Qi Baishi hosted a wedding banquet for her and her new husband. Xia Wenzhu died in Beijing in 1986.°” Japan’s surrender in August 1945 filled Qi Baishi with such joy that he

couldn’t sleep. Relieved of a tremendous burden, he felt “flowers blooming in the heart.” He resumed the sale of his paintings and seals, again posting his prices at the Southern Paper Shop. In 1946 he asked Hu Shi to write his biography. During this period he also gave his son Liangsi daily instruction in painting. The young man in his early twenties was studying painting at Beijing’s Furen University, and his imitations of his father’s style had already drawn a paying audience. But in the glow of his son’s early success, the patriarch had to bear the death of a daughter. Lianghuan had not been happy or healthy since her mother (Hu Baozhu) died. One day in the twelfth month of 1946, the 19-sui girl breathed her last. The pain of losing his “Little Cutie” rekindled his mourning for his second wife. And once more, Qi Baishi’s private

sorrow coincided with national crisis. No sooner had he begun rejoicing in the Allies’ victory than civil strife escalated into all-out war between the Nationalists and Communists. While he and his family were not directly threatened by the fighting, they suffered the adverse effects of China’s rapidly deteriorating economy. The severity of the situation apparently did not penetrate Qi Baishi’s private world until he met with a rude awakening late in 1946. In the tenth month he received two invitations to hold one-man exhibitions of his paintings, one from the All China Art Society in Nanjing, the other from the Shanghai Art Society. Accompanied by Xia Wenzhu and his sons Liangchi and Liangmo, he boarded an airplane for the first time in his life to make a personal appearance at each of these shows.” Both exhibitions were sweeping successes: all 200 of his paintings were sold. Upon his return to Beijing, he took the proceeds—large bundles of paper money—to the market

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and spent the entire sum on just ten sacks of flour. Stunned by the meteoric rise in prices within a short time, he regretted ever having taken the trip that had exchanged his paintings for virtually worthless pieces of paper. When additional invitations to exhibit came shortly thereafter, he refused. And to a

letter from Hangzhou asking him to be director of the West Lake Art College,” he replied in verse: Neither in northern homes nor southern rooms can one dwell in tranquility. Is there anywhere a place of perfect peace for an old man?”

During his stay in Nanjing in 1946, Qi Baishi met Chiang Kai-shek. More importantly, he was honored ina grand and solemn ceremony that symbolically acknowledged his supreme stature in Chinese arts and letters. The cabinet of the Nationalist government was present, as well as China’s top intellectuals and artists, university chancellors, and representatives of China’s major newspapers. Over one hundred such guests were called to the Hall of Culture to witness Zhang Daofan (1897- ), Director of the All China Art Society and regular member of the Central Executive Committee of the Nationalist party, become a pupil of Qi Baishi. When he was first informed of Zhang Daofan’s request, the artist sank into a quandary. He himself had kowtowed to the various teachers he had had throughout his life, and the students he had taken until this time had kowtowed to him, but how could he allow the nation’s top cultural figure to kowtow to him? Given his artisan background, it seemed highly improper. But Zhang Daofan enlisted intermediaries to persuade Qi Baishi, and so the 86-sui (actually 84-sui) artist consented, with the agreement that the prospective pupil would not kowtow, but would only bow three times. After the ceremony was performed, Zhang Daofan made a brief statement to the audience: Inasmuch as I hold the attitude of “study until old age and still never learn everything,” for this 50-year-old man to bow to a new teacher is not so strange. Mr. Baishi has devoted his life to art; now he has reached the

advanced age of 86, and with his accumulation of many decades of artistic cultivation, he has become the leading light of our country’s art world. In April of this year I went to Beiping and met Mr. Qi, and was moved by his noble, uncorrupt character to bow to him as my teacher. Now while he is

visiting Nanjing, I have been able to accomplish this aspiration.*'

And in a letter to Chiang Kai-shek, he explained his motives for becoming Qi Baishi’s pupil: In order to promote respect for teachers and esteem for the Dao, to expand

this party’s cultural work, and to exert a major influence on the world of culture and the world of art, I have bowed to the noble and uncorrupt,

world-famous 86-year old artist Qi Baishi as my teacher. It is my hope that this ceremony of bowing to my teacher...will not only create more extensive recognition of indigenous Chinese culture and art among our countrymen and people the world over, but will also be taken as an opportunity to restore the spirit of respect for teachers and esteem for the | Dao, as a corrective to many youths of today who think they can buy knowledge from teachers...

In bowing to Qi Baishi, Zhang Daofan was paying tribute to the continuing validity of indigenous Chinese art forms, and to cardinal Confucian values,

particularly moral integrity and reverence for scholarship. He was also conspicuously repudiating the class distinctions that still locked Chinese society in a feudalistic hierarchy midway through the twentieth century. Although in

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theory the humblest peasant could always climb his way to the top of society through education, Qi Baishi’s own life stands as a testimony to the staggering obstacles that block the way for most. But here was an effort to dispel prejudice with regard to family origin and vocation. For a noted member of China’s intelligentsia to salute a former carpenter as the nation’s cultural leader sent a message of inspiration and hope to millions of aspiring artists and scholars. In typical modesty, Qi Baishi omitted this event from his autobiography. The final entry in his memoirs recounts some of China’s economic conditions in 1947 and 1948, when the currency sometimes underwent thousands of revaluations in a single day, and opportunists furiously hoarded goods of all kinds. Among the goods in high demand were paintings brushed by the famous Qi Baishi, and some patrons boldly presented the artist with commissions for several hundred works. That he tried his best to fill every order within the year is evidenced by the great quantity of works inscribed “age 88” existing today. As the orders piled up on his desk “like mountains,” friends teased that his “business was flourishing like the four seas, and capital was flowing like the three great rivers.” But for every painting he sold, he could barely buy one small bread roll. What was the use of a near-nonagenarian expending his dwindling energy? With a sigh, he hung a notice on his door: “Temporarily not accepting orders.” On this ominous note, Qi Baishi’s autobiography comes to an end. That he lived nine more years beyond this point was no doubt as much a surprise to him as it was to his family, friends, and admirers. But given those additional

years, it seems natural, though not any less remarkable, that he never stopped working—or developing artistically—for a single day. For, from his earliest memory, life itself had always been inseparable from art. And it was the most basic things in life, all plucked fresh from the natural world, that held the most appeal for him during his last decade. Flowers, fruits, vegetables, insects, birds, and small animals now fell onto paper in brushwork consummately spare and apparently effortless, yet the subjects sparkle with a life force of startling strength. For this man, who had hardly passed a year free from either the deprivations of poverty or the ravages of China’s cataclysmic entry into the modern world, the meaning to life’s deepest questions could still be found in the farmyard images that most people overlook. Just as Qi Baishi’s art had honored the simple, the commonplace, the insignificant, so did China finally come around to honoring this unassuming artist who had risen from the bottom of society to the crowning heights of cultural achievement through his own inborn abilities and sheer fortitude. Taking up where the Nationalist government had left off with their ceremonious installation of their top arts official as Qi Baishi’s pupil, China’s Communist leadership heaped upon the artist a list of titles, positions, and exhibition opportunities that reads more like a resumé covering an entire career than the last eight or nine years of an old man’s life. In 1949 Qi Baishi was elected a member of the National Committee of the Chinese Federation of Writers and Artists and of the National Committee of the Chinese Artists’ Association. That year the Central Academy of Art, directed by Xu Beihong, appointed the Hunan painter to the position of honorary professor. Three years later he was elected a member of the Presidium of the Chinese Federation of Writers and Artists. On January 7, 1953, the Chinese Artists’ Associa-

tion and the Central Academy of Art sponsored a celebration of the 93rd anniversary of Qi Baishi’s birth with an exhibition of forty of his works. At that time the Ministry of Culture conferred upon Qi Baishi the title “People’s Artist.” The same year he became chairman of both the Chinese Painting Research Society of Beijing and the Chinese Artists’ Association. Elected the Hunan province representative of the National People’s Congress in 1954, he

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was also installed as chairman of the Foreign Cultures Association. That year the Liaoning Provincial Museum® and the Beijing Palace Museum exhibited his works. His membership in the Committee for China-Asia Unity commenced in 1956. And in May, 1957, Qi Baishi was named Honorary President of the

Beijing Studio of Traditional Chinese Painting. During this period, a film entitled ”The Artist Qi Baishi” was made and distributed widely across China.™ International recognition came as well: East Germany’s Academy of Art appointed him an honorary fellow in 1955. Since, prior to 1949, Qi Baishi had avoided serving in any official capacity, the question arises as to whether or not he accepted his array of appointments by the Communist government voluntarily. Considering his record of noncompliance during the Japanese occupation, when many Chinese paid for the slightest infraction with their lives, it seems unlikely the aged artist would have been intimidated by China’s new indigenous leadership. In contrast to his provision of Japanese clients with paintings that satirized the recipients through such subjects as crabs and rats with caustic written messages, he presented to Mao Zedong a rendition of a dignified eagle and the auspicious couplet, “The sea is the world of the dragon; the clouds are home to the crane.”

After so many years of war, Qi Baishi was grateful for peace, and it may have been China’s new-found peace above all that spurred him to enter the world of politics. He spoke before a convention of writers and artists in Beijing in 1955 regarding the campaign led by the World Peace Council to eliminate the use of atomic weapons. The same organization granted their International Peace Award to Qi Baishi in April, 1956.

The demands of holding office or membership in the various committees and organizations in which Qi Baishi was now involved might have overtaxed a man of lesser years. At times, his children urged him to stay home from meetings, but he was ever intent on fulfilling his duties. Even when an illness prevented him from attending official functions, he mustered his energy to get out of bed and sign documents. Finally, however, he accepted one of many offers for relief from his friend Zhou Enlai. The premier was a regular visitor at the Qi home; he would sit and chat for a while, making sure that all the

artist’s needs were being met. As the “People’s Artist” and a figure of world renown, Qi Baishi often received foreign dignitaries as guests. Perhaps for this reason, in early 1956 he was asked to move from his somewhat shabby lodgings on Kuache Lane to a newly refurbished residence at no. 5 Yu’er Lane. But lonely for his family and the house that had been his home for thirty years, he sought and received help from Zhou Enlai in returning to Kuache Lane about a year later. And as for pressures on him to produce paintings, Zhou Enlai reassured him, “A person of advanced age should not have to make paintings for a living. If you feel like painting, do so as a pastime, but if you get demands from the outside that you cannot meet, don’t force yourself. If there is anything lacking in your life, we will do our best to take care of it for you.”® From that time on he received 500 renminbi every month from the Artist’s Association. There is no doubt he earned every penny of it, for he painted daily almost until the day he died. According to his daughter, in one of the final years of his life he produced over 600 paintings, many invoking the theme of peace.” On September 15, 1957, Qi Baishi fell ill, and on the next day in Beijing Hospital, he passed away. His grave lies beside that of Hu Baozhu on Baishiqiao Road in the west section of Beijing. In a speech at the 1953 festivities for Qi Baishi’s 90th year, Minister of Culture Zhou Yang characterized Qi Baishi’s art as having “inherited the tradition of realism in Chinese painting, and developed the distinctive feature of ‘conveying both form and spirit.” He went on:

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Since he comes from a worker background, his art draws upon the natural

environment and objects close to the daily lives of working people, with the special qualities of wholesomeness and simplicity.” Xu Beihong, another in attendance at this event, had written 21 years earlier:

Through his expansiveness and attainment of quintessence, he transforms the conventional and creates wonders out of nature.®

Despite such praise from these and many other sources, the artist wrote in the year before his death: At home and abroad there are strong discussions about Qi Baishi’s painting. I don’t really know what in my painting merits such attention. Comparatively few people know about my seal-carving and poetry. I don’t know whether those who know my art really know; nor do I know if there is anyone among those who don’t know who could know....Is there anyone in this world who really wants to know Qi Baishi? If he exists, please let him engage in this

pursuit! °

NAMES

A s was the custom among artists and scholars in China, Qi Baishi eventually accumulated an assortment of sobriquets. Huang and Binsheng were appellations given to him by his two tutors when he was 27 sui. The same teachers also dubbed him Baishishanren, later shortened to Baishi, after the small town of Baishipu where the painter lived at the time. For the next three decades, Qi Baishi signed most of his paintings “Qi Huang.” As early as the age of 40, he sometimes appended to his name various terms meaning “old man” such as weng or laoren. This was no doubt a half-jesting attempt to command the respect that automatically accrues to the elderly in China. With his decision at 56 sui to resettle in Beijing came his determination to be known as Qi Baishi. His seal reading Wushenhou yi zi xing (“After the year of wushen [1908] I began going by my zi,” Seal No. 8) commemorates his conscious choice of the name by which he eventually became world-famous. The sources Qi Baishi drew upon in selecting names for himself differed from those of Xugu, whose names express his Buddhist faith, and from those

of many other literati artists, who liked to associate themselves with past painters and poets through allusive self-designations. It was only by coincidence that Qi Baishi used the same ao, Baishiweng, as the Ming master Shen Zhou. All his life, the carpenter-turned-artist eschewed dogma and pretension; he rested his identity on his own hard-won accomplishments and consuming passion for art. Most of his names were intended to reflect some aspect of his own experience, attitudes or predilections. Some of his hao and studio names refer to his early vocation in carpentry, such as Muren (“carpenter”) or to his hometown or residences, such as Xingziwulaomin (“old citizen from Xingziwu”). Jieshanweng (“old man

of the borrowed

mountain”), after his

studio Jieshanyinguan, expresses his contentment with the simple life and his disinterest in acquiring land, material wealth or status. Other appellations recall his days of travel: Jipingtangzhuren (“master of the hall of the lodging

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duckweed”) alludes to the fact that duckweed floats from place to place on the surface of water. Still another epithet celebrates his devotion to seal carving with a touch of self-satire: Sanbaishiyinfuweng means “old man (who is) rich with 300 stone seals.” In reality, such “riches” were the only kind Qi Baishi ever sought. Unimpressed by wealth and rank, he never tried to hide his own humble beginnings. Long after his entry into the sophisticated urban milieu of Beijing, he continued to refer to his hometown in his signature on many of his paintings (see, for example, No. 26 “Begonias and Butterfly”). At times he liked to remind his patrons of his artisan background by signing his works “Muren.” In old age he returned to the use of his childhood nickname, Azhi. This he did partly out of nostalgia, but perhaps also to acknowledge the essential role that every phase of his life had played in the formation of his artistic style. The reappearance of these names from his youth near the end of an art career spanning some 75 years underscores Qi Baishi’s abiding faithfulness to the same themes, the same artistic and moral values, and the same zestful sense of wonder with which he first approached his creative endeavors as an impoverished country boy. Numbering more than 20 in all, Qi Baishi’s collection of names also included Weiqing, Lanting (both zi given to him by his grandfather), Jiyuantang, Jihuanxiannu, Laoping, Pingweng, Mujushi, Laomuyi, and Bayanlou (“hall of eight inkstones”). His decision to sign a painting with any particular appellation depended on his mood, the subject matter and the circumstances surrounding the creation of the work. Another consideration was the visual form of the written name: both its length and the structure of its individual characters had to be compatible with the work’s pictorial configurations. From 1949 on, in recognition of the nationwide movement to rid Chinese painting of all elements that smacked of scholarly elitism, the artist dropped the use of most of these pseudonyms and signed the majority of his paintings with the simple “Baishi,” or “Baishilaoren.” |

POETRY AND

PROSE

A\tihough recognition for Qi Baishi’s writings has always been eclipsed by his fame as a painter, he liked to rate his poetry first among the four art forms he practiced, with seal carving second, calligraphy third and painting fourth.” His attempt to call attention to his poetry may have stemmed from the diehard view of China’s educated class which held literature to be superior over pictorial creations. Calligraphy, too, was a principal art of the scholar, and even seal carving could claim an aura of scholasticism through its connection to archeological research. But painting,

though it had been a literati pastime for seven hundred years, was still held suspect in the minds of some intellectuals, especially when cash commissions were involved. Identification as a poet meant the highest possible honor and a place in history alongside the most beloved heroes of Chinese culture. The pride Qi Baishi took in his poems, numbering over 3,000 by his estimate, was not unwarranted. Jieshanyinguan shicao, published in 1928, consisted of a photolithographic reproduction of a manuscript of poems written from 1902 to 1914. Zhang Cixi edited his second publication, Baishi shicao,

published in 1933. Covering the period before 1902 and from 1914 to 1933, the

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selections in this eight-volume set were made by Fan Fanshan and Wang Zhongyan. Many of Qi Baishi’s poems appear on paintings, but most of these precede his move to Beijing in 1919. After he turned 60 sui, the artist followed the custom of combining poetry and pictorial art less and less; after his ninetieth year, he confined his painting inscriptions to a brief signature only. His formal study of literature began late—at 27 sui under the guidance of Hu Qinyuan and Chen Shaofan. He quickly made up for lost time, however, extemporizing his first verses at gatherings hosted by his teachers and at meetings of the two poetry societies to which he belonged. Under the tutelage of the noted scholar Wang Xiangyi, his production in this art made strides in proficiency as well as confidence. From this great teacher, the student learned that poetry did not result from the mere venting of personal feelings. To cultivate classic refinement (dianya) in his writing, he began to select every word for both specific denotation and rich connotations. Yet over the years, while his diction grew steadily more artful, his voice remained ever personal and wholly authentic. Qi Baishi’s poetic voice was profoundly influenced by the widely read volume of Tang dynasty poems, Tang shi sanbaishou, and in particular by the power of the plain, uncontrived expression of such exemplars as Li Bo and Du Fu. And in Tao Yuanming, that paragon of simple living and integrity, the painter found a model for articulating his own experiences and ideas with passion and down-to-earth candor. The fervent patriotism in some of his poems revives the spirit of the Song poet Lu You (1125-1209). Two later sources of Qi Baishi’s literary style were the Yangzhou poet-painters Jin Nong (a model for his painting as well) and Zheng Xie. The quatrain of seven syllables, characteristic to the Tang period, was Qi Baishi’s favorite form. His ability to construct a world in just 28 characters is analagous to his skill in creating a complete picture in a matter of a few brushstrokes. Occasionally, he wrote in the lyric form known as ci, popular in the Song dynasty. In this mode, the number of characters may vary from one line to the next. An example of Qi Baishi’s ci appears on “Narcissus, Rock and Quail” (No. 5). He could even conjure a self-contained image in a single line of verse, as in the caption for a painting of plum blossoms: “Dog’s bark, lonely village, snow-covered hill.”” Spare and direct as his painted images, Qi Baishi’s poems celebrate common, often rustic themes. Some poems make spirited jabs at political corruption, others cry out in grief at the loss of a loved one, or in outrage at the loss of his homeland. Every line rings clear with a simple honesty, uncluttered by ornament or allusion, as may be observed in the following examples: On the Double Ninth Festival rain patters,

Three or five flowers dot the narrow yard. In old age I'll garden by the fence just like Tao, Planting flowers is easy, but bending my back is hard.”

