The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures 9781443868556, 1443868558

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The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures

The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures

Edited by

Michelle Ying-ling Huang

The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures, Edited by Michelle Ying-ling Huang This book first published 2014 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2014 by Michelle Ying-ling Huang and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-5909-5, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-5909-7

In Grateful Memory of Professor Michael Sullivan (1916-2013)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Illustrations ..................................................................................... x Acknowledgements .................................................................................. xvi Introduction ............................................................................................ xviii Michelle Ying-ling Huang Chapter Abstracts ................................................................................. xxxiii Part I: Blending Chinese and Foreign Cultures Chapter One ................................................................................................. 2 Shades of Mokkei: Muqi-style Ink Painting in Medieval Kamakura Aaron M. Rio Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 23 Mistakes or Marketing? Western Responses to the Hybrid Style of Chinese Export Painting Maria Kar-wing Mok Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 44 “Painted Paper of Pekin”: The Taste for Eighteenth-Century Chinese Papers in Britain, c. 1918 - c. 1945 Clare Taylor Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 65 “Chinese” Paintings by ZdenČk SklenáĜ Lucie Olivová Part II: Envisioning Chinese Landscape Art Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 88 Binyon and Nash: British Modernists’ Conception of Chinese Landscape Painting Michelle Ying-ling Huang

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Table of Contents

Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 115 In Search of Paradise Lost: Osvald Sirén’s Scholarship on Garden Art Minna Törmä Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 130 The Return of the Silent Traveller Mark Haywood Part III: Conceptualising Chinese Art through Display Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 154 Aesthetics and Exclusion: Chinese Objects in Nineteenth-Century American Visual Culture Lenore Metrick-Chen Chapter Nine ........................................................................................... 179 Exhibitions of Chinese Painting in Europe in the Interwar Period: The Role of Liu Haisu as Artistic Ambassador Michaela Pejþochová Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 200 The Right Stuff: Chinese Art Treasures’ Landing in Early 1960s America Noelle Giuffrida Part IV: Positioning Contemporary Chinese Artists in the Globe Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 228 Under the Spectre of Orientalism and Nation: Translocal Crossings and Discrepant Modernities Diana Yeh Chapter Twelve ....................................................................................... 255 The Reception of Xing Danwen’s Lens-based Art Across Cultures Silvia Fok Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 278 Selling Contemporary Chinese Art in the West: A Case Study of How Yue Minjun’s Art was Marketed in Auctions Elizabeth Kim

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Glossary of Chinese and Japanese Characters ......................................... 298 Authors’ Biographies............................................................................... 303 Index ........................................................................................................ 307

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

1-1. Artist unknown (traditionally attributed to Muqi), Gibbons, Muromachi period (before 1423). Ink on silk, 153.2 x 97.4 cm. Pair of hanging scrolls. Kenchǀji (Kamakura). 1-2. Artist unknown (traditionally attributed to Kenkǀ Shǀkei), Whiterobed Kannon, Muromachi period (15th century). Ink on silk, 128 x 50.3 cm. One of thirty-two hanging scrolls. Kenchǀji (Kamakura). 2-1. Anonymous, Chinese Artists—from a Sketch by our Special Artist in China, illustrated in The Illustrated London News, 30 April 1859, p. 428. Print on paper, 40.5 x 28 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1980.0042. 2-2. Auguste Borget (1808-77) (drawn), Eugene Ciceri (1813-90) (lithographed), Temple on the Henan Canal, Guangzhou, 1838. Coloured lithograph, 26.3 x 41 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1964.0332.029. 2-3. Attributed to Tingqua (act. 1840s-70s), A Temple in Henan, Guangzhou, mid-19th century. Gouache on paper, 18.3 x 25 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1980.0004.017. 2-4. Anonymous, View of the City of Guangzhou from Pearl River, early 19th century. Gouache on silk, 40 x 70 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1964.0162.004. 2-5. John Nieuhoff (1618-72), Distant View of Guangzhou, c. 1655. Engraving, 18 x 29 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Donated by Sir Paul Chater. Museum accession no. AH1964.0111. 2-6. Anonymous, Guangzhou Factories, c. 1806. Oil on canvas, 19.5 x 26 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Donated by Sir Robert Ho Tung. Museum accession no. AH1964.0029. 2-7. Auguste Borget (1808-77) (drawn), Eugene Ciceri (1813-90) (lithographed), Foreign Factories, Guangzhou, 1838. Coloured lithograph, 24.7 x 40.7 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1964.0332.023. 2-8. Anonymous, Receiving Guest, mid-19th century. Gouache on paper, 38 x 50 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1974.0001.002.