The chrysanthemum’s true color is not prized,

It does not win over the eyes of today’s crowd. Even plants know the ways of the world,

So they submit to mimicking the peony’s red.”

The first poem makes a reference to Tao Yuanming, who quit his official post after only 83 days, preferring to live by his own labor and delight in life’s simple joys, which included writing poetry and growing chrysanthemums. In the second quatrain the chrysanthemum, symbol of simplicity and integrity, has forsaken its true color—yellow—for that of the peony, emblem of wealth.

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These lines clarify the artist’s lifelong unwillingness to accept a bureaucratic position or to follow popular trends. He would rather stay home and earn his own living, however meager, by painting, carving and writing as he pleased.

Home, in fact, is a prime image of his poetry, often set in a mood of nostalgic reflection: Green weeping willows on the dike face my door,

Morning after morning I see them threaded with mist. My message to the person on the bridge going home: I envy you your riverside home in the late-day sun.”

Another manifestation of his nostalgia was the short pastoral in which he recalls cherished memories from his childhood. A touching poem entitled “A Childhood Incident” (Yi er shi shi) recaptures the carefree innocence of youth: Dazzling, the peach blossoms; green, the grass;

Happy, my youth when I wore a bell. I hung my books on the ox’s horn and napped on its back,

And the mynah did not try to awaken me.”

He also recalled with fondness the crude implements used by the poor, whether for work or play. The most humble objects reveal an intrinsic majesty born of straightforward craftsmanship and functional form. Recollecting a rake he had once bought for seven pennies, and an improvised hobbyhorse, he wrote: Like a claw, but not of a dragon or hawk, For a mere seven cents, uncover dry wood and rake dead leaves.

Up in the hills one needn’t take a shred of green, Run it through the grass like a comb through jet hair. Pine needles carpet the paths of Mount Heng, Maple leaves fill the pavilion below. Here children meet to romp and play, Vying with one another to ride the bamboo steed.”

He wrote of another kind of toy as well. Among his humorous pictorial subjects was the tumbler doll; some such pictures bear a poetic explanation like the following: He could be a child’s toy, this endearing old man,

When he topples, relax!—he quickly springs back. The black gauze hat on his head tips over his brow, Though hollow, he does have rank.”

But his attitude toward officialdom was not simply derisive. He was not above recognizing the civil service system as the primary avenue of success for aspiring scholars: When spring comes every year, there is longing for it to last, But silently spring departs, leaving only sorrow. Should the husband fail to gain noble rank, How will the lady of the house shed her shame?”

In a dark shawl, tattered hat and scarlet robe, He strolls at leisure, slowly waving his fan.

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People sigh for Zhong the Jinshi of Mount Zhongnan,” Of all the charms and essays—whose will be judged the best?*°

In many ways, Qi Baishi’s poetry runs a parallel course with his pictorial art. Similarities between the two abound in subject, symbol, and sensibility. Like many other poet-painters before him, the creative impetus behind his paintings was one and the same with that behind his poems. Any one of his verses or paintings could be cited as an example of one of the oldest and most basic principles of these sister arts in China: in poetry there is painting; in painting there is poetry. But certain of his poems conjure a picture in such vivid, succinct terms that the visual images leave an even deeper impression than their well-crafted phrasings. “Shadows of Butterflies” (Hudie ying) is a case in point: A small yard, dustless, vacant and still. A cluster of flowers beside a crystalline well. The cock chases to and fro—for what?

Everywhere in the sidelong sun: the shadows of butterflies.*! The prose Qi Baishi wrote was personal in nature, consisting of his diary,

autobiographical anecdotes, the memoirs he dictated to Zhang Cixi, and several eulogies (jiwen). In all these texts, he relates his experiences informally but with firm conviction in lucid, practical language, qualities in common with the poet-essayist Han Yu (768-824). And like this Tang writer, who authored a famous eulogy for his nephew (Ji Shi’erlang wen), Qi Baishi composed the touching “Eulogy for My Second Son” (Ji Cinanzi Ren wen), quoted here in full: At my old house in Xingtang, there were live frogs in the stove. I took up painting, and worked busily around town in order to feed the family. Although my son Ren and his brothers had a father, they were actually like orphans. In spring of the twenty-sixth year of the Guangxu reign in the Qing dynasty, I rented the mountain at Shizikou as our home. When my son Ren was 6 sui and his brother was 12 sui, they went together to the mouth of a

cave to gather wood. Some of the wood they picked up was as thick as a bowl. Poor people always hope that their children will be diligent, and

inwardly I felt happy. In summer, I ordered him to sit under a straw awning and guard the lotus pond. One day as I was returning home, I stood outside the window and could not see my son. Going to take a look, I saw that under the awning, which was too small to cover him and too thin to keep the sun out, my son was lying on his back on the ground, wearing short, torn clothes soaked in sweat, surrounded by weeds scorched by the sun. I called him

saying, “Ziren!

Are you sleeping?”

My son started and sat up, rubbed his

eyes and looked at me, tears brimming, choking and coughing, seeming

afraid I would reprimand him. At that time I didn’t realize my unkindness. In winter of the thirty-second year [of the Guangxu reign, or early 1906], when I bought property in the area, until autumn of the second year of the Republic [1913], eight seasons of cold and heat passed. During those eight years, I went to Guilin and Guangzhou. When I left, my son took care of his grandparents,

ran the house and kept the crops from harm. When I returned, I built Jiping Hall and Bayan Studio. In the spring I planted a small garden, and in the

winter we gathered around the warm stove. When it came to tending the pigs and oxen, cooking beans and roasting taros, picking vegetables and digging bamboo shoots, planting trees and raising fish, shelving books and arranging seals, cutting stones and sharpening [engraving] knives—there was nothing I did not ask him to do, and this has been a great joy in my life. My son fulfilled his filial duties, got along well with his brothers, was loving to his wife and daughter, and was faithful to friends and relatives alike. Quiet and untalkative, he kept to himself. At night he was a light sleeper; he had no

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vices whatsoever. For so many years when I got home, he was ever attendant, and he knew how to carve seals. Because of the revolution in the third year of Xianfeng [1911], he felt anxious to defend himself, so he started learning to

shoot a gun; this led to his love of hunting. With the world changing daily, what else could I do: on the sixth day of the ninth month, I coldheartedly “separated the hearth” [i.e. discontinued financial support to his sons and their families]. On the first day of the eleventh month, my son fell ill, and on the eighth he died! On the third he had sat in the kitchen clutching his ammunition case, his feet half-slipped into his worn cotton shoes, building a little fire of pine branches and telling his mother how he was worried about being poor. I never thought he would vanish like smoke! Heartbroken, I trudge through the quiet, empty house, but I don’t see my son sitting there; I lovingly touch his coffin and weep bitterly, but I don’t hear his reply. Before my son fell ill, the hibiscus flowers had withered; when he died, the fallen

flowers were still red. Oh, the pain and grief! He was at my knee for twenty years, then because of one dose of the wrong medicine, it has come to this!”

Other influences evident in Qi Baishi’s literary works are Sima Qian’s (145-ca. 90 B.C.) Shiji (Book of History) and Liaozhai zhiyi by Pu Songling (1640-1715),

chiefly for the power of their terse styles. However, there is nothing derivative about this writing. Imagination and invention were as essential to Qi Baishi the author as they were to Qi Baishi the visual artist.

SEAL CARVING

i Baishi’s works in stone merit more than the passing attention their small size might suggest. Seal carving has always been considered a fine art in China, and Qi Baishi ranks among the finest of the modern master engravers who reaffirmed its status as a vital creative discipline. But while painting is at some level readily accessible to general public appreciation, the beauty in seals requires specialized knowledge and cultivated taste, and naturally draws a much more limited audience. For this reason, Qi Baishi’s engraved works have not received the extensive attention given his pictorial art. Yet his seals have been acclaimed by distinguished connoisseurs and artists, including Fu Baoshi, who beheld in them “genius and force of character in no way inferior to those of his paintings.”

Indeed, Qi Baishi’s engraving knife was as much a part of him as his brush. Whether its text be one of his names or a pithy saying, every seal that he impressed on his paintings was cut by his own hand. He favored the finest seal stones and seldom used ivory or metal. His stones were to him veritable treasures that he preferred over other forms of material wealth. From the age of 30 he proudly called his studio Sanbaishiyinzhai or “hall of three hundred stone seals.”™* His confession a few years later to being an “engraving fanatic” (Jinshi bi, engraved in a seal) describes the intensity of his devotion to this art form. When bandits intent on violence and looting swept through Xiangtan in 1927 and 1928, Qi Baishi’s entire seal collection was stolen from his home

there. Although he claimed he was never able to match the quality of the lost stones, he soon surpassed their quantity, and resumed the use of his old studio

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name. Continuing to carve seals for himself and for a large patronage over a period totaling about 60 years (he was still carving in his early nineties), it is estimated that he created an oeuvre of seals numbering in excess of ten thousand.* Qi Baishi’s attempts to record his output in seal carving dates back to his days in Hunan. At that time, he kept impressions of all his carvings before 1904 and intended to publish them with a preface composed for him by his teacher Wang Xiangyi. However, this album was lost in a bout of bandit raids on Xiangtan in 1917. In Beijing in 1928, Qi Baishi published a seal album for the first time. This four-volume set, entitled Baishi yincao, featured 234

impressions selected from the 3000 seals he had created since 1917. It opened with Wang Xiangyi’s prefatory remarks, which had been recovered from a hiding place inside a wall in Qi Baishi’s Hunan home after the upheaval had subsided. Among the 234 specimens, some were zinc plate reproductions of seals that had been claimed by patrons before the artist had a chance to impress them on the pages of the album. A ten-volume 1933 edition replaced these zinc plate images with hand-stamped imprints of recently carved seals, and once again opened with the preface by Wang Xiangyi. In his own preface to Baishi yincao, Qi Baishi recalls his earliest attempts at engraving during his teen years.*° He remained a mere dabbler until 1894 when, thanks to an accomplished seal artist of Changsha who snubbed him, he began to take this discipline more seriously. (One might wonder: had his competitive spirit never been challenged by this incident, would Qi Baishi ever have become a seal engraver? If he had not, his calligraphy and painting styles might lack the jinshi aesthetic, a definitive element.) His friend Li Song’an, a member of the Longshan Poetry Society, was his first mentor in seal carving. It was LiSong’an who provided him with a room that became carpeted with the dust and shavings of stones Qi Baishi carved, then ground smooth and carved again many times over. The host also shared technical tips and his own copies of seals by Ding Jing and Huang Yi. From his mid-thirties until he turned 43 sui, Qi Baishi emulated these two noted masters of the Xiling (or

Fig. 56 Zhao Zhigian, Selections from

Zhe) school of engraving, until eventually he outshone their qualities of archaic —_Erjindietang yinpu. Far East Fine Arts, Inc. ruggedness, classic proportion and unaffected grace. collection. Beginning in 1905, through his close study of Erjindietang yinpu by Zhao Zhigian, he transformed his carving approach (Fig. 56). The work of this mid-nineteenth century master taught Qi Baishi how to group the strokes of characters either in dense clusters or in loose dispersion for striking schematic contrasts. It also guided his way in applying to his engraved art what he had absorbed from extensive scrutiny of ancient bei and prolonged practice in writing seal script. Although traces of this Jinshi school artist’s style show up in his work for nearly twenty years, the originality of Zhao Zhigian’s seals helped set Qi Baishi on a steady course of self-expression pursuing his unremitting fascination with ancient stone or metal inscriptions. Later changes in his carving style can be traced to certain models. The third century Tianfa Shenchan stele (Fig. 57) led him

to modify his knife technique; later, other Han artifacts, including the Si Sangongshan stele (Fig. 58), as well as seals belonging to Han and Jin ethnic minority leaders influenced his zhuan Fig. 57 Tianfa Shenchan Stele, details of rubbing.

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script. Another major alteration in his seal style was inspired by even earlier models. An engraved metal scale (Jiang), a weight (quan) (Fig. 15) and imperial decrees (zhaoban) (Fig. 59) cast in the Qin dynasty prompted him to work mainly in vertical and horizontal lines. This final step amounted to a bold breakthrough, eliminating curves and minimizing the use of diagonals in favor of the primitive power of the right angle. An intaglio seal reading “Mujushi’ (see Seal No. 12), commemorating his days as a carpenter, marks Qi Baishi’s liberation from these past influences. Created when he was 58 sui, this seal positions the first two characters in the right half of the composition, and the simple three-stroke shi at the bottom of the left half, its sole vertical elongated but still falling short of the upper edge. Such daring asymmetry, with its departure from the conventional grid format for distributing characters on a seal, would become a hallmark of his mature engraving idiom. Coinciding with his resettlement in Beijing, this major stylistic shift occurred simultaneously with his transition from a somewhat derivative painting mode to one highlighting personal perceptions and invention. In an inscription on the side wall of a seal, he described his approach to

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Ma Guoquan has interpreted Qi Baishi’s use of the term jieyi here as an understanding not just of the structure of ziuan characters but also of the technical requirements for writing them.** With regard to structure, Qi Baishi used ancient artifacts for tracing the etymology of zhuan script characters. His findings enabled him to base his own mutations of ziuan script forms on actual variants in their evolution. Just as important was his investigation of the techniques employed by early artists for incising words into stone or casting them in metal. These techniques include the angle at which the writing instrument is held, the direction of its movement and the rate of pressure and speed applied to execute any given line. Although his own medium of seal stone differed from the metal of his Qin dynasty models and even from the stone types of Han steles, he adapted the authentic methods of these periods to his own purposes. Rather than duplicating the superficial appearance of archaic engravings, his aim was to capture the power and unfettered frankness _

Fig. 58 Wu Changshi, Calligraphy in the Style of the Si Sangongshan Stele, hanging scroll, ink on paper.

Fig. 59 Seal Script on Zhaoban (imperial decree), Qin Dynasty, rubbings. C. M. Ma collection. 230

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with which Qin and Han period engravers expressed themselves. It is this creative approach, more than the tangible products of these early epochs, that informs Qi Baishi’s seal art. He wrote in 1921: As to seal carving, zhuan script had its natural geniuses in people of the Qin and Han periods. Qin and Han people surpassed others and were not slavish; they created with great daring, so they were able to excel their predecessors of a thousand years. My seal carving is not bound by ancient methods, and people today think it is without any basis, but I pity people who are so dumb. They don’t think of the Qin and Han people and their descendants— how we are their descendants as well; they don’t think that if I follow my

own path and the ancients were to see it, they would certainly feel admiration.”

The pictorial artist in him conceived his seal compositions, which utilize the full dimensions of the flat stone surface for a dynamic equilibrium of positive and negative form. The strength of his engraving designs lies in their strategically precise positioning of every line, and often also in their sharp contrasts between sparse or “empty sections wherein a horse could run” and “dense sections which could not accommodate a needle.” Dismissing the curve almost entirely, he reduced characters to straight lines roughly parallel to the seal’s square or rectangular contours, with the resulting right angles occasionally interposed by a diagonal. This was no mechanically exact geometry, however. Within this boldly simple paradigm, nuances of form and arrangement abound. His ideas regarding seal design are recorded in Qi Baishi shoupi shisheng yinji, an 18-volume catalogue featuring impressions of his own seals as well as some engraved by his students. An example of his critique of two nearly identical seals reads, “The upper one is not too subtle, but the lower one, with a horizontal line added to the top and bottom, suddenly becomes an ancient seal!” (Fig. 60). Such suggestions for minor but crucial changes reflect the artist’s high standards and keen sense of design in seal art. The marvels of Qi Baishi’s “iron brush” have given rise, beginning in his own day, to rumors regarding his engraving technique. One such item of hearsay claims he carved extemporaneously without any prior sketching of characters on the stone. While he may have done so occasionally, the noted etymologist, calligrapher and painter Qi Gong ( born 1912), who observed Qi Baishi working on seals, has testified this was not his normal practice. According to Qi Gong, before picking up his carving knife, the artist would go to his dictionary of ancient scripts and look up the characters he was planning

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would hold a mirror up to the stone to see the unreversed image of the characters. After using his brush to make any needed adjustments of his drafted design, he would start to carve. Having expected fairly effortless flourishes of the famous “iron brush,” Qi Gong confesses he felt disappointed at the painstaking manner in which Qi Baishi worked.” This is not to say, however, that he violated his own dictum against xiao or revision. Just as he set down every discrete line or dot of a painting with a single touch of the brush, so in carving intaglio seals did he make only one incision for each line of a character. (In relief seals, either edge of a line would be made by a single cut.) In his approach to cutting furrows into stone, Qi Baishi exercised the spontaneity of the calligrapher and painter, handling his knife as though he were gesturing with a brush, completing a full line with a single slow incision, exacting from it traits of his own character as well as of qualities of his medium. He would not permit himself to retrace or touch up

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an incision to improve it, and he thereby made the spontaneity of the first cut

the defining element of his idiom. Grasping his knife between his thumb,

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index and middle fingers, and holding the stone steady with his ring finger, the artist would thrust his knife outward. The rightward angle at which he held his knife produced incisions with one ragged and one relatively smooth edge. In this way Qi Baishi, like China’s earliest stone engravers, gave expression to the natural properties of his medium, such as hardness, grain and cleavage. For in his relationship with any given stone he was also a sculptor, ever ready to exploit the material’s lapidary properties to enrich the textural nuances in the final visual image of the seal’s imprint. Qi Baishi’s seals convey, in both design and execution, all the artistry of his calligraphy and paintings. Far from merely styling typographic stamps with pleasing decorative features, he approached his stone with the sensibilities and skills of the painter, the calligrapher and the sculptor. His vast knowledge of archaic scripts and other aspects of jinshi studies enabled him not just to duplicate antique styles but to apply them to his own engraving schemas with innovative modifications that preserved, the essential spirit of the ancients. By developing fully his own command of the three facets of seal carving—calligraphic form, surface design and engraving technique—Qi Baishi attained, in the words of Fu Baoshi, “the essence of zhuan script and, like a

clap of thunder, opened a new page in the history of Chinese seal engraving.””!

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QO, Baishi began his study of handwriting as an art form only in his twenties, with the usual imitation of the Two Wangs (Wang Xizhi and Wang Xianzhi) and Yan Zhenqing as fundamental training. Once he commenced formal art studies at the age of 27 sui under Hu Qinyuan, he turned to the calligraphic style of He Shaoji, a Hunan native who was widely emulated in that province (Fig. 61). Thus, although he started relatively late, by his early thirties his calligraphic training in kaishu (standard script) and xingshu (running script) had a firm basis upon which he could expand and eventually formulate a writing mode of his own. When Qi Baishi took up seal carving seriously around the age of 34, he began cultivating his skills in writing the script forms used for engraving, that is, zhuan (seal) and guli (ancient official) scripts. His practice of these archaic modes progressed as his painting style gradually shifted from fine-lined gongbi renditions to boldly brushed xieyi images. His introduction to the writing styles of ancient steles, or bei, came indirectly, through emulating Jin Nong’s unique brand of likai (clerical-standard) script known as “lacquer script” (gishu ) (Fig. 62). This style, based on that eighteenth century master’s study of the Tianfa Shenchan stele, features very heavy, consistently dark ink. Qi Baishi eventually surpassed his predecessor in this mode, and used it on formal occasions for the rest of his life. A fine example of his version of “lacquer script” is his Jieshan yincao (Fig. 63), the manuscript for his seal catalogue published as Jieshanyinguan yincao.

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Fig. 63 Qi Baishi, Lacquer Script (qishu). Photo courtesy of Shuhuajia Magazine.

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Fig. 64 Qi Baishi, Seal Script, hanging scroll, ink on paper. J. Y. Tsao collection.

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Fig. 65 Yu Yue, Official (bafen) Script, horizontal scroll, ink on paper. Far East Fine Arts, Inc. collection.

Ultimately, Han and Wei period steles, as well as engravings dating to the Qin dynasty, became the defining factors in Qi Baishi’s mature zhuan script. With their strong impact on both his seal engraving and writing techniques, these models taught him to wield his brush with the concentrated force required of a carving knife. From the Si Sangongshan and Yishan steles of the Han dynasty, he learned to execute every brushstroke with the reserve of “hiding the head and tail” while distributing a robust power throughout. The dominant verticals and horizontals found in cast metal incriptions of the Qin period distinguished the artist’s ziuan style both on paper and in stone. He also adopted (and sometimes exaggerated) the compositional tendency of Qin epigraphs to crowd most of a character’s brushstrokes—its positive elements— in one half of the given space, leaving a large negative or blank area that becomes key to the overall design. For example, the vertical brushstroke along the left edge of the character chang in a hanging scroll (Fig. 64)” stops short of the bottom of the invisible box encasing it, requiring the lowermost line to commence its meandering course higher than usual. Then, to balance this spatial discrepancy, the meander extends all the way into the box for the character beneath it. Here the artist has not only utilized space to contain a predetermined linear structure, he has created space by way of unexpected relationships between various parts of the character, between the character and those surrounding it, and finally, between solid and void. He has also

taken the liberty of deviating from the standard graphic structure of this character, as he often did in both his written and engraved texts. After he had attained a fair degree of mastery in all six major script types, his style for writing xing script was transformed by the individualistic approach of Li Yong (Fig. 45). The fame of this Tang master saw a revival in the nineteenth century among artists who sought to achieve his expressive freedom. Treating each character as an individual formal unit, Li Yong employed variations in size and structure, in ink values and textures, not only from one character to the next, but even from one brushstroke to the next within a given character. The resulting style, dynamic in its intricacy and compelling in its subjectivity, is among the most highly original in the art of Chinese writing. Like Xugu and Gao Yong, Qi Baishi based his mature xing script on the example of Li Yong. When executing an inscription on a painting, he capitalized on the unlimited possibilities of the Li Yong mode to accommodate his writing to his conception of the work as a whole, including the pictorial and engraved elements. Qi Baishi produced considerably fewer works of calligraphy than he did of painting, poetry and seal carving. Since many of his contemporaries who admired his paintings failed to appreciate his handwriting, few commissions for this art form came his way. But existing examples of his creations devoted to calligraphy demonstrate his outstanding achievement. If by some unfortunate circumstance, none of his works in poetry, seal carving and painting had survived him, his contributions in calligraphy alone would have reserved him a prominent place in the cultural history of modern China. The

237

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hanging scroll of zhuan script referred to above exhibits his personal style at its height. It also reflects the careful consideration he gave to the compositional aspect of writing, like many other proponents of the Jinshi school. In this work, one character is missing from the text, and this may have been done deliberately for the sake of a purely visual aesthetic order. In putting

formal beauty before literary correctness, Qi Baishi may have had a predecessor in Yu Yue (Quyuan, 1821-1906). In a horizontal scroll (Fig. 65), this nineteenth

century scholar left out the character xing (“form”), which should follow lao (“labor”; the thirteenth character). This omission allows the text to end in the

upper row of writing, leaving a square of open space before the artist’s

signature. (There may be some word play intended here as well: the observation that this work is wuxing or “without [the word] ‘form’” could refer to the Buddhist concept of wuxing or “formlessness.”)

In Qi Baishi’s work, a note

above the signature explains that the character chang (“long”; the center column’s third word) should be followed by the character yang (“to extend”). The probability that this omission was intentional rests on a consideration of what the effects would be if yang were to appear in its proper position. For one, the lengthened text would occupy additional space in the lower left corner. This would not only crowd the signature and seal, it would also preclude the prolongation of the vertical line in the last character, zhang—a flourish of finality comparable to the sustained note which draws a song to a close. By cluttering what should be an open passageway for the work’s qi or “spirit,” restoration of the missing unit would seriously mar the vitality of the whole image. In addition, although the text is to be read vertically from the upper right, the relationship of any one character to that on either side holds compositional significance. Were yang to be added and the final fourteen characters to shift one space down, their new positions would alter linear and spatial relationships, in some cases to ill effect. For example, jian (“to see”), the sixth character from the end, would drop down next to chang. The proximity of

these two similarly constructed words would diminish the impact of each one’s unique design and strike a note of monotony in an otherwise compelling momentum of mulitformity. The differences obtained by the absence of one written unit are thus crucial to the symmetry and rhythm of the entire work. Calligraphy plays an important role in all of Qi Baishi’s paintings. Whether a lengthy passage of prose or poetry, or a brief signature, a painting’s inscription always serves as an essential component of design along with the pictorial image and one or more seals. Moreover, when an inscription is headed by a thematic title, the latter invariably appears in zhuan script. Such titles, reminiscent of the bold zhuan script heading on many steles, occur on nine paintings in the selection presented here (Nos. 11, 14, 20, 21, 22, 26, 29, 30, 41).

The presence of a title in the style of ancient monuments lends an air of formality to the painting and also draws attention to the artist’s utilization of zhuan brush technique in the painting itself. Likewise, the use of other script forms and a particular expressive manner in the writing on a painting never fails to relate closely to the brush technique and tone of the pictorial element. The proportions and placement of his inscriptions follow no fixed pattern, and yet are thoughtfully planned so as to enhance the painted image and match its aesthetic achievement. This achievement is founded

on Qi Baishi’s venturesome

treatment of

calligraphy as an art of design, with new freedom to manipulate pre-existent written forms, and to choreograph inter-relationships and an all-inclusive composition. To an equal extent, it derives from the execution of his every line or dot as both a subordinate part of a whole and an independent unit of expression endowed with a life of its own. Inextricably bound to his work in painting and seal carving (and sometimes a medium for presenting his poetry),

238

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calligraphy was for Qi Baishi a discipline of unlimited creative potential. Drawing inspiration from the ancient past, he breathed new life into this art form for the modern age.

PAINTING

O} Baishi’s artistic career was surely one of the longest in human history, and his output, one of the most extensive. Just 20 sui when he made his first commission with his self-taught skills in painting, he picked up the brush virtually every day after that until a few days before his death at the age of 95 sui. Although he considered himself a late bloomer, his mature pictorial style benefited from every stage of his life, beginning with his compulsive childhood doodlings, followed by his years as a woodworker, portraitist, budding literatus and Jinshi school convert. By the

age of 60, he had formulated a personal approach to painting that he would pursue for the remainder of his years. But even after his long and arduous quest for creative originality, he was not inclined to settle into the comfort of his new-found artistic identity. To this man for whom copying old masters’ styles was anathema, self-imitation was a transgression of the same magnitude. (While he did sometimes repeat subjects with a certain consistency of composition and technique, subtle differences in every version beget a vital individuality in each object or figure portrayed.) Throughout the last three

and a half decades of his life, Qi Baishi never ceased experimenting with ink, colors and brush. Just as remarkable is the fact that, despite the uncommon sophistication of his eye and hand, one of the most salient themes of all his pictures is their portrayal of innocence. This spirit of ceaseless effort and inexhaustible wonder was the driving force behind his prolific, widely diverse production in the art of painting.

The early phase of Qi Baishi’s artistic development, starting with his childhood and lasting until his move to Beijing in 1919, might be divided into four periods on the basis of his technical proficiency and innovative capacity. From the time he entertained himself by drawing with a stick in the dirt and with a brush in school practice books, through his teen years when he underwent training in building and woodcarving, he taught himself the

rudiments of draftsmanship and technique. At first his only models were New Year’s pictures and assorted popular images of heroes, mythical beings and other folk imagery, either painted or printed by wood-block artisans. His work in wood carving, which encompassed literary themes with figures and landscape motifs as well as flowers and birds, and his occasional orders for

embroidery patterns, fed his emerging command of pictorial form and design. The second stage of this process began just after he turned 20 sui, when he borrowed a copy of Jieziyuan huazhuan (Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual) (Fig. 52). His close study of this book initiated him into the world of classical Chinese painting. He immersed himself in its instructions and copied its abundant illustrations. In the process he laid a foundation for himself in the artistic tenets and brush methods of the old masters; he also expanded his repertoire considerably. During this period, which lasted five or six years, he practiced on his own in his spare time, receiving sporadic commissions mainly for legendary and religious themes.

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Fig. 66 Wu Changshi, Lotus, hanging scroll, ink on paper. M.S.T., Inc. collection.

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Next came his transformation from carpenter into artisan painter. His apprenticeship in 1888 to the portraitist Xiao Xianghai set him firmly on course toward a career in art. Continuing to hire out his woodworking skills, he made swift progress in portraiture under his new teacher. His decision in 1889 to drop woodworking altogether and devote himself to art was the outcome of the swift progress he had been making under three other teachers: Chen Shaofan for literature, Tan Pu for landscape, and Hu Qinyuan for calligraphy and gongbi style flower-and-bird painting. From them, he learned a broad sampling of methods used by historical masters. In his spare time he worked on these new subjects and methods, but his paying customers requested mostly portraits and “beauties.” A scarcity of commissions for paintings brought him economic hardship at first, but over the next decade the gradual expansion of his clientele brought him a measure of security. Even while he labored to make a name for himself as an artisan painter, he worked zealously on his proficiency in a variety of painting modes as well as poetry, essays, calligraphy and seal carving. His acceptance as a pupil of the noted intellectual Wang Kaiyun in 1899 symbolized Qi Baishi’s considerable accomplishment in all these fields. As he integrated the lessons learned from each of these disciplines, his pictorial art began to move from the level of craft into the realm of artistic expression, marking the fourth segment of his path to artistic mastery. Meanwhile, his brush idiom was broadening and relaxing into the concise, semi-abstract description known as xieyi, literally “write the idea.” One approach to xieyi painting particularly attracted him: that inspired by the art of Zhu Da and dubbed lengyi, or “cool and lofty” (Fig. 55). The lengyi style features highly abbreviated brushwork, rich ink effects, unconventional spatial juxtapositions and an underlying feeling of emotional disengagement. No doubt each of these aspects of the lengyi mode appealed to Qi Baishi, the last providing an outlet for his ongoing resentment of the entrenched corruption that plagued the Qing administration. He used his “five trips and five returns” between 1902 and 1909 not only to apply his bag of techniques to new vistas, but also to challenge his own powers of visual perception and to experiment with methods and compositions of his own devising. He took advantage of opportunities to learn from connoisseurs he met along the way, such as Li Ruiquan and Zeng Xi, and to view their art collections. First-hand exposure to numerous jinshi art works, including the steles at Beilin in Xi’an and Zhao Zhiqian’s seal catalogue, deepened his interest in the unique qualities of engravings. The first signs of this jinshi aesthetic now began to show up in his paintings. This fourth period of his early development, lasting from 1899 to 1919, was spent extending his scholarship in various areas and refining his artistic skills. With his background as a craftsman, one of his primary motivations in painting was the challenge of portraying the actual appearance of things and sights as he personally beheld them. Once he had jumped this hurdle, he aspired to express his own insights into the essential character of his subjects. This ambition prompted his exploration of various styles. Retaining his practice of the gongbi mode, he expanded his repertoire to encompass the xieyi tradition. His predilection for lengyi expression blossomed along with a budding interest in incorporating elements of the Jinshi school into his painting style. During the decade before his move north, his travels and his intensive literary and

artistic work at Jipingtang set him on an independent path that would culminate in his mature painting style. The turning point of Qi Baishi’s pictorial art came about through his friendship with Chen Shizeng in Beijing. Bearing the message of the Jinshi movement that was then flourishing among intellectual artists in and around Shanghai, Chen Shizeng introduced the Hunan native to the paintings of Wu

240

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Changshi (Fig. 66) and Zhao Zhigian (Fig. 67). Qi Baishi concurred with his companion’s exhortations to try something totally new that would be more self-revealing and responsive to the times. But how was he to accomplish this? He agreed that the laborious detail of gongbi painting allowed little opportunity for spontaneity or a forcible effect. He apparently sensed, too, that lengyi art was remote and cerebral. Yet given the long history of painting in China and its proliferation of schools, the problem of invention seemed daunting. Determined to try something new, he began to take increasing inspiration from what he was naturally drawn to: the Jinshi aesthetic with its strong connection to engraving. His investigation of this approach took him back into the earliest epochs of Chinese history, when seal (zhuanshu) and official script (lishu) first evolved, and carved and cast objects had yet to answer to a hardened doctrine of beauty. The strength and honesty inherent in art works of the Qin and Han periods resonated in Qi Baishi’s own sensibility. With growing awareness of the potential which creations from two millenia ago had for revitalizing contemporary painting, he took Chinese scholar-painters’ long-standing preoccupation with antiquity full circle, back deeper than ever into history and all the way forward again to the modern age. From 1920 on, the engraved quality of his brushwork became ever more pronounced. In this respect, he aligned himself with Wu Changshi and other Jinshi school proponents. Whereas his lengyi phase had taught him to distribute ink in a rich spectrum of tonalities, the discipline of writing in the seal and official styles now guided his brush toward incisive lines in his pictorial works as well. Qi Baishi differed fundamentally from Zhao Zhiqian, Chen Shizeng, Wu

Changshi and Wang Zhen, as well as other noted painters of the Jinshi school. Most of these men moved

in elite circles of wealth and intellect, and their

paintings, while new in method, favored the familiar themes of traditional literati art. Qi Baishi, however, insisted on painting things close to his own experience, including objects and animals associated with the lives of farmers and tradesmen. He was known to depict a rake, a hoe or a broom as the single or main item in a full-scale painting. Freshwater shrimp in the rice paddy, newborn chicks in the farmyard, corn on the stalk, rats gobbling grapes— these lowly subjects had seldom appeared before in the repertoire of any gentleman-painter. Yet Qi Baishi embraced them and made them classic. Even old themes put on a fresh face under his brush. A boy riding on a water

Fig. 67 Zhao Zhigian, Peonies and Rock, hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. M.S.T., Inc. collection.

buffalo had featured in pastoral scenes since Song times, but when Qi Baishi

made such a picture, it was a self-portrait drawing on vivid memories of riding the family ox, not just for fun, but out of necessity. His figure paintings were always personal and often humorous or satirical. (Nevertheless Hu Shi’s conclusion that they are “cartoons,” in the sense of comic strip-style caricatures, seriously underestimates their artistic achievement.”) By applying sophisticated brushwork, ink effects and original compositions to these subjects, he lifted them to the heights of literati art. At the same time, people with little or no education could appreciate his images because of their intrinsic realism and universal themes. One other important aspect of Qi Baishi’s art sets him apart from most Jinshi painters: his use of color. Most members of this school gave ink precedence, muting their palette to comply with upper class standards of tasteful reserve. Not so Qi Baishi. The intensity of his reds, pinks, yellows and greens in his mature works outdid even the most venturesome chromatic innovations in xieyi art up until his time. In fact, it was his experiments with brilliant colors that led him to fulfill Chen Shizeng’s proposal that he invent his own expressive vehicle. The outcome was his moye honghua mode, consisting of deep, fiery red flowers and richly dark ink leaves. In dramatically

241

Pe EOP

NaN Gs

PHL

(Ore

)

See Jung Ying Tsao, Chinese Paintings of the Middle Qing Dynasty, p. 132 and Pang

Xungin & ¥ &, Zhongguo lidai zhuangshi hua yanjiu

? BERRA EHR

(Study

of historical Chinese decorative painting) (Shanghai renmin meishu chubanshe ERA RX 45H AL , 1982), pp. 8-12.