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2-9. Tingqua (act. 1840s-70s), The Studio of Tingqua, mid-19th century. Gouache on paper, 17.5 x 26.5 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1988.0012. 2-10. Anonymous, Guangzhou “New” Factories, c. 1855. Oil on canvas, 64.6 x 110.5 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Donated by Sir Robert Ho Tung. Museum accession no. AH1964.0039. 3-1. The Queen Anne bedroom, Beaudesert, Staffordshire, decorated by Captain Harry Lindsay, illustrated in Country Life (1919). 3-2. Upstairs parlour at Lockleys, Hertfordshire, decorated by Basil Oxenden, illustrated in Country Life (1920). 3-3. “The Cathay Decoration” illustrated in Distinctive Decorations, wallpaper album, John Line & Sons Ltd., 1928. 3-4. Dining room, illustrated in R. Randall Phillips, The Modern English Interior (1929). 3-5. Drawing room, Kelmarsh Hall, Northamptonshire, decorated by Nancy Lancaster in around 1929. 3-6. Dining room extended from parlour, Hampden House, Buckinghamshire, created before 1930. 4-1. Left to right: Ye Qianyu, Adolf Hoffmeister, Wu Zuoren, Ai Qing, ZdenČk SklenáĜ, and Li Keran in front of the Cuihualou Restaurant, Peking on 15 March 1955. © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ. 4-2. Sketches in pencil, taken in the Palace Museum, Beijing on 26 March 1955, from ZdenČk SklenáĜ’s notebook. © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ. 4-3. ZdenČk SklenáĜ’s sketch of the imperial seal (left) in his notebook. © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ. 4-4. ZdenČk SklenáĜ, Tang Lady, 1974. Lithograph on paper, 17.2 x 8.7 cm. The image was originally made for the book cover of The Treasure Box (1961). Here, the artist used it in a New Year’s greeting. © A. Palát. 4-5. ZdenČk SklenáĜ, Chinese Antiquities, 1958. Oil on canvas, 70 x 90 cm. © Gallery of Modern Art, Hradec Králové. 4-6. ZdenČk SklenáĜ, Archaic Chinese Quotation, 1963. Oil on canvas, 90 x 55 cm. © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ. 4-7. Chinese inscription by ZdenČk SklenáĜ written on the back of his Archaic Chinese Quotation (1963). © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ. 4-8. ZdenČk SklenáĜ, Archaic Chinese Character, 1962. Oil on canvas, 53 x 37 cm. © East Bohemian Gallery of Fine Arts, Pardubice. 4-9. ZdenČk SklenáĜ, The Tao of Berta Krebsová, 1978-9. Oil on canvas, 66 x 51 cm. © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ.

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List of Illustrations

4-10. The calligram “TAO” by ZdenČk SklenáĜ, as it appears on the front cover of the Czech translation of Daodejing (Prague: Odeon, 1970). Photograph by Lucie Olivová. 5-1. Attributed to Zhao Lingrang, detail of Landscape, 18th-19th century copy after Zhao Lingrang. Ink and colours on silk, 35 x 225.5 cm. © Trustees of the British Museum. 5-2. Attributed to Zhao Lingrang, Landscape in Snow, 19th century copy after Zhao Lingrang. Ink and colours on silk, 107.2 x 49.8 cm. © Trustees of the British Museum. 5-3. Formerly attributed to Fan Kuan, Dog Barking in Snow outside House Gate, probably 18th-19th century. Ink and colours on silk, 154.6 x 83 cm. © Trustees of the British Museum. 5-4. Formerly attributed to Xia Gui, A Waterfall, 18th-19th century copy after Xia Gui. Ink and colours on silk, 223.5 x 69.4 cm. © Trustees of the British Museum. 5-5. Formerly attributed to Ma Yuan, detail of Grand View of Rivers and Mountains, late 14th-15th century copy after Xia Gui. Ink and colours on paper, 64.2 x 1276.4 cm. Photograph by Michelle Huang. © Freer Gallery of Art. 5-6. Sunset over the Malverns, 1944, Paul Nash (1889-1946). Watercolour on paper, 29 x 57 cm. The Royal College of Art collection © Tate, London 2013. 6-1. The living room in the house on Lidingö, photograph by Osvald Sirén, 1931-2. Osvald Sirén photoalbum, Department of Art History, University of Helsinki. 6-2. The garden pond on Lidingö, photograph by Osvald Sirén, 1938. Osvald Sirén photoalbum, Department of Art History, University of Helsinki. 6-3. Nanhai, Yingxunting, photograph by Osvald Sirén, 1922. Reproduced from Sirén’s Gardens of China (1949), plates 148-9. 6-4. Gongwangfu, Beijing, photograph by Osvald Sirén. Reproduced from Sirén’s Gardens of China (1949), plate 134. 6-5. La Maison Chinoise, Désert de Monville, photograph by Osvald Sirén. Reproduced from Sirén’s China and the Gardens of Europe of the Eighteenth Century (1950), plate 88. 7-1. Chiang Yee, The Charm and Gentleness of Derwentwater, 1936. Ink on paper. Courtesy of the artist’s estate. 7-2. Weng Fen, Bird’s Eye View—Shanghai I, 2004. C-print, 60 x 105 cm. Courtesy of the artist. 7-3. Weng Fen, Staring at the Lake 5, 2006. C-print, 160 x 200 cm. Courtesy of the artist.