For examples of paintings by (or after the style of) Gu Kaizhi 4122 and the other early masters named here, see Osvald Siren, Chinese Paintings: Masters and Principles and Thomas Lawton, Chinese Figure Paintings.

Leading

See illustration of "The Five Heavenly Rulers” in Osvald Siren, Vol. 1, plate fac-

ing p. 160.

Ren Xiong #88 (1820-1857), Ren Xun 43 (1835-1893), Ren Bonian 4£44#

(Yi

FR, 1840-1896), and Ren Yu #£3 (1853-1901). Hsu, Kai-yu and Fang-Yu Wang, Ch’? Pat-shih’s Paintings, p. 47. 58 59

Ibid. In Nepal, however, crows are considered lucky. Each year in that country on the tenth day of the ninth month, people celebrate the festival of the crow by preparing special foods and setting them on their roofs to attract these birds.

THE

60

ThANE WE ae NITES

Oo F

Oxi

BAISHI

Collection unkown; see illustration in Xu Bangda #7 i#, ed., Zhongguo huihuashi

tulu P 61

JPN

Blas & [BlSk, p. 820.

Baishi shicao, p. 40 in Chen Fan, ed., Qi Baishi shiwen zhuanke ji. This poem is

entitled "Upon Receiving a Letter from Home, I Wipe Away Tears, Realizing It Has Arrived Late." 62

For examples, see Kai-yu Hsu and Fang-yu Wang, The Paintings of Ch’i Pai-shih,

pp. 20-21; and Qi Baishi zuopin zhan #§ 4 % “fF ve /& (Qi Baishi from the collection of the China National Gallery of Art), plate 38. 63

See "Life and Art of Qi Baishi," above, for an explanation of his age calculation.

64

The poem, to accompany the tune Tian jing sha Ki#iy (Sand and Sky), is titled

"Autumn Thoughts." See Cyril Birch, trans. and ed., Anthology of Chinese Literature (New York: Grove Press, 1965), Vol. 2, p. 17.

401

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Glossary of Chinese Names and Terms

Amei

as

1898-1950; Qi Baishi's second daughter by Chen Chunjun.

Araki Juppo

AT

Early 20th cent.; a Japanese artist.

Azhang Azhi

See Shitao. fey

A childhood name of Qi Baishi.

Badashanren

See Zhu Da.

bafen

NY

A variety of official script.

bai

4

White.

Bai Juyi

AEA

772-846; poet of the Tang period.

baihe

ae

An edible lily bulb.

baimiao

4 te

"Plain outline" brush method, originally used for draft-

ing the outlines of a painting. Baimiao was employed by Li Gonglin (11th cent.) as a painting mode in its own right for figures and animals. Late Song and Yuan artists expanded the use of baimiao to flower-and-bird themes. Baishi

44

Qi Baishi's Zi.

Baishi huagao

44 $ fa

Painted Studies by Baishi.

Baishi shicao

4

An eight-volume collection of Qi Baishi's poetry.

Baishi yincao

4% Ep

A four-volume album of impressions of Qi Baishi's seals.

Baishilaoren

BAEBA

"Old man Baishi,” a name used by Qi Baishi.

Baishipu

4

A town near Qi Baishi's birthplace in Hunan.

Baishishanren

84 LA

"Baishi the mountain man," a name used by Qi Baishi.

Baishishanweng

4

"Old man Baishi," a name used by Qi Baishi.

Baishou

hae

a

45

wh

"Longevity," title inscribed on Qi Baishi's painting

"Mother and Child" (No. 41). Bao Shichen

eo tt Be

1775-1855, from Yangzhou; calligrapher, student of Deng Shiru, authority on jinshi studies, author of Yizhou shuangji.

Baoding

FR

A city in Hebei province.

Baojin Studio

ee PA

A studio name to which Xugu refers in an inscription on a painting of plum blossoms dated 1870.

402

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Gareorsas Aka ve O) re (Goreh NE Ser

Bayanlou

IN

BAL

NAM

A

N

D

TERMS

"Hall of eight inkstones," one of Qi Baishi's studio names.

bei

Stele.

Beilin

"Monument forest," any of several repositories of steles, the best known being in Xi'an.

beixue

The study of inscribed stone monuments.

beiye

Leaves of a palm tree often used as the pages of sutras.

Bifaji

Notes on Brushwork by Jing Hao.

bimo

Brush and ink methods.

Bin Kainan

A friend of Qi Baishi from Xiangtan.

Binghao

"Sickly crane" - see Ren Bonian.

Bingling

1911-1927; Qi Baishi's first grandson.

Bingong

A name of Qi Baishi.

bingshen

A cyclical year name.

Bingsheng

One of Qi Baishi's grandsons.

bingxu

A cyclical year name.

bingzi

A cyclical year name.

Binsheng

Zi given to Qi Baishi by his teachers.

buli

Inauspicious.

Cai Geng

ES

Contemporary;

art historian, co-editor of Xugu huace

and author of articles on Xugu. cangfeng

Concealed brush tip.

canjiang

Low-level military officer, sometimes translated as "lieutenant colonel."

Canying

Surname unknown; subject of Xugu's "Portrait of Canying" (No. 5).

Cao Cao

155-220; statesman, poet.

Cao Zhongda

Act. ca. 550-590; painter.

caoshu

Cursive or "grass" script.

cefeng

4p

a

Method of holding the brush at a slant with the pressure concentrated in the tip, resulting in a line that fades along the length of one side for a multi-dimensional effect.

Chachan

See Yang Bairun.

Chan

Sanskrit; dhyana; Japanese; Zen; a school of Buddhism

which emphasizes personal practice and meditation. chang

Long.

Chang Dai-chien

1899-1983; painter, calligrapher, art connoisseur.

(Zhang Daqian)

chang shen

"Expand the spirit."

403

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O

F

Xu

eu

SAN

D

Oxi

Chang'an

Capital city of the Tang dynasty; modern name is Xi'an.

Chang feng wanli

"A Good Wind for Thousands of Miles," title of a painting by Qi Baishi (No. 11).

changnian

Longevity.

changnian

A long catfish.

Changsha

Capital city of Hunan province.

Changzhou

A city in Jiangsu province, modern-day Wujin district; a school of flower-and-bird painting started in the 17th century by Yun Shouping and Wang Wu.

Chaolan Pavilion

Site of a party in Changsha which became the subject of a painting by Qi Baishi.

Chen

A surname.

Chen Baisha Xiangzhang

1428-1500; calligrapher who used a maolong brush.

Chen Banding Nian

1876-1970; poet, calligrapher, painter, seal carver; student of Wu Changshi. Moved to Beijing at age 40. President of Chinese Painting Research Society, vice president of Art Academy in Beijing.

Chen Chunjun

1863-1940; Qi Baishi's first wife.

Chen Hongshou

1599-1652; painter of figures, landscapes and flowers.

Chen Ju

1897-?; painter, art historian.

in manner of Yuan dynasty Ming Qing wubainian huapai Painting Schools of the 500 Years Dynasties) and other books and

Dieye Xiaodie Dingshan

landscapes

masters. Authored gailun (Outline of of the Ming and Qing articles on art.

Chen Sanli Sanyuan

1853-1937; prominent late Qing poet; father of artist Chen Shizeng.

Chen Shaofan Zuoxun

Poet; Qi Baishi's painting teacher from the time Qi Baishi was 27 sui.

1876-1923;

Chen Shizeng Hengke Huaitang

eldest

son

of poet

Chen

Sanyuan.

Painter, poet, seal carver, scholar of jinshi studies. After

studying in Japan, he worked for the Ministry of Education and taught at the Beijing Art Academy. His painting instructor was Wu Changshi, but his flowers and landscapes assert a strong personal style. The influential scholar Liang Qichao (1873-1929) called Chen Shizeng's early death from disease "an irreparable loss to Chinese culture."

PR IF

Chen Shun Daofu

ia

flowers and for landscapes.

Chen Zhao

BRIS

1838-1896; a highly successful painter of Yangzhou, known chiefly for flower-and-bird themes. Also painted figures and landscapes. Early in his career, he joined the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom movement. Excelled in the shuanggou (outline) method and was an early proponent of the Jinshi school.

Chongguang Ruomu

404

Painted

HR

1483-1544;

Wu

school artist famous

for his mugu

Gi

@aSuSr Au RinYen Onna

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Cheng Jiasui

42 HK

1565-1643; landscape painter of the Huangshan school.

Cheng Sui

ALE

1605-1691; landscape painter and seal carver of the Huangshan school.

Chenghuang Temple

Hh FZ. A

A temple

A

N

D

TERMS

to the god of a city. (In traditional

China, it was believed that the deceased citizens of a

city were governed in the afterlife by a city god.) Chichi Chu

"Late-late," nickname of Qi Baishi's son Liangsi.

xe

Name of a feudal state in southern China during the

late Zhou dynasty. chuanshen

1879

"Transmission of the spirit" - portrait painting.

Chuanshen lun

1§ AP Se

"Treatise on Portrait Painting," section of book entitled Wei Jin shengliu huazan by Gu Kaizhi

chuanyi muxie

1§ 43 2G

Imitation of ancient models: sixth of Xie He's Six Can-

ons of painting. Chunzhi

Qi Baishi's given name.

Cibei Chan Temple

#4 & 8K

Cixi

Poa Bie

cl

Lyric poetry. A Chan temple in Beijing.

1835-1908; the "empress dowager.'"' Concubine to the Qing emperor Xianfeng; after his death, through the reigns of three successive emperors, she wielded vir-

tual control over the Qing administration. Cizhou ware

Be |

A large group of ceramics characterized by decoration painted under the glaze or carved through Active ca. 1068-1077; flower-and-bird

Cui Bo

painter in the

Song imperial art academy. Texture strokes used in landscape painting.

cun

"Great prosperity," title inscribed on "Peonies" (No. 30)

Dafugui

by Qi Baishi.

dafupi

Large axe-cut brushstroke.

Dai Benxiao

1621-1693; painter of the Xiuning /Huangshan school.

Dai Xi Chunshi

1801-1860; painter of landscapes and flowers in the orthodox tradition.

dao

A path, literally and figuratively; the Dao or the Way the great cosmic order.

Daodejing

The Way of Life by Laozi, a classic of Daoist philosophy.

daoxiong

"Dao brother," a friend with whom one shares a similar vision of art or other endeavor. "Great man," term of address originally used for elders

daren

and for men with civil rank. By the 19th century, the term was also widely used for men without an official title. Dashou

or hi

Great longevity.

405

THE

JE 7X 1)INN

NEE

S

O

F

xX UGE Ui AND

On

By Ae Sst i

Daxue

Ke

The Great Learning.

dazhuan

KE

Large seal script.

Deng Shiru

BB A 40

1743-1805; calligrapher, seal carver, scholar of jinshi studies.

Dengwei Mountains

SB Jetuh

Hills surrounding Guangfu, about 20 miles southwest of Suzhou.

dianya

HLH

Classic refinement.

die

=

Septuagenarian.

die

se

Butterfly.

Ding Fuzhi Renyou

1879-1949; calligrapher, painter, authority on jinshi studies. Avid art and seal collector. Specialized in writing "shell and bone" script (iaguwen). In 1904, he and Wu Changshi created the Xiling Seal Society.

Ding Guanpeng

T ie me

Ding Jing Jingshen

T

1695-1765,

RY

calligrapher, painter, poet. After refusing a nomination

FA wh A

for the prestigious Hongbo academic title, he pursued art and jinshi studies. His connoisseurship in engraved bornze and stone antiquities as well as calligraphy and paintings is represented in his book Wulin jinshi lu. Excelled in writing in the zhuan and li scripts. Creator of the Zhe school of seal carving. Considered the greatest of the Eight Xiling Masters of seal carving.

Ding Xiyuan

T&A

1942-; Deputy Director of the Shanghai Art Museum; author of Xugu yanjiu (Study of Xugu), Ren Bonian and Ren Bonian yanjiu.

dingchou

tz

A cyclical year name.

dinghai

Sige5

A cyclical year name.

dizi

A F ee KF

Disciple.

Longhong shanren

Dong Qichang Xuanzai

Dong Yu

+ ‘\f

iis

Act. 1740-1770; court painter.

from

Hangzhou;

famed

seal

carver,

1555-1636; painter, calligrapher, art connoisseur

and theoretician; president of the Board of Ceremonies. His painting approach and theories on Chinese art history became widely in influential. A scholar of Wei in the Three Kingdoms period, fea-

tured in the historical novel Sanguozhi yanyi (Romance of the Three Kingdoms) and credited with conceiving of sanyu, the "three extras."

Ca. 900-962; Five Dynasties painter famous for landscapes featuring hills constructed of pimacun or "hemp fiber strokes."

Dong Yuan

Dongting kan ri tu

ih Je A A

"Watching the Sun Over Dongthing Lake," a painting by Qi Baishi.

doufang

ey

A format in Chinese painting, usually of the proportions of a large album leaf, but meant to be an individ-

ual work and often mounted as a hanging scroll. Du Fu

406

AL TA

713-770; Tang dynasty poet.

GeUmORSNSmANIRanvar

One

GonurmnmE san

NAMES

Du Mu

803-852; Tang dynasty poet.

duli

Independent, solitary.

dun

A vessel for grain.

Duozi

"Numerous offspring," title inscribed on Qi Baishi's "Pomegranates" (No. 21).

Emei Mountains

WR bi

Famous mountain range in Sichuan.

Erjindietang yinpu

= BRS EP SH

Album of seal impressions by Zhao Zhiqian.

Eshi

wR

Surname

unknown,

A

N

D

TERMS

recipient of Xugu's "Plum Blos-

soms in a Crystal Vase''(No. 10). 1846-1931; poet; provincial judge of Shaanxi; pa-

Fan Fanshan

Zengxiang

tron and friend of Qi Baishi.

Active ca. 990-1070; Five Dynasties painter known for

Fan Kuan

landscapes in a realistic, monumental style.

Poet-calligrapher from Anhui; Qi Baishi's pupil.

Fang Junzhang Wenxi

fangzhiniang

4 RAR

"Spinning maiden," Mecopoda elongata, a grasshopper.

Fayuan Monastery

iE RR +

Buddhist monastery in Beijing where Qi Baishi lodged in 1917 and 1919.

feibai

Fengshan diao tu

"Flying white," a brush technique which allows the hairs of the brush to separate, producing unpainted streaks within the resulting line. "The Fisherman of Fengshan," a portrait of Shen Lin-

yuan painted by Xugu in 1875. Fu Baoshi

1904-1965;

painter, seal carver, art historian, influ-

enced by "shell and bone" shi school.

script (jiaguwen) and the Jin-

Fu Hua

Contemporary; art historian; coedited Xugu huace and author of articles on Xugu.

Fuchu

Surname unknown, the recipient of Qi Baishi's "Young

Eagle on a Pine" (No. 17). Fugui ping’‘an

"Prosperity and peace."

Furen University

A university in Beijing.

Gao Fenghan

1683-1748; painter, calligrapher, seal carver, author of Yanshi (History of Inkstones). Sometimes included in the group known as the Yangzhou Eccentrics.

Gao Jianfu

1879-1951; painter, creator of the Lingnan school.

407

THE

PeA

ener Wanjcers

KwEw

O F

A N D

Gao Yong Yongzhi Longgong

@m

BAIS-HI

v~ixis

@ yee 3s (oe YN

1850-1921; from a scholar family in Hangzhou. Calli-

grapher, painter. Won early recognition in calligraphy with Li Yong (678-747) as his primary model. Painted with running script brush method in a style reminiscent of Zhu Da and Shitao. After a brief career as alternate mayor of a town in Jiangsu, he retired to devote himself to his artistic "obsession." After the Sino-Japa-

nese war of 1894-1895, Gao Yong changed his name to Gao the Deaf (Gao Longgong). In 1909 he helped to establish the Yuyuan Art Society for the Appreciation of Calligraphy and Painting (Yuyuan shuhua shanhui), a cooperative organization of artists. Friend of Xugu. Gaosong laoying

"Praises for the old hero.”

gengshen

A cyclical year name.

gewu

Investigation of natural phenomena.

gongbi

"Laborious brush," a painting mode employing intricate detail to capture a subject's realistic form and "spirit."

gougi

He) HZ,

Lysium Chinese.

gu

Valley.

gu

Ancient bronze vessel form.

Gu Kaizhi

RATE

Ca. 344-406; painter famous for portraits and narrative

themes, including Luoshen tu (Nymph of the Luo River). Wrote Wei Jin shengliu huazan. Gu Linshi

fA BRE

1865-1930; painter and collector from Suzhou; lived in

Shanghai. QU XI

& Fir

gua

A literary term for the age of 70, from a poem by Tang poet Du Fu.

A category

of fruits and

vegetables

including

squashes, melons and gourds.

guadan

The custom of taking in travelling monks, observed by Buddhist temples and monasteries throughout China.

Guan Tong

10th cent; a Five Dynasties landscapist in the tradition. of Jing Hao.

Guan ware

In the Song dynasty, porcelain ware with a bluish-gray glaze produced for the imperial court at a special kiln. (In the Ming and Qing dynasties, any porcelain wares made for imperial use were known as Guan ware.)

Guan Gong

Bil 24 Bil 2

Guan Di

Bal fe

Guan Yu

Guanche

See Ruoju.

Guangfu

A town about 20 miles southwest of Suzhou.

Guangling

408

Third cent; faithful supporter of Liu Bei; a general in the latter's army; venerated as the God of War and an exemplar of the virtue of righteousness. Major character in Sanguo zhi yanyi (Romance of the Three Kingdoms). Usually depicted with a red face.

acs

Ancient name for Yangzhou.

Cam

gufa yongbi

OeCnCw Aw Rw

YauO? bee Gere Toni sE Sb

NAMES

A

N

D

SEE Re Nis

Structural ("bone") method in using the brush; the se-

cond of Xie He's Six Canons of painting. gui

Ancient bronze vessel form.

guihat

A cyclical year name.

Guilin

An area in Guangxi famous for its scenery of eroded limestone hills.

guisi

A cyclical year name.

guiwei

A cyclical year name.

guiyu

A variety of perch known as the mandarin fish.

guli

Ancient official script.

Guo Baosheng Baosun

Late 19th to early 20th cent; son of the famous Qing general Guo Songling. Government official, painter, art collector; longtime friend and patron of Qi Baishi.

Guo guren zhuang

"Stopping by an Old Friend's Farm,"a poem by Tang poet Meng Haoran.

Guo Xi

Ca. 1020-1090; court painter, landscapist in the monu-

mental style of the Northern Song dynasty. Guxiangshi Shuhuadian

Name of art gallery in Shanghai run by Hu Tiemei between 1886 and 1896.

Haishang molin

Artists of Shanghai by Yang Yi, a collection of biographies of artists working in the vicinity of Shanghai.

Han

The main ethnic group of China.

Han Yu

768-824; Tang period poet and essayist.

Hangzhou

A major city in Zhejiang province.

Hanshan

Mount Han in Jiangsu province.

Hansongge tanyi suolu

FRXPa SK BE FH SR

Jottings on Art from Cold Pine Pavilion by Zhang Mingke, a collection of anecdotes on artists of the Jiangnan region.

hao

Nickname, sobriquet.

hao

Crane.

haoyang

"Good examples."

he

Harmony.

he

Lotus.

He Shaoji Zizeng

1799-1873, from Hunan province; calligrapher, scholar of the Hanlin Academy. His style of cal-

Yuansou Yuanbiweng Hedeli (Madam)

ligraphy derives

from

Yan

Zhenqing

(709-785)

and ancient engraved steles. Z. Hrdlicka (?), recipient of Qi Baishi's "Two Shrimp and Arrowhead Leaves" (No. 43).

409

Be

SPAS eNah iON GES)

OFF

exw

Eau . ACNeD

OF

BeAwt Saktet

Heng Mountains

Another name for the

Nanyue Mountains in Hunan.

Hengfeng

A monk portrayed in a portrait by Xugu.

heping

Peace.

heshang

Monk.

Hong Xiuquan

1813-1864; creator of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom movement and leader of the Taiping Rebellion (18501864).

Honglou meng

A HEH

Dream of the Red Chamber, a novel by Cao Xueqin.

Hongren

a) f=

1610-1664; monk; painter of the Huangshan school.

Hou Maogong

TRAE TA

1522-1620; a Suzhou landscapist.

Hu Baozhu

aA

1902-1943; Qi Baishi's concubine who became his wife

following his first wife's death. Hu Gongshou Yuan Shouhao Hu Qinyuan

Zishuo Ouhuayinguan

WAFA iz je #8

hai. Painter of the Jinshi school. Friend of Xugu.

aA ae

Scholar,

Bl 42 48 164BE

ture and calligraphy instructor.

Hu Shi Shizhi

oF ia HZ

Hu Tiemei

a #

Zhang

1823-1886,

from Huating, Jiangsu; lived in Shang-

painter, art collector.

Qi Baishi's

1891-1962; scholar, author, one of modern

litera-

China's

most influential thinkers. Early advocate of the use of vernacular language (as opposed to classical literary diction) for literature. Ph.D. in philosophy from Columbia University in 1917. Chairman of English literature department at Beijing University. Leading figure in the May Fourth movement for cultural reform in 1919 and the 1920s. Later Chancellor of Beijing University. Ambassador to the U.S. from 1938-1942. In 1958 became director of Academia Sinica in Taiwan. Coedited Baishi nianpu (Chronology of Qi Baishi). 1848-1899, born in Tongcheng in Anhui, later moved to Shanghai. Went to Japan in 1879 as a businessman and artist. Known as Ko Tetsubai in Japan,

where his painting style influenced many Nanga school artists. Upon his return to Shanghai in 1886, opened an art gallery called Guxiangshi Shuhuadian and published the newspaper Subao. The paper's progressive slant endangered him at the end of the Hundred Day's Reform of 1898, when the empress Cixi seized power and executed advocates of reform. He fled to Japan where he died. Most famous for his renditions of plum blossoms; also painted landscapes and figures. Friend of Xugu. Hu Zhang Hua shanshui xu

S wh 2k FR

Preface on Landscape Painting by Zong Bing.

Hua Yan Xinluoshanren

= iF ay #bA

1682-1762, from Fujian province; lived in Yangzhou and Hangzhou. Poet, calligrapher, versatile paint-

AR aR Be

er of flowers, birds, animals, landscapes and figures.

Jietaoguan

410

See Hu Tiemei.

CoieOnsuceAERE Yin TO Es G Etiiun tes. 5

NAMES

Huainanzi

A Daoist text by Liu An (died 122 B.c.), prince of Huainan.

Huairen

Given name attributed to Xugu by some art historians.

huajiang

Artisan painter.

Huang

Qi Baishi's student name.

Huang Binhong Zhi

1863-1955;

master

landscape

painter and

A

N

D

TERMS

art his-

torian. Combined a broad spectrum of traditional styles with direct study of nature and personal expression. Taught at various art institutes and authored numerous books on Chinese art.

Huang Ding Zungu

1660-1730; landscapist of the orthodox Loudong school, which followed the style of Wang Yuangi.

Huang Gongwang

1269-1354; painter, one of the Four Masters of the Yuan

Dynasty.

Huang Jichan

Active ca. 1800, from Xiangtan, Hunan; monk; painter of orchids and bamboo.

Huang Shen

Buddhist

1687-after 1768; painter, one of the Yangzhou Masters

of the 18th century, known for figures, flowers-andbirds, and landscapes. Huang Xiangjian

1609-1673; painter of the Xiuning/Huangshan school. A native of Suzhou. According to Chen Ju, a member of the Anhui school.

Huang Yi Xiaosong Qiu'an

1744-1801; painter, calligrapher, seal carver, poet. One

SSS at Ss OF 3

of the Eight Xiling Masters (of seal carving). Authority on ancient steles and other jinshi (engraved) artifacts. Discovered the Wu Liang Ci, an ancestral shrine in Shandong province.

Huangshan

Mountain range mainly in Anhui province.

HAuanlai jiu juhua

"T'll come again for your chrysanthemum wine," a line from a poem by Meng Haoran.

Huapu

On Painting, a treatise by the painter Shitao.

Hudie ying

"Shadows of Butteflies," a poem by Qi Baishi.

Huiwutang

"Hall of the regretful crow," text of a seal of Qi Baishi.

Huizi (Hui Shi)

380-305 B.c.; philosopher, friend of Zhuangzi.

Huizong

1082-1135; Song emperor, reigned 1101-1126.

hundun

Primordial chaos.

Hushang Xingguan

iBLee

Hushe

ee

An artist's group in Beijing in the 1910s and 1920s.

Huzhong fengwet

AP JL

"Delicacies from the Lake," title of a painting by Xugu

A studio of unknown location where Xugu painted a rendition of goldfish in 1893.

(No. 24). ji

s

Good fortune.

ji

He

Chicken.

41]

THE

PAC ION hal NGes

O

F

Xe WRG

AUNT

OUP

BeAw sree

Ji Cinanzi Ren wen

"Eulogy for My Second Son" by Qi Baishi.

Jigu lu

Catalogue of Collected Antiquities, a text by Ouyang Xiu of the Song period.

Ji Shi’erlang wen

Eulogy written by Han Yu for his nephew.

Ji Youmei

Painting student of Qi Baishi.

jian

To see.

jian

Writings on bamboo or wooden strips dating to Han or earlier times.

Jiangnan

The region of the Yangtze River delta, including the cities of Shanghai, Suzhou, Yangzhou, Nanjing,

Hangzhou. jiaomo

"Burnt ink," thick, undiluted ink with a scorched appearance.

jiashen

A cyclical year name.

Jiaxing

A district in Zhejiang province, formerly known Xiushui.

jiayin

A cyclical year name.

jiben

(Ji registration; ben: origin) Ancestral home.

jie

The joint of a bamboo stalk; moral integrity.

Jie

Second millenium B.c.; last ruler of Xia dynasty, con-

as

sidered a tyrant. Jieshanweng

"Old man of the borrowed Baishi's hao.

Jieshan yincao

A manuscript of poems by Qi Baishi, written in gishu

mountain,"

one of Qi

(lacquer script). Jieshanyinguan

"Poetry recitation hall of the borrowed mountain," one of Qi Baishi's studio names.

Jieshanyinguan

Poems of Jieshanyinguan, by Qi Baishi.

shicao

a collection

of poems

Jieshanyinguan tujuan

A painting series that Qi Baishi began in 1902.

Jietaoguan

The name Hua Yan used as a poet.

Jieyi

Explication.

Jieziyuan huazhuan

Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual, written and illustrated by Wang Gai (early Qing period). The title takes its name from a country home of the famous scholar Li Yi, where the woodblocks for printing the book were carved in 1701. (Qi Baishi refers to this book in his

autobiography as Jieziyuan huapu.)

412

Jihaoxuan

FAG.

Jihuanxiannu

47 Ah ae

"Pavilion of the sojourning cranes,’ Hu Gongshou's studio name. One of Qi Baishi's hao.

GRimOnseo

Arey

OMEN

\G GE leTENGE

NAMES

jimao

A cyclical year name.

Jin Nong Dongxin

1687-1763; painter, calligrapher, authority on jinshi studies, one of the Yangzhou Masters of the 18th century.

Jing Hao

Ca. 855-915; master landscapist of the Five Dynasties.

A

N

D

TERMS

Developed cunfa (texture strokes) for modelling hills and rocks. Authored Bifaji (Notes on Brushwork). jin’gangchu

Spear-like burshstrokes found in Wang Yuanqi's paintings.

Jinghua

Beijing.

Jingting songfeng

"Listening to the Wind in the Pines," a painting by Ma Lin.

Jingying weizhi

Schematic placement (of elements); fifth of Xie He's Six Canons of painting.

Jinging

Reference to Sun Jinging, chairman of Beijing Chamber of Commerce in 1919.

jinshi

Title given candidates who passed the highest of China's three-tiered civil examination system, held in

Beijing every three years.

jinshi

"Metal and stone," referring to stone objects including steles and seals, bronze objects, titles and other ceramic

objects, which have been engraved or cast with writing or artistic motifs. Jinshibi

"Engraving fanatic,” engraved by Qi Baishi in a seal.

Jinshilu

Catalogue of Metal and Stone by Zhao Mingcheng.

jinshixue

The study of jinshi objects. (See jinshi, "metal and stone.")

jinyu

Goldfish.

Jipinglaoren

"Old man of sojourning duckweed,” one of Qi Baishi's hao.

Jipingtang

"Hall of the sojourning duckweed," one of Qi Baishi's studio names.

Jipingtangshanglaoren

"Old man of the hall of sojourning duckweed," one of

Jipingtangzhuren

Qi Baishi's hao.

"Master of the hall of the sojourning duckweed," one of Qi Baishi's hao.

Jiuhuatang

Shop or studio for which Xugu designed stationery.

jiwei

A cyclical year name.

jtwen

Eulogy.

Jiyuantang

"Hall of distant sojourning," one of Qi Baishi's studio names.

Ju Duizhi

Friend and patron of Qi Baishi.

Ju gao sheng zi yuan

tances," title inscribed on Qi Baishi's "Pine and Cicada"

"Its position is high and its voice carries to great dis-

(No. 14).

413

THE

PRA TINE aN ees

O

XSUNGeUM

F

mes N D

ju kat xte fei

Q1

BAISHI

% Fe A fe

"Chrysanthemums bloom and crabs are fat," a painting theme.

ju gi yannian

"Chrysanthemums and gougqi prolong life," a painting theme.

Juanhao

"Weary crane," Xugu's hao.

Juefeian

"Aware of misdeeds studio," Xugu's studio name.

Jupu

Any manual on painting chrysanthemums.

Juran

Act. late 10th cent., monk; landscapist, follower of Dong Yuan.

juren

Title awarded candidates who passed the provincial examination, the second level of China's three-tiered

examination system. Juxuan

Surname unknown; recipient of Qi Baishi's "Magpie and Plum Blossoms" (No. 35).

kaishu

Standard script.

"Textual research,” a method of scholarly inquiry utili-

kaoju

zing a variety of concrete data. kou

Mouth.

Kuache Lane

The lane where Qi Baishi's house still stands in Beijing.

Kugua heshang

See Shitao.

Kuncan

Active ca. 1657-1686, Chan monk; Individualist painter, one of the Two Stones (Ershi, with Shitao). His

Shiqi

landscapes feature dry, rough ink textures. Lai

Name of a family that hired Qi Baishi to carve furniture in 1888.

langhao

Weasel hair (brush).

Lanting

One of Qi Baishi's zi, given to him by his grandfather.

lao

Labor.

Lao Bai

"Old Bai," a reference to Qi Baishi.

Laomuyli

"Old carpenter," one of Qi Baishi's hao.

Laoping

"Old duckweed," one of Qi Baishi's hao.

laoren

Old man.

Laozi

Fifth century B.c., Daoist philosopher, author of the Daodejing.

lengyi

"Cool and lofty," a style of monochrome xieyi painting with these qualities, practiced by Xu Wei and Zhu Da.

li

Measurement of distance equal to about one third of a mile.

li

Rational principle, universal principle, reason.

Li Baiheng Li Bo

414

EAHt

20th cent.; painter, Qi Baishi's student.

701-762; a Tang dynasty poet.

GaimOssus

AuRe Ys (OnE

CG Hl

NeE SB

NAMES

Li Cheng

919-967; painter of winter landscapes of the Five Dynasties and early Song period.

Li Chengxiong Xian'gen

1817-1883; painter of portraits, scapes; lived in Shanghai.

Li Gonglin Longmian

Ca. 1049-1106; painter (plain outline) method.

Li Keran

1907-1989; painter, Qi Baishi's student. Professor at Central Art Academy, Beijing; vice chairman, Chinese Artist's Association; honorary president of the Beijing Landscape Painting Research Association. Famous for landscapes, figures and buffaloes.

Li Kuchan Ying

1898-1983; painter, student of Qi Baishi. Studied traditional Chinese and western painting. Professor at Central Academy of Art, Beijing. Painted flowers, birds and fish.

Li Lin-ts'an (Li Lincan)

Contemporary; artist, art historian, deputy director of National Palace Museum in Taiwan; author of

famous

animals,

A

N

D

I is iow S

land-

for his baimiao

Zhongguo huashi yanjiu lunji (Collected articles on Chinese painting studies) and other books and articles on Chinese art.

Li Longmian

See Li Gonglin.

Li Mi

Ca. 713-780; the Marquis of Ye, prime minister to three emperors of the Tang dynasty.

1084-ca. 1151; premier writer of poems and lyrics (ci);

Li Qingzhao

scholar of classics and jinshi studies; wife of scholar

Zhao Mingchen. Li Ruiquan Jun'an

ey 55

ak

“a

Late 19th-early 20th cent.; calligrapher, brother of artist Li Ruiqing (Meian, 1867-1920). 1686-1762; painter, one of the Yangzhou Masters of the

Li Shan

18th century.

Dexun

# Bil aad am

Li Tieguai

ER

Li Sixun

Li Song'an

659-718; painter. Friend of Qi Baishi; original member of the Luo-Shan

Poetry Society. He helped Qi Baishi get started in seal carving. One of the Eight Immortals, characterized as a lame

beggar with a bottle gourd and a hovering bat. li tou zhibei

AER

The energy (ink) penetrates to the back of the paper.

Li Weisun

BR BE FR

Friend of Qi Baishi in Hunan; original member of the Longshan Poetry Society.

Li Yong Beihai

3k i

Li Zicheng

Am

678-749; calligrapher. 1606-1645; leader of rebel forces that overthrew the

Ming dynasty in 1644. His own defeat by the Manchu armies enabled the latter to establish the Qing dynasty. lianfang

Lotus seed pod.

415

THE

[PINS INGE aEINE XE 3S

O

F

iw

Ew

A N D

ORI

liang

A metal scale.

Liang Kai

Active ca. 1201-1204; honored painter of the Southern Song art academy, known for figures, landscapes and

religious themes. Later he left the academy and frequented Chan Buddhist monasteries. His spontaneous

broad brush is associated with a group of his contemporaries known as Chan painters. Liang Qichao

1873-1929; leading intellectual and reformer of the late Qing period.

Liangchi

Born 1921; Qi Baishi's first son by Hu Baozhu.

Liangfu

1894-1913; Qi Baishi's second son by Chen Chunjun.

Lianghuan

1928-1946; Qi Baishi's first daughter by Hu Baozhu.

Liangkun

1902-1954; Qi Baishi's third San by Chen Chunjun.

Liangmo

Born 1938; Qi Baishi's fourth son by Hu Baozhu.

Liangnian

1934-1938; Qi Baishi's fourth son by Hu Baozhu.

Liangsi

1922/23-1988; Qi Baishi's second son by Hu Baozhu.

Liangzhi

Born 1931; Qi Baishi's second daughter by Hu Baozhu.