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7-4. Weng Fen, Staring at the Lake 4, 2006. C-print, overall dimensions 160 x 400 cm. Courtesy of the artist. 8-1. John Dunn’s museum catalogue: Ten Thousand Chinese Things: A Descriptive Catalogue of the Chinese Collection in Philadelphia… (1842). 8-2. The Chinese Museum established by John R. Peters in Philadelphia in 1853. Engraving reproduced from The Illustrated News, 4 June 1853, p. 364. 8-3. Thomas Nast’s cartoon: “The New Comet—A Phenomenon Now Visible in All Parts of the United States”, appeared in Harper’s Weekly, August 1870, p. 505. 8-4. An advertising trade card depicts Denis Kearny using a laundry product that claims to be so effective it will make Chinese laundrymen obsolete. c. 1882. Collection of the author. 8-5. Asian Galleries, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Copley Square, 1903. T. E. Marr. Photograph © 2014 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. 9-1. Cover of the regular version of the catalogue Chinesische Malerei der Gegenwart [Contemporary Chinese Painting] (Berlin-Lankwitz: Würfel, 1934). 9-2. Lone Liang (third from the left) reading the inauguration speech at the opening ceremony of the exhibition of modern Chinese painting in Prague on 23 March 1935. © UmČleckoprĤmyslové museum v Praze. 9-3. A view of the display of the exhibition of modern Chinese painting in the Museum of Decorative Arts in Prague on 23 March 1935. © UmČleckoprĤmyslové museum v Praze. 9-4. A view of the display of the exhibition of modern Chinese painting in the Museum of Decorative Arts in Prague on 23 March 1935. © UmČleckoprĤmyslové museum v Praze. 10-1. Chinese and American curators posed in front of Magpies and Hare by Cui Bo (act. 1050-80) at the National Gallery opening of Chinese Art Treasures in 1961. Left to right: Na Chih-liang, Aschwin Lippe, Tan Tan-ch’iung, James Cahill, Henry Beville (photographer), Li Lin-ts’an (holding the catalogue), John Alexander Pope. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Gallery Archives. 10-2. Chinese Art Treasures exhibition catalogue (1961). 10-3. Contemplating Waiting for the Ferry in Autumn by Qiu Ying (act. 1522-60). Left to right: Secretary of State Dean Rusk, Ambassador George K. C. Yeh, and Director of the Freer Gallery of Art John Alexander Pope at National Gallery opening in 1961. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Gallery Archives. 10-4. Gallery view of Chinese Landscape Painting at the Cleveland