Liangzhou ci

A lyric poem by Wang Han.

lianhua

Lotus flower.

Lianhua Mountain

A mountain in Hunan.

lianzi

Lotus seed.

Liaozhai zhiyi

Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, a collection of stories by Pu Songling.

Lidai minghua ji

ERA Ez

Record of Famous Historical Paintings, a 9th century text by Zhang Yanyuan.

Liji

#2 2%

Book of Rites.

likai

BRHE

Official-standard script.

Lin Fengmian

AK JEL AR,

1900-1991; painter. Studied art in France 1917-1925.

After returning to China, became director of the Beijing Art Academy. Established West Lake Art Academy (later Hangzhou Art Institute). Moved to Hongkong in 1977. His painting style blends Eastern and Western traditions. Lin Liang

PR

Lin Su Qinnan

He SF

1852-1924;

BA

translator. Staunch defender of traditional values in literature and art. From 1900 he taught at the Imperial University (later Beijing National University). In 1909,

Ca. 1416-1480; master bird painter. scholar

of the classics, poet, painter,

named dean of the School of Letters, but resigned in

1913 in protest of the push for literary reforms led by Hu Shi and others. Translated (with linguistic assistance) 190 works of literature from Western languages by such authors as Dickens and Dumas. Painted landscapes in the orthodox tradition.

416

GeimOussseAGRe Ya Oure

Lin Zexu

HRB RE

Gan sisN EMSsE

NAMES

A

N

D

TERMS

1785-1850; scholar, statesman, national hero. Imperial commissioner to Guangdong; ordered embargo on

British imports of opium, provoking the Opium War (1840-1842). After China's defeat, Lin Zexu was exiled to Yili.

Linding

A district in Fujian province.

lingjiao

Water caltrops.

lingzhi

Polyporus lucidus, known as the "fungus of immortality."

Lisao

"Encountering Sorrow," a poem by Qu Yuan (4th cent. B.C.),

lishu

Official (or clerical) script.

Liu Bei

Early 3rd cent.; stateman, established kingdom of Shu

in the Three Kingdoms period; major character in the novel Sanguozhi yanyi (Romance of the Three Kingdoms). Liu Cai

Active 1086-1100; painter known for depictions of fish.

Liu Fangru

Contemporary; author of "Xugude shengping yu huayi" (Xugu's life and art).

Liu Yanchong Yongzhi

Late 19th cent.; poet and painter based in Suzhou. Subject of a portrait by Xugu

liufa

FIE

Six Canons of Xie He.

liuyemei

Hp EG

"Willow leaf eyebrows."

lixue

ap

School of philosophy, known in the West as Neo-Confucianism.

Longmen ershipin

fe Pi—+oe

"Twenty Works from Longmen," a series of Northern Wei period steles. Song scholar Ouyang Xiu selected them from thousands of engravings in the Longmen Caves in Luoyang, Honan. Rubbings of the "Twenty Works" are widely used as models for practicing calligraphy.

Longshan Poetry Society

FE why oF tt

A poetry society organized by Qi Baishi and six friends in the 1890s.

Lou Shibo

eo)

Born 1918, from Liuyang, Hunan; painter. Began at age 14 to study under Qi Baishi. Instructor at Beijing Art Academy and member of the Chinese Artists’ Association.

School of painting consisting of Wang Yuangqi's stu-

Loudong school

dents and followers, Loudong referring to this 17th century master's hometown.

Lu Xun

1881-1936; Movement.

Lu You

1125-1209; a Song dynasty poet.

Lunyu

aa ee

writer, chief figure of the May Fourth

Analects, a collection of the teachings of Confucius (551-479 B.C.), canonized as one of the Four Books of classical learning.

417

THE

Pe AaiiNene stn Gas

oO F

XU

Geur

ASN

Luo Ping

D

Om

BAISHI

EG

Luo Xiangzhi

i a

Luo Xingwu

i AE

Liangfeng

1733-1799; painter, pupil of Jin Nong; one of the Yangzhou Masters of the 18th century. Seal carver; Qi Baishi's pupil in seal carving. One of the original members of the Longshan Poetry Society; later Commissioner

of Education in Guang-

dong province. Participated in Sun Yatsen's revolutionary society known as the Alliance (Tongmenghui). Luoshan Poetry Society

oe ly 3 4k

A poetry society organized by Li Song'an in 1895. Qi Baishi was a member.

Luoshen fu

iB AP BK

"Nymph of the Luo River," a prose-poem by Cao Zhi (192-232) and subject of a painting by Gu Kaizhi.

Lushansi

Ma Guoquan Ma Lin

je ae 5 BlHe 5i

A stele of Li Yong's calligraphy. Contemp.; noted Soanoiecur of seals.

Act. mid-13th cent.; painter; son of painter Ma Yuan. Painted mist-filled landscapes and plum blossoms.

Ma Yuan

Act. early 13th cent.; painter.

Ma Zhiyuan

14th cent.; poet, playwright.

mao

Cat.

mao

Octageniarian.

maodie

Cat and butterfly, a painting theme which is a rebus representing a wish that the recipient would live past the age of 80.

maolong

A kind of brush made from the split end ofa reed.

maozhu

"Thatch bamboo," a variety of bamboo with a leafy sheath around the joint of each stem.

Mawangdui

Site near Changsha, Hunan, where Western Han pe-

riod (206 B.C.-24 A.D.) tombs containing a variety of artfacts have been excavated.

418

mel

HS:

Plum.

Mei Lanfang Lan Wanhua Zhuiyuxuanzhuren

WEB Ba

1894-1961; peerless performer of Beijing-style opera. Dabbled in painting and befriended noted names in

56, SE

art, such as Wu Changshi, Chen Shizeng and Chen

BRP EA

Banding. First studied painting under Wang Yun, then under Qi Baishi. After 1949, became president of the Beijing Opera Institute.

Meigong ci

Meigong Ancestral Shrine in Shizikou, Hunan, site of a house where Qi Baishi lived from 1900 to 1906.

meiping

A vase characterized by high, rounded shoulders, narrow neck and flaring mouth.

Meipu

Plum Blossom Painting Manual.

Meishou

Long-lived as the plum blossom.

Meng Fen

A famous Han dynasty general.

Meng Haoran

689-740; Tang period poet.

(CRireOuseSnAU Ria:

Mi Fei

(Os F- © Helin -EaS 5

NAMES

A

N

D

TERNS

1051-1101; famed art historian, calligrapher, painter of

the Song dynasty. Created ink dotting technique for rending mountains. Mi Youren

1072-1151; landscapist; son of Mi Fei.

miao

Subtlety, mystery.

Min Zheng

1730-after 1788; painter, one of the Yangzhou Masters of the 18th century.

ming

Name; a person's given name.

mo

Imitation.

mo fen wu cai

NS He » a

moye honghua

fete

ey

Se

ASSGr

Ink yields five colors. "Ink leaves, red flowers," the painting mode developed by Qi Baishi in the 1920s, featuring a dual color scheme

of red and the black (and grays) of ink. Mozi

Fourth cent. B.c. text.

mubi

Magnolia.

mudan

Tree peony.

mUugu

iA

"Boneless," a method of painting without outline.

Mujushi

Ie je de

One of Qi Baishi's hao.

Muqi Fachang

Ae#5

Act. ca. 1180; monk,

ik #

period. Surname Xue; native of Kaifeng. Most of his paintings are now in Japan.

Namo amituofo

2 ye Pe

"Homage to (the Buddha) Amitabha."

Nanchang

He

Capital and major city of Jiangxi province.

Nanhu Nanhucaotang ji

painter of the Southern

song

See Yang Bairun.

Hae Se

Collected Works of Nanhucaotang by Yang Bairun.

Nanjing

Major city in Jiangsu province, capital of early Ming dynasty and of the Republic of China from 1911-1949.

Nantong

A city in Jiangsu province.

Nanyue Mountains

Mountains in Hunan, same as Heng Mountains.

Nanzhipu

Southern Paper Shop (in Beijing). 1301-1374; painter of ink landscapes; one of the Four

Ni Zan Yunlin

Masters of the Yuan Dynasty. He used a dry brush and spare ink in a consciously plain style later emulated by countless scholar-artists.

nian

Year.

nian

Catfish.

Nian

Name of groups of impoverished peasants who staged a massive rebellion against the Qing from 1851-1868.

miannian you yu

4 SF AyAis

Abundance year after year.

Nie Chongzheng

ah a JE

Contemporary; art historian, wrote article on Xugu.

419

THE

AGEN,

TastuiNineas

O

XU

F

GU

a AL IN D

Oya

BAISHI

ou

Lotus root or stem.

ou

A mate.

ou duan si lian

"When a couple is separated, their affection still binds them."

Ouhuayinguan

See Hu Qinyuan.

Ouyang Xiu

1007-1072; master prose writer of the Song period.

Pei Di Pei Xiucai Di

Man for whom Wang Wei composed poems in his Wangquan xianju series.

Peifu

See Yang Bairun.

Peilingren

MiLB

A

"Bell-bearer," carved on a seal by Qi Baishi in memory of the bell he wore around his neck as a child.

peizi rushan

HK AS A

To become a monk (literally, "to don a monk's black shawl and enter the mountains").

pianfeng

Vs

Method of holding the brush at a slant, distributing the pressure of the stroke throughout the entire tuft, resulting in a line with sharp definition on one side and a rough edge on the other for a flat effect.

piedao

dik 77

"Oblique knife," a brush technique.

pimacun

TR BR

"Hemp fiber" texture strokes.

ping

a

Peace.

ping

HR

Vase.

pingdan

Plain, bland; an artistic quality upheld as an ideal by

scholar-painters. Pinghua Society

A society of painters started in 1862 in Shanghai, witha

meeting place at Guan Temple. Pingweng

"Duckweed old man," one of Qi Baishi's hao.

pingyuan

The "level distance" perspective of landscape painting.

pipa

Loquats.

pipa

A musical instrument similar to the lute.

Pochen

Zi of Zeng Jing; a school of portrait painting following the style of Zeng Jing.

pomo

"Splashed ink," a painting method utilizing bold, loose brushwork with little or no outline.

poshengna

"Holes in monk's clothing," brushstrokes with rough edges and a concealed tip at either end.

Pu Songling

1640-1715; writer, author of Liaozhai zhiyi.

puti

Ficus Religiosa, variously called the Bodhi, Bo or Pipal tree:

420

putiye

Leaves of the puti.

qu

Air, breath, life spirit, vital force.

Qi Baishi

1864-1957.

GeimOnsis A (van Onne.

(© che ten) oH ISiE

NAMES

Qi Baishi shoupi shisheng yinji

HAF Ht bp E Ep 4B

An 18-volume catalogue of seals by Qi Baishi and his students, with commentary by Qi Baishi.

Qi Gong

ED}

Born 1912; poet, calligrapher, painter, etymologist; professor at Beijing Normal University.

Qi Rushan

1877-1962; dramatist, lyricist.

Qi Tieshan

A scholar in Qi Baishi's hometown.

Qian Huian

1833-1911; painter.

Qian Jingtang

Contemporary; art historian, writer, friend of Wang Kun; quoted by Ding Xiyuan regarding Xugu.

Qian Qianyi

1582-1664; poet, painter.

A

N

D

TERMS

Muzhai Qian Shaowu

Contemp; artist, professor at Central Art Academy;

creator of portrait of Qi Baishi appearing in this book. Qian Xuan

Ca. 1235-1301; painter of landscapes and floral themes

in the early Yuan period. Qiao Wugong

ay

Active late 17th cent;

a man

who

offered food to

birds in his garden to demonstrate his grief for his de-

Chongrang

ceased parents; subject of painting by Yu Zhiding.

Oida

"Qi the Elder"

qing

Pure.

Qingsi chang er buduan

ta feta FHBt

"When break."

Oinzhou

BR Mh

A town in Guangxi.

gishu

ARE

"Lacquer" script.

Qiu Ying

Hu

1494/5-1552; landscapist.

giuhaitang

FB

Begonia Evansiana.

the ties of affection are long, they do not

Qiunong

See Wu Guxiang.

Qiupu

See Wu Guxiang.

Qiushui

AK 7k

"Floods of Autumn," a section of the Zhuangzi.

Qiuzhi yingwu tu

AK FR BS #H [Bl

"Autumn Branch and Parrot," a painting by Hua Yan.

giyun shengdong

Raa AS

Spirit-resonance, life movement: the first of Xie He's Six Canons of painting.

Qu Yuan

FB TR

343-290 B.c.; poet who wrote Lisao.

quan Qunfangpu

A weight.

A catalogue of plants used as a reference by flower painters.

ren

Person.

ren

Benevolence, a concept of humanism central to Confu-

cian philosophy. Ren

Nickname of Qi Liangfu, Qi Baishi's second son.

421

WRSstie

1 ONIN Tb NOG SS OW

Bea

ZAINwe TO

Ren Bonian

Yi Binghao

18 A ihSer

4418

1840-1896,

BR Fy 8B

liked to sign paintings with the name of neighboring Shanyin, his ancestral home. After his portraitist father died, he seved in the army of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom. In his late teens he went to Shanghai where he met the great painter Ren Xiong. The elder Ren took the younger as his student, then turned him over to his brother Ren Xun in Suzhou. Having started with portraiture and mastered figure and flower-and-bird themes using gongbi methods, Ren Bonian eventually also excelled in landscapes. Versed in the gamut of literati styles as well as that of the Zhe school and Chen

from

Xiaoshan

district, Zhejiang, but

Hongshou, he achieved formidable technical prowess

and vigorous expression in the xieyi mode. Close friend of Xugu. A leading early master of the Shanghai school, Ren Bonian's impact on later Chinese artists has been profound. Two of his students, Wu Changshi and Wang Zhen (Yiting), became influential in the early decades of this century. ren sheng gishi

KE

gulai xi Ren Xiong

Weichang

CER

"From

ancient times, those who

live to be 70 are

rare"; a line from a poem by Du Fu. AE A

1820-1857,

A

member of painter group known as the Four Rens;

native

of Xiaoshan,

Xhejiang.

Eldest

brother of Ren Xun, father of Ren Yu, mentor to Ren

Bonian. Moved to Suzhou in early 1850s; frequented Shanghai. Highly successful painter and woodblock print artist. By merging disparate strains of his native artistic heritage into a bold, modern vision, he pioneered the Shanghai school and helped to shape the course of Chinese painting in the last century. renchen

£ ie

A cyclical year name.

Renhe

{= Fa

Old name for modern Hang district in Zhejiang province.

renminbi

ARE

Currency of the People's Republic of China since 1949.

renchen

=H

A cyclical year name.

renxiong

4=

Elder brother or senior friend.

ru

da

As.

Ru ware

KE

A rare ceramic ware produced at Ruzhou during the Northern Song dynasty. The simple forms of Ru ware

are glazed with an extremely fine blue-gray glaze with a lavender tint.

Ruiguang

bsae oh

1878-1932; Buddhist monk; Qi Baishi's painting student.

422

Ruoju Guanche

BE A fit

Active late 19th cent., native of Yangzhou; Buddhist monk at Shilin Monastery in Suzhou; later, abbot of a temple in Yushan. Associated with highly placed government figures. Introduced Zhang Mingke to Xugu.

ruyl

to

"As you wish"; a scroll-shaped decorative motif associated with the form of the lingzhi fungus.

GiiOgs

AR’

“a7

WC eet ie Sz

IN PASI

Sanbaishiyinfuweng

"Old man (who is) rich with 300 stone seals," one of Qi Baishi's hao.

Sanbaishiyin zhai

"Hall of three hundred stone seals," one of Qi Baishi's studio names.

Sanbaishiyinzhai jishi

=AAP

Sanshiqifengcaotang

a oe

HS

A

N

D

TER

MS

Journal of the Three Hundred Stone Seals Studio by Qi Baishi. "Thatched hall of 37 peaks," one of Xugu's studio names.

Sanyu tu

"The Three Extras," title written on Qi Baishi's "Three Fish" (No. 20).

Sanzijing

Three Character Classic.

saozhuangye

Eis

"Broom-shaped leaves," a term for a certain technique

of painting bamboo foliage.

Shan xing

"Traveling Through the Mountains," a poem by Du Mu.

shanshui

Landscape.

Shanyincaotang

Ren Bonian's studio name.

Shao Mi

Active ca. 1620-1660; landscapist based in Suzhou.

Shaomei

Surname unknown, the recipient of Xugu's "Plum Blossoms and Cabbage" (No. 15).

She district

Xin'an, a district in Anhui province.

shen

Spirit.

Shen Linyuan Zhuzhai

1862-1908, from Hangzhou; magistrate of a district in Henan; calligrapher, landscape painter, seal

carver. Portrayed in Xugu's painting Fengshan diao tu. Shen Nong bencao

Shen Nong’s Herbal, written in the Qin dynasty.

Shen Quan

1682-1760 or later; painter of detailed and brightly colored floral themes and animals. His style draws on Dutch art. Claimed large following in China and in Japan, where he lived for three years.

Shen Yunchu

ik 55 40

Collector from Yunjian, mentioned in an article by Chen Ju.

Shen Zhou

iz Fl

1427-1509; painter of the Wu school which looked to

the Four Yuan Masters for inspiration in landscape painting; one of the Four Masters of the Ming Dynasty. "Raw" or unrefined quality in painting.

sheng

Shenyang

fF ay Xe

Mukden, a city in Liaoning province.

shi

Scholar.

shi

Stone.

shi

Me NOE

Structural force or potential movement in a painting.

423

THE

IP OA

IN, aene Ny eS

O

XSUG

F

Ue

ACN!

D

O11

BAISHI

Surname used by Buddhist monks.

Shi

Shibi

Bt

Shiji

¥ 22

A stone cliff engraved with inscriptions in Guangfu (near Suzhou) in Jiangsu.

Book of History, written by Sima Qian in the Han dynasty.

Shilin Monastery

Hi aR

A Buddhist monastery in Suzhou.

Shimen

& Fl

An area in Zhejiang province.

Shiqi

Shitao Kugua heshang Azhang

See Kuncan.

B®

1641-ca. 1710; descendant of Ming royalty, Bud-

& IK Fa Py fe

dhist monk; painter. Wrote Huayulu, a treatise on his artistic theories. Painted landscapes, flowers, fruits

and vegetables. One of the greatest Qing Individualist painters; known as one of the Two Stones (Ershi) with Kuncan. His highly versatile style is marked by rich ink, fresh colors and a remarkable freedom from technical and schematic conventions.

Shizhuzhai huapu

Ten Bamboo Studio Painting Manual.

Shizikou

A town in Hunan where Qi Baishi leased a house on

the property of the Meigong Ancestral Shrine. Shouhao

See Hu Gongshou.

shu

Ripe, mature.

shuanggou

"Double outline," a method of painting employing outline which may or may not be filled with color wash.

shuixian

AME

Shujie baozhen

YAS ED

Narcissus.

"Treasures Grow on Trees," title inscribed on Xugu's

painting "Branch of Loquats" (No. 7). Shun

424

ae

Third millenium B.c.; legendary sage-king, successor to Yao.

SI

Silk thread, fiber, string.

Si Sangongshan Stele

Memorial stele of Sangong Mountain, dating to the Han dynasty.

Sima Qian

145-ca. 90 B.c.; historian, author of Shiji.

Sisheng Shiguan

A studio of unknown location where Xugu painted a floral work in 1894.

Song Mountain

A mountain in Henan province.

Song Luo

1634-1713; governor of Jiangsu.

Su Dongpo Shi

1036-1101; famed grapher, painter.

Sul

Years old, a child being considered one sui at birth.

sui lei fucai

Application of color according to the type (of object); fourth of Xie He's Six Canons of painting.

Suma, Yakichiro

Japanese diplomat stationed in China during World War II; patron of Qi Baishi's paintings.

scholar,

statesman,

poet, calli-

GarOrsss A Raye

(Or Fs

GH

i Neen Ss 5

Sun Wukong

The Monkey King, hero of the fantasy novel Xiyouji.

Suzhou

A major city in Jiangsu province.

Tai, Lake

A lake in Jiangsu province.

taiji

NAMES

A

N

D

LER

Ms

In Chinese cosmology, the Great Ultimate, absolute principle, composed of yin and yang, the two opposing cosmic forces, represented by a circle containing a pair

of interlocking spiral-heads. Taishan keshi

"Engraved stone of Mount Tai," a Qin period inscrip-

tion engraved in stone at Mount Tai in Shandong by order of the emperor.

Tan Pu Lisheng

Associate

Tang, King

Shang dynasty king, ca. 18th century B.c.

of Chen Shaofan; taught Qi Baishi land-

scape painting.

Tang Yin

1479-1523; poet, calligrapher, painter, one of the Four

Masters of the Ming Dynasty. Tangshi

Three Hundred Poems of the Tang Dynasty, a 313 poems compiled by Sun Shu in the 18th was modelled on the ancient Shijing (Book which is comprised of 305 poems and was called Shi sanbai (Three Hundred Poems).

sanbaishou

volume of century. It of Poetry), originally

Tao Yuanming Qian

Fe) di AA ve

372-427; nature poet of the Jin dynasty.

Taoran Pavilion

Fe)RB

Pavilion in Beijing where, in 1941, Qi Baishi made ar-

rangements to be buried. Tian'an

te Fs

Tianfa shenchan Stele

RA AP RAR

Tianjin

RE

A city in Hebei province.

Tiankong ren niao fei

REE HK

"The sky lets the birds fly," a seal used by Xugu.

tianxia

Ae 3

All under heaven.

tianzi

pay

Son of heaven—the emperor.

tie

Ns

Replica of a work of calligraphy produced by hand tracing or copying, or through any form of printing.

Tiewu

BB

"TIron-fenced house," Qi Baishi's name for his residence in Beijing.

tiexianzhuan

PUL:

"Iron wire seal" script.

Tongcheng

Hel Bh

A town in Anhui province.

Tongmenghui

Age

The Alliance, a revolutionary group led by Sun Yatsen.

wai yuan nei fang

ab BAA

Head monk of Shilin Monastery in Suzhou; student of Xugu. A stele with an oracular

text dating to the third

century.

"Round exterior, square interior," signifying the vir-

tues of being both yielding and true to moral principle.

425

THE

PEA JNM en Ess

O

F

Xe

Cun

eAUN

D

Our

BAISHI

Wang Fang-Yu

Contemporary; Chinese art connoisseur, educator and author.

Wang Han

Tang period poet.

Wang Hui

1632-1717; painter; one of the Four Wangs.

Wang Ji

Act, mid-sixth cent; poet in the state of Liang.

Wang Jian

1598-1677; painter; one of the Four Wangs.

Wang Kun

1877-1946; native of Xin'an, Anhui. Painted landscapes in the style of Wang Hui; also depicted flowers.

Zhongshan

Went to Shanghai in the 1890s to be professional artist. Friend of Yang Yi and probably of Xugu. One of the founders of the Yuyuan Art Society. Wang Meng

bi

Ca. 1389-1385; painter, one of the Four Masters of the

Sh

Yuan Dynasty. Wang Mian

2355

1334-1407; painter famous for plum blossoms.

Wang Shimin

EF ah

1592-1680; painter; one of the Four Wangs.

jE OR

Late

Sx

Hunan; member of the Hanlin Academy; Commissioner of Education in Guangxi; invited Qi Baishi to Guilin in 1905.

Wang Songnian Yishu

2

22 oO

19th

to early

20th

cent.,

from

Changsha,

Wang Wei

E48

Wang Xiangyi Kaiyun

=e

1832-1916,

fel

ernment official; senator in early years of the Republic. Proponent of the Wenxuan school of literature, inspired by writings of the third century B.c. to the fifth century A.D. A number of his students became nationally recognized intellectuals. Qi Baishi became his pupil in 1899.

Early 8th cent; scholar, poet, painter. from

Xiangtan,

Hunan;

scholar,

Wang Xianzhi

344-388; famed calligrapher; son on Wang Xizhi.

Wang Xizhi

303?-361?; scholar, considered

gov-

China's greatest calli-

grapher. Wang Xuetao

1903-1982; painter of flowers and birds; student of Qi

Baishi; professor at Beijing Art Academy. Named vice chairman of Chinese Painting Research Association in 1953. Wang Yangming

1H

Pa

1642-1715; painter; one of the Four Wangs.

Wang Yuanqi

Wang Yun Mengbai

Wang Zhen Yiting Bailongshanren

Wang Zhongyan Xun

Wangquan xianju

426

1472-1529; philosopher.

1888-1934;

ys HOS Ih HH Ye |

painter,

seal carver

in Shanghai

and

later in Beijing; friend of Chen Shizeng; professor at Beijing Art Academy; noted for paintings of animals. 1866-1938; a painter based in Shanghai.

gat Tih =

Sh |b om

gu

$8) BL

Poet; founded

Longshan

Poetry Society. Selected

poems for Qi Baishi's Baishi shicao, published in 1933.

"Dwelling at Wangquan," Wang Wei.

a series of poems by

Gein OnSuSe A RY

OUR)

sGea Nee rome

NAMES

Wangyuntang

A studio in Shanghai where Xugu painted "Squirrel in a Branch" (No. 32) in 1896.

Watanabe Shimbo

Early 20th century; a Japanese artist.

Wei

A state in northern China during the Three Kingdoms

A

N

D

TERMS

period (221-265). Weigqing

Qi Baishi's Zi.

wen

Literature; culture; literary or artistic refinement.

Wen Putao

See Wen Riguan.

Wen Riguan

Active

ca.

1230-1294;

monk,

painter

known

for

depictions of grapes.

Wen Putao

Portraitist and friend of Xiao Xianghai. Taught Qi Baishi portraiture.

Wen Shaoke

Wen Tong

XK Fl

1018-1079; one of the greatest painters of ink bamboo.

Wen Zhengming

KKH

1470-1559; landscapist of the Wu school; one of the Four Masters of the Ming Dynasty.

weng

Term of address meaning "old man."

wenrenhua

Literati painting.

Wu

Former name of the Suzhou area.

Wu Botao

See Wu Tao.

Wu Changshi (Changshuo) Junging

1844-1927, from Anji, Zhejiang; painter, calligrapher, seal carver, poet. Displaced by the Taiping Rebellion. Served as magistrate for only one month before retiring. Studied literature and calligraphy under Yu Yue and Yang Xian. Associated with the leading lights of the Shanghai art scene, including Ren Bonian, who taught him painting techique, and Hu

Gongshou. The ten Stone Drums of the third century B.C. Were a major model for his calligraphy; also influenced by Zhao Zhigian. Through his jinshi style brush work, which projects an expressive force at once primal and sophisticated, he propelled the Jinshi school of

art to new heights.

Wu Dacheng

1835-1902; painter and calligrapher.

Wu Daozi

Ca. 689-ca. 759; considered one of China's greatest fig-

ure painters. His figures’ demeanor and the fluid linework of their drapery epitomized the strong, noble character of Tang period culture. Painted frescoes in temples in Luoyang and Chang'an. None of his works have survived.

Wu Guxiang OQiunong Qiupu Wu Hufan Wu Li

1848-1903; painted landscapes inspired by Ming masters of the Wu school and flowers after Chen Shun. He knew Ren Bonian and Xugu, possibly as early as 1883.

1894-1968; painter. 1632-1718; painter; one of the Six Masters of the Qing

Dynasty.

427

THE

PIPAG ieN TaN CG: aS

O

F

XU TE a0)

AN

D

QO!

Ancestral shrine in Shandong, site of Han period art works in tile and stone.

Wu Liang Shrine

Wu Sangui

Ming dynasty general who in 1644 allied his army with the Manchus to overthrow the anti-Ming rebel Li Zicheng.

Wu Shixian

Died 1916; painter.

Wu Tao Botao

1840-1895; painter.

Wu Xizai Rangzhi

1799-1870, lived in Yangzhou, calligrapher, painter, seal carver, authority on jinshi studies.

Wu Yongxiang

1913-1970, native of Minhou, Fujian; painter; studied under Qi Baishi, Pu Ru (Xinyu, 1868-1963) and other

prominent artists at the Beijing Art Academy. An exhibition of her paintings in Hong Kong in 1941 drew considerable attention. When Pu Ru retired from his teaching post at Taiwan Normal University in 1954, Wu Yongxiang replaced him. She later became an assistant professor at the University, where she taught for ten years.

1280-1354; painter of landscapes and bamboo; one of the Four Masters of the Yuan Dynasty.

raid

Wu Zhen

Wu Zongyuan

ARH

Wufeng keshi

A

Wuhan

AR

Died 1050; painter famous for murals of figures.

4

Metropolitan area encompassing the cities of Hankou (Hankow), Hanyang and Wuchang in Hubei.

Ancient name for Hangzhou.

wulouhen

eS APR i hk

Wumen

RPI

Former name of Suzhou.

WUuWwu

RP

A cyclical year name.

Wuwuhou

RF RUA FAT

"After the year of wuwu by my Zi."

WUXING

Fe

Formless.

Xia Gui

SE

Ca. 1180-1230; painter.

Xia Wenzhu

BRAK

Qi Baishi's nurse-companion from 1944-1951.

Xia Wuyi

A+ie 4H

Government Baishi.

Xi'an

ase

Capital of Shaanxi province.

xian

48 (4h )

Immortal.

Xiang Army

tyB

A private army organized by Zeng Guofan in Hunan to suppress the Taiping Rebellion.

Xiang Mountains

4h

Hills west of Beijing.

Wuliangshoufo Wulin

yizi xing

Shoutian

428

A Han dynasty stele dating to 58 a.p.

Buddha of Infinite Life.

Brush technique producing lines that look as natural as the "tracks made by water on a leaky wall."

official,

(1918)

patron

and

I began going’

friend

of Qi

Gor

Xiang Rong

vi

yy

Xian'gen

ORsts

AUReY

solr

(Gon mn NoRas

Be

Niven

es

A

N

D

TERMS

Ca. 720-780; Tang period landscapist.

See Li Chengxiong.

Xiangwu tu

4a & [Bl

"Feeding the Crows," a painting by Yu Zhiding.

Xiangtan

aie

District in Hunan province.

Xiangxuehai

45%

Xianhua Yangzhou

Bal a i IN

Gossip About Yangzhou, a book by Yi Junzuo.

Xianshoujiao

Haas

Buddhist monastery in Guangfu.

Sea of Fragrant Snow, a large grove of plum trees on the Dengwei Mountains southwest of Suzhou.

Monastery Xianying

"Immortal Image," title inscribed on Xugu's "Portrait of a Woman" (No. 30).

x1a0 jiao

Revision; if xiao, the meaning is school

xiao

Filial piety, the first of the Eight Confucian Virtues.

Xiao Xianghai Chuanxin

Portraitist; Qi Baishi's painting teacher beginning in 1888.

xiaofupi

Small axe-cut brushstroke.

Xiaoshan

District in Zhejiang province.

xiaozhuan

Small seal script.

Xie He

Fifth cent., Southern Qi dynasty; art theorist who for-

mulated the Six Canons of painting, which have been widely observed into modern times. Xie Lingyun

385-433; poet.

xiesheng

"To paint from life" through personal observation, as contrasted with imitating old masters’ works.

xieyl

"To write the idea" - a painting mode employing simplified description of form. While the effect is highly subjective, the goal is not only personal expression but also a disclosure of the subject's most essential characteristics.

xiezhen

Painting based on observation of the subject, usually applied to portraiture.

Xijiantu

"Resting the Shoulders," a painting by Qi Baishi.

Xiling

A term often used in the names

of art societies and

groups associated with Hangzhou. Xin'an

Another

name

for She

district

(also

known

as

Huizhou) in Anhui province. xing

Form, shape.

xingshu

Running script

xing

Surname.

Xingdoutang

Village in Hunan where Qi Baishi was born.

xingkai

Running-standard script.

429

THE

aA

leNG SDeIeN ceas

XU

ORE

GO)

eA IN

Xingziwu

Xingziwulaomin

Oui.

oy A Goer

AF AFHER

Hamlet in Hunan where Qi Baishi was born. "Old citizen from Xingziwu,’ Baishi.

xinhai

A cyclical year name.

xinmao

A cyclical year name.

xigiao Xishi

Xisipailou

Xiuning

Xiushui

che eeoS %

'

a name

used by Qi

Magpie.

A famous beauty of the fifth cent. B.c.

re

OH Dy A HE mH

A district in western Beijing.

A town near Xin'an in Anhui province; a school of painting related to that of Huangshan.

i

Jiaxing district in Zhejiang.

oe Fas

Xiushui

Yining district in Jiangxi province.

Xiwangmu

Mythical Queen Mother of the West.

Xiyouji

Journey to the West, a fantasy novel by Wu Cheng’en of the Ming dynasty.

xu

Hollow, empty.

xu

Preface.

Xu Beihong

1895-1953, from Yixing, Jiangsu; painter, educator. Learned painting as a child from his father. Studied art in France 1919-1927. Professor at Central University, Director of Fine Art Dept. at Nanguo Art Academy. In 1946 named president of Beijing Art Academy. After 1949 served as president of Chinese Artist Association

and president of the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing. Worked in oils on canvas as well as in Chinese ink and colors. Revered as an educator as much as a painter, he bridged the Eastern and Western artistic

traditions in his attempt to forge a new direction for Chinese painting. Xu huai ruo gu

Empty (humble) as a valley.

Xu Linlu

Born 1916; painter.

Xu San'geng Xingu Jinglei Xiuhai Jinleidaoren Xu Wei

Se Re He a fe Pe| (asi ate ie * ng

~

carving has been compared to that of Wu Rangzhi and Zhao Zhiqian. 1521-1593; poet, playwright, calligrapher and flower painter known for his expressionistic style.

Xu Xi

10th cent.; painter of flowers and birds.

xUuan

Colorless; found.

Xuanhe huapu

Xuanhe Painting Register, preface dated 1120, a catalogue of the painting collection of the Song emperor Huizong.

Xuanwu Gate

430

1826-1890, from Shangyu, Zhejiang. Connoisseur of jinshi artifacts, calligrapher, seal carver. Highly influenced by the Tianfa shenchan stele. His seal

SFr

KAP

in philosophy,

A city gate of Beijing.

mysterious,

subtle, pro-

Gb

Xuanzai

Xubai

AIRY

Op

Cai iW im Gos

NAMES

A

N

D

ie Re Miss

See Dong Qichang.

ha

A name attributed to Xugu.

Xuege Xugu

O8Ss

See Zhu Da.

RS

1823-1896.

Xugu heshang shilu

Poems

Xugu shuhuayji

Collection of Xugu’s Calligraphy and Paintings.

Xugu yanjiu

Study of Xugu by Ding Xiyuan.

ya

Crow or raven.

ya

Elegance, artistically tasteful.

ya jiao

A seal engraved with an epigram or other statement

of Monk

Xugu, supposedly

published

by

Gao Yong, but not known to exist today.

rather than a name, used in a corner of a painting to balance the composition. Yan Liben

Pe] aw

Died 673; painter.

Yan Zhenqing

BAL

709-778; calligrapher known for his classic, muscular style.

ves

iy

Yang Bairun

#18 i TA

Peifu Chachan Nanhu

Yang Buzhi Taochan laoren

Yang Guifei

Yang Yi Dongshan Lushi Wumen

BP

A

To extend.

1837-1911,

from Jiaxing, Zheiang; painter. Bereft

of most of his family due to the Taiping Rebellion, he went to Shanghai with his mother. There he earned a living by painting landscapes, which were imbued with the literati ideals of Dong Qichang. Notable poet and calligrapher; published Yushizhai huashi (In Recognition of Paintings of Yushi Studio) and Nanhucaotang ji (Collected Works of Nanhucaotang). Associated with prominent Shanghai painters, including Xugu; chairman of the Yuyuan Art Society.

4FS HER EA

Late 11th to early 12th cent; painter of plum blossoms.

ma He

Famed beauty, favorite concubine of the Tang emperor Xuanzong. 1864-1929, native of Shanghai. Tutored in homes of Gao Yong and Mao Zijian; the latter showed

him his extensive painting collection. Yang Yi became an important art historian and connoisseur as well as a proficient painter and poet. Recorded biographies of artists based in Shanghai from Song times through the late 19th century in his Haishang molin.

Yangcheng Lake

A lake in Suzhou.

yanghao

Goat hair (brush).

Yangshao

Name of a neolithic culture centered in Henan and surrounding areas.

Yangzhou

A city in Jiangsu province.

431

THE

IPA

Nien slain Gns

O

XU

F

et

AGN

D

On

BAISHI

yao

Demon.

Yao

Third millenium B.c.; legendary sage-king.

Yao Hua Chongguang Mangfu

1876-1930; obtained jinshi degree; poet, painter, scholar of jinshi (metal and stone engravings) studies; professor at Beijing Art Academy; translated the poetry of Rabindrath Tagore.

Ye, Marquis

See Li Mi.

yl

Ancient bronze vessel form.

yl

Any art or skill.

Yi Bingshou

1754-1815; calligrapher.

Yi Chunru

Qi Baishi's doorman at his Beijing residence.

Yi er shi shi

"A Childhood Incident," a poem by Qi Baishi.

Yi Weiru

Congressman in the 1920s; patron of Oi Baishi in Beijing.

Zongkui yl xing xie shen

"Paint the spirit through the form" — an ideal of portraiture as expressed by Gu Kaizhi.

yl you ganzhu

"Suddenly had an emotional stirring," from Yang Yi's account of Xugu's life in Haishang molin.

yl Z1 xing

The practice observed by some artists of signing their art works with their zi and so becoming known by that name.

yyjing

An artist's creative vision as conveyed in his works.

yin

To recite (poetry).

ying

Hero.

ying

Eagle.

ying wu xiangxing

Portrayal of the form according to the (actual appearance of the) object: the third of Xie He's Six Canons of painting.

Yingxiong duli

"The hero is solitary."

Yining

Another name for Xiushui district in Jiangxi province.

Yinjiu

"Drinking Wine," a poetic series by Tao Yuanming.

yinyang

In Chinese cosmology, the pair of opposing but interacting forces (negative/positive, female/male, dark/ light) which spring from the taiji (Great Ultimate) and which produce the Five Elements, which in turn generate all things.

yinyinni

EP ER Ye

"Impress seal ink" - a brush technique for dotting.

ylyou

a8

A cyclical year name.

Yongxiang

Yongzhi

432

See Wu Yongxiang. WK Ze

Subject of a portrait painting by Xugu. See Liu Yanchong.

GersOrsese AREY

yousimiao

BF

tH

fOnpe

Grn den Bes) eB

NAMES

A

N

D

TERMS

Floating thread linework.

yu

Fish.

Yu (Emperor)

Legendary emperor of the Xia dynasty.

Yu Yue Quyuan

1821-1906; authority on the classics; calligrapher.

Yu Zhiding

Ca. 1647-ca. 1707; noted portraitist and landscapist.

yuan

The Chinese dollar.

Yuan Shikai

1859-1916; warlord to whom Sun Yatsen turned over the presidency in 1912; Yuan Shikai dissolved Parliament in 1914 and ruled China as a dictator until his death.

Yuanshui wubo, lang yu yun qi

"Distant waters have no waves; their swells merge with the clouds," a statement by poet-painter Wang Wei.

Yuanxiao

Festival falling on the 15th day of the first lunar month,

celebrated with family reunions, displays of decorated lanterns and fire crackers. Yuelou

Surname unknown; subject of a portrait by Xugu and Ren Bonian.

Yu'er Lane

Lane in Beijing where Qi Baishi lived 1956-1957.

yulan

Magnolia.

yun

Resonance

Yun Shouping

1633-1690; flower painter, one of the Six Masters of the

Qing Dynasty. Revived the mugu (boneless) style of the Song period. Yunjian

An area in Jiangsu province.

Yuren

Surname unknown, recipient of "Parrot and Loquats"

(No. 9) by Xugu. yurou baixing

An expression comparing the populace to so much fish and meat to be fed to greedy bureaucrats.

Yushan

A region in Jiangsu province.

Yushizhai huashi

In Recognition of Paintings of Yushi Studio, a book by Yang Bairun.

Yuxia

A mountain peak in Hunan where Qi Baishi first purchased property.

Yuyuan shuhua

Yuyuan Art Society, a cooperative artist's organization in Shanghai in the early 20th century.

shanhu

1811-1872; Confucian scholar, leader of the Xiang army of Hunan which helped to suppress the Taiping Rebellion. Became one of China's earliest industrialists and warlords.

Zeng Guofan

Zeng Jing Pochen

9 8%

1564-1647; famous portraitist, creator of the Pochen

je B

school of portrait painting.

433

THE

IPA ZN SIN) TP arIN SS

O

F

XOUN Ge Ul eA NED

Zeng Xi Ziqi, Siyuan,

Oxi

y

5

Best}cosya

Nongran

1861-1930, native of Hengyang, Hunan; grandson of Zeng Guofan. Jinshi degree holder, served Qing administration until 1911. One of the most highly acclaimed calligraphers of his time, he modeled his writ-

ing style on ancient stone inscriptions including the ten Stone Drums; occasionally painted. Instructed Chang Dai-chien. zhang

Literary composition.

Zhang Cixi

Editor of Baishilaoren zixu, Qi Baishi's autobiography.

Zhang Daofan

Born 1897; studied art in Europe in 1920s. Held various

posts in education and politics, including Chiang Kaishek's private secretary, Chief of Propaganda for the Nationalist party (1942), regular member of the party's central committee (1945), legislator (1948), director of National Chinese Art Society, and Minister of

Education of the Republic of China. Zhang Feng

Tk JX AM

Active ca. 1636-1662; painter of landscapes, figures and flowers.

Zhang Huangxi

ik @ KR

Father of Zhang Cixi; friend of Qi Baishi.

Zhang Mingke Guojian

ihe"E,

Dafeng

Yushan Hansong laoren

RE

FE.Ht REA

1828-1908,

native of Jiaxing, Zhejiang.

Advisor

to

provincial commander-in-chief Li Chaobin; poet, art critic. Wrote Hansongge tanyi suolu (Jottings on Art from Cold Pine Studio) and Hansongge shi (Poems from Cold Pine Pavilion). Xugu's friend, patron and biographer.

Zheng Sengyou

th 18

Act. early 5th cent; painter.

Zhang Xiong

TK AR

1803-1886; painter of flowers and birds based in Shanghai.

Zhang Xu

ae)

Act. 713-740; calligrapher.

Zhang Xun

ak A

1854-1923; general who attempted to restore the Qing emperor to the throne in an unsuccessful coup in 1917.

Zhang Yanyuan

TRB

9th cent.; art historian, author of the Lidai minghua ji.

Zhang Zhongyang Dengshou

wR ZS

ak TP Be

Ironsmith turned scholar; student of Wang Xiangyi; friend of Qi Baishi beginning around 1894.

Zhao Mengfu

AU oh HA

Zhao Mingcheng Defu

aw AA oR

Act. ca. early 12th cent.; Song period authority on

FE

jinshi studies; author of Jinshilu; husband

= =

oF

4

1254-1322; painter. of poet Li

Qingzhao.

Zhao Xianyu Mingxian

aw RIK Bt Fi

Zhao Zhiqian Weishu

From Shanxi; pupil of Qi Baishi.

1829-1884;

calligrapher,

painter, seal carver,

au-

thority on jinshi studies, early proponent of the Jinshi school.

Metal plaque bearing an imperial decree.

zhaoban

434

Zhe

a

Zhejiang province.

zhecaigu

ar 4X AK

Angular brush strokes akin to "metal hairpins snapped in two."

GibOSse

AiR

Om

ies wy ieee

NAMES

Zheng Wei

BR

Contemporary; artist, art historian.

Zheng Xie

Sp KE Hi A

1693-1765; poet, calligrapher; painter one of the Yangzhou Masters of the 18th century.

SR FR

A Northern Wei stele commissioned by Zheng Daozhao in 516 in memory of his father, Zheng Xi (Wengong).

Banqiao

Zheng Xixia Stele Zheng Wengong Stele

Zheng Zhenduo Xidi

BRK DAR

BR ae SF

%

A

N

D

TERMS

1898-1958; writer and literary historian. Participated in the May Fourth movement in Beijing. In 1921 cofounded Society for Literary Studies (Wenxue yanjiuhui) which promoted new directions in literature. Between 1923 and 1948, edited such important

journals as Xiaoshou yuebao (Short Story Monthly), Wenxue jikan (Literature Quarterly), Wenxue fuxing (Literary Rennaissance). Deputy Minister of Culture in early years of People's Republic. Authored Zhongguo suwenxue shi (A History of Chinese Common Literature) and edited Zhongguo banhua shi tulu (Catalogue of Chinese Woodblock Prints). He died in an airplane accident.

zhi Zhi Mujiang

Substance, as opposed to spirit.

ZAK

Method of holding the brush upright throughout the execution of a stroke, concentrating the energy in the center of the stroke.

zhongfeng

Zhongguo Huaxue Yanjiuhui

"Carpenter Zhi," name by which Qi Baishi was known as a young man in his hometown.

P Ble aOF + BlEA oR

Chinese Painting Research Association.

BE a

Outline of Painting Schools in Chinese History by Chen Ju (Dingshan).

Zhongguo meishu renming cidian

P Bl X tig AZ

Dictionary of Names in Chinese Art.

Zhongkui

$8 1G,

Legendary scholar of the Tang justly denied academic honors demon queller. Often depicted gentleman in the cap and gown

Zhongnan Mountain

# 4 wh

A mountain, also called Qinling, close to Xi’an in Shanxi province.

Zhongguo lidai huapai gailun

dynasty who was unand popularized as a as a stalwart bearded of a literatus.

Zhongren AP 4= Huaguang zhanglao # AK

Active 11th century; monk; painter of plum blossoms.

zhongtang

ed

"Central hall" a large-format hanging scroll painting.

Zhou

Fal

Second millenium B.c.; last ruler of the Shang dynasty,

considered a tyrant.

Zhou Fang

Jal WG

Act. 780-810; painter.

Zhou li

Jal 42.

The Rites of Zhou.

Zhou Yang

jel

Minister of Culture in the early years of the People's Republic of China.

435

THE

PAu Nie le Niners

O

IK OG TVR AN D

F

Oni

[By JN at Gaal1

Died 1906; master fine woodworker and wood carver

Zhou Zhimei

to whom Qi Baishi was apprenticed as a teenager. Zhu

Xugu's surname.

Zhu Cheng Menglu

1826-1900; painter based in Shanghai.

Zhu Da Badashan ren

1626-1705;

flowers, birds

and fish mostly in ink. His cool, detached style was dubbed lengyi.

aS a

1130-1200; jinshi degree; held various high civil positions, authority on classics. Annotated the Four Books and Chucti. His teaching centered on giongli, "to investigate principle to the utmost,” and zhizhi," the extension of knowlegdge." The Kangxi emperor named him one of the Ten Great Philosophers.

Xuege Zhu Xi

painter of landscapes,

ANKAWA> S418

Zhu Xinggong

1901-1939; writer, author of "Yu ju ji" (In Memory of the Buried Chrysanthemums).

zhuanshu

Seal script.

Zhuang Zhou

Name of the philosopher commonly addressed as Zhuangzi.

Zhuangzi

Fourth cent.; Daoist philosopher.

zhufeng

In landscape painting, rounded by small ones.

Zhuge Jin

Brother of Zhuge Liang; military advisor in the state of Wu in the Three Kingdoms period.

Zhuhua shanpao

"Chef who cooks paintings," carved on a seal by Qi Baishi.

zhuihuasha

Brush technique producing lines that appear to have been "drawn through sand with an awl."

zhuiying

Post-mortem portraiture.

Zi

Courtesy name, given to an adolescent by a teacher or other elder.

Zijing Mountain

A hill near Baishipu in Hunan.

Zishou jinzhang

"Purple sashes and gold medals."

Ziyang Mountain

A mountain south of Xin'an in Anhui.

Ziyangshanmin

"Citizen of Ziyang Mountain," one of Xugu's hao.

Zong Bing

375-443; born of scholarly parents and himself an au-

a main mountain peak sur-

thority on the classic texts of Daoism, Zong Bing re-

fused repeated offers to serve the government. At 28 he went to Mount Lu to seek instruction in Buddhism from the monk Huiyuan. But his brothers' deaths obliged him to give up religious life to care for their childeren. Traveled extensively in the mountains.

436

GLOSSARY

Om

Cmriynoc

IN Aas S

A iy

Ih tok aves

When old age weakened him, he painted landscapes so he could travel in his mind. His discourses on Buddhism, including the Ming fo lun, draw heavily on Daoist and Confucian thought. Wrote Hua shanshui xu (Preface on Landscape Painting).

Zuo

ak

Mannerism; clumsy.

zuohua

AE AG

"Transformed while sitting (in meditation)," a conventional phrase for death in reference to a Buddhist monk.

437

THE

PAUR, ThIN) TINE

O

F

ew

GW

A GNisioy ~ (Oe — 185 VN ies 180

Selected Bibliography

Addiss, Steve, ed. Japanese Quest for a New Vision: The Impact of Visiting Chinese Painters, 1600-1900.

Spencer Museum of Art, University of Kansas, 1986.

Baishi huagao @ 4 & 4a (Studies by Qi Baishi). Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe x16

Shaiya4k, 1981. Bao Limin "Qi Baishi yu Zhang Dagian" #4 4 #2 7 K+ (Qi Baishi and Chang Daichien). Dacheng Boney, Alice.

A 7 (Panorama Magazine), No. 206, Jan. 1, 1991: 18-19.

"Of Qi Baishi,"

Orientations, Vol. 20, No. 4, April 1989: 80-84.

Bush, Susan and Christian Murck, eds. Theories of the Arts in China. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983.

Cai Geng ## and Fu Hua ® #, eds. Xugu huace = 6 & MH (Paintings of Xugu). Beijing: Renmin meishu chubanshe

A K & 4if 1h RAE , 1990.

Cai Geng #4 and Fu Hua & #.""Xugu shengyai he tade huihua" si & 4 JE 40 te) 4S (Xugu's life and his paintings). Zhongguo meishu * E] & 4 (Chinese art), 1979: 2, pp. 40-46.

Chan, Wing-tsit. A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy. Princeton University Press, 1963.

Chang Dai-chien ik A--. Chinese Painting. Hong Kong: 1961. Chang Lee-ch'ing iki##, ed. Qi Baishi ji/Paintings of Ch'i Pai-shih. #4 4 % Hongkong: Pacific Book Co., 1974.

Chen Dingshan FR € wh. "Xugu huahui xiesheng ce" i 46 7+ % 4 At (Xugu's album of flowers painted from life). Daren (magazine) KA . Chen Fan FRJU , ed. Qi Baishi shiwen zhuanke ji

Baishi's poetry, prose and seal carving). Includes Baishilaoren zixu 844A

#4

434X HKH) % (Collection of Qi

Hongkong: Shanghai Book Co., Ltd., 1972.

4 ik (Qi Baishi's autobiography), Baishi shicao

4 4 #4) (Qi Baishi's poetry), Baishi wenchao

@ 4 X4+¥ (Qi Baishi's prose) and Baishi

yinpu & & §p+% (Baishi's seals). Ch’i Pai-shih: Collection of Yakichiro Suma. Introduction by Alice Boney. San Francisco: M. H. deYoung Museum, 1960.

438

Str 6 0 ED

Bele Beet

OmGeR eA Peri

Ch’i Pai-shih: Paintings, Calligraphy, Seals. Hongkong: Urban Council, 1973. Introduction by Lawrence C. S. Tam.

Chinese Paintings of the Ming and Qing Dynasties, 14th -20th Centuries.

International

Cultural Corp. of Australia Ltd., 1981. Catalogue for exhibition held in five Australia locations 1981-1982, with text by Edmund Capon and Mae Anna Pang.

Contag, Victoria and C.C. Wang. Ming Qing huajia yinjian Wit & REP 48/Maler-und Sammler-Stempl aus der Ming-und Ch'ing-Zeit (Seals of artists of the Ming and Qing dynasties).

1940; reprinted Taipei: Commercial Press, 1966.

d'Argencé, René-Yvon Lefebvre.

Treasures from the Shanghai Museum:

6,000 Years of

Chinese Art. Shanghai Museum and Asian Art Museum of San Francisco, 1983.

Deng Zhicheng 28-22% .

Zhonghua lianggiannian shi

? #—+ +

(Two thousand

years of Chinese history). Hong Kong: Taiping shuju A-# $43, 1964. Ding Xiyuan T#&

7. Xugu yanjiu ki OF % (Study of Xugu). Tianjin: Tianjin renmin

meishu chuban she AA

B #ig ¥ +h WRAL , 1987.

Fan Wenlan %& # 44 = Sz (Selected Paintings and Calligraphy of Wu Changshi and Qi Baishi). Taipei: National History Museum, 1968.

Yu Jianhua, ed 4}#!] =. Zhongguo meishujia renming cidian

¥ BlKA RAZ FIR (Dic-

tionary of Chinese artists' names). Shanghai: Renmin meishu chubanshe Li##AK& +g HR AR , 1981.

Zhang Mingke 3°37 . Hansongge tanyi suolu

% SsPel3k 3444 3% (Jottings on art from

Cold Pine Pavilion). Shanghai: Wenming shuju ae

ea

: _ ar

Pa

att

K