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List of Illustrations

Museum of Art, 1954. Left to right: Song of the Lily Flowers and Cypress Leaves by Yun Shouping (1633-90), Myriad Valleys and the Flavor of Pines by Wu Li (1632-1718), Reciting Poetry Before the Yellowing of Autumn by Wu Li, Mountain in Fall after Wang Meng by Huang Ting (1660-1730), Landscape by Zhang Zongcang (16861756), Mountain and River Landscape by Wang Yuanqi (16421715), and Bamboo Grove and Distant Mountains by Wang Hui (1632-1717). Cleveland Museum of Art Archives. 10-5. Crowds gather in front of Early Spring by Guo Xi (left) and Travellers amid Mountains and Streams by Fan Kuan (right) (right), National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C., 1961. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Gallery Archives. 11-1. Li Yuan-chia, untitled, late 1950s to early 1960s. Watercolour, approximately 29.7 x 42 cm. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation. 11-2. Li Yuan-chia, untitled folding scroll, 1963. Ink on fabric mounted on card, 14 x 88 cm. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation. 11-3. Li Yuan-chia, Mathematics + 3 = 0, from the series Mathematics, 1969. Disc, magnetic points, 4ft diameter discs. Photograph by Li Yuan-chia. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation. 11-4. Li Yuan-chia, untitled environment, Little Missenden Festival, Buckingham, 1970. Poems discs, plastic, paper, lights. Photograph by Li Yuan-chia. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation. 11-5. Photograph of LYC Art Room, late 1970s. Photograph by Li Yuanchia. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation. 11-6. Li Yuan-chia, untitled photograph, 1993. Hand-coloured black and white print, 24 x 30 cm. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation. 12-1. Xing Danwen, Tibet, Labuleng Monastery, 1993. C-print, 40.6 x 27 cm. © Courtesy of the artist. 12-2. Xing Danwen, Beijing Chinese Opera House, 1995. C-print, 40.6 x 27 cm. Published in the Geo International Magazine (in Japanese), July 1995, p.101. © Courtesy of the artist. 12-3. Xing Danwen, I am a Woman, image 6 from the series, 1994-6. Photograph, 101.6 x 69.5 cm © Courtesy of the artist. 12-4. Xing Danwen, Sleep Walking, documentation from Yokohama Triennale in Japan, 2001. Video installation. © Courtesy of the artist. 12-5. Xing Danwen, disCONNEXION, image A1 from the series, 2002. Photograph, 148 x 120 cm. © Courtesy of the artist. 12-6. Xing Danwen, Duplication, image 1 from the series, 2003. C-print, 148 x 120 cm. © Courtesy of the artist. 12-7. Xing Danwen, Urban Fiction, image 0, 2004. Photograph with

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digital manipulation, 241.8 x 170 cm. © Courtesy of the artist. 12-8. Xing Danwen, Wall House, image 2, 2007. Photograph, 100 x 80 cm. A multimedia installation with four photographs and one animation video projection. The photographs are various with choice of light-box or C-print. © Courtesy of the artist. 13-1. Yue Minjun, The Execution, 1995. Oil on canvas, 150 x 300 cm. © Yue Minjun. Courtesy of The Pace Gallery, Beijing. 13-2. Edouard Manet, The Execution of Emperor Maximillian, 1868-9. Oil on canvas, 252 x 302 cm. Image by Courtesy of the Witt Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London. 13-3. Pablo Picasso, Massacre in Korea, 1951. Oil on canvas, 110 x 210 cm. Image by Courtesy of the Witt Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This edited book represents much effort and support by a great number of people, to whom my sincere thanks are due. I thank Sarah Ng for her encouragement and inspiring inputs when co-organising and convening the panel “China and the West: The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures from the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Century” in the 36th Association of Art Historians (AAH) Annual Conference held at the University of Glasgow on 15-17 April 2010. I also express my gratitude to other speakers, including Martin Powers and Nixi Cura, who contributed stimulating papers to the panel that sparked lively discussions. The fruitful experience of intellectual exchanges with like-minded scholars and curators from different countries was seminal to my second book project with Cambridge Scholars Publishing; my thanks go to Caroline Koulikourdi who invited me to publish the present volume following the success of the AAH conference. I am very grateful to her efficient and helpful team, including Amanda Millar, Adam Terry and Elfreda Crehan, for providing professional advice and assistance throughout the editing process of the manuscript. I would like to express my gratitude to all the contributors who cheerfully shared their research and meticulously prepared their papers for this volume. I thank Audrey and Robin Salters for their assistance in my language work. I am also very grateful to Nina Wan for her valuable help with indexing. I should extend my thanks to all the artists, museum staff members and archivists for granting us permission to reproduce pictures in their collections. I would also like to express my heartfelt gratitude to David Clarke for his inspiring words of wisdom and support. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the late Professor Michael Sullivan, who shared many of the research interests and enthusiasms of the contributors to this book. From 2011, Professor Sullivan had been very excited about my book projects, including Beyond Boundaries: East & West Cross-Cultural Encounters (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2011). When he heard about the current book project, Professor Sullivan (pers. comm. 2011) was just as excited, telling me of a project on which he was engaged and suggesting that we might collaborate. On 1 February 2013, he accepted my invitation to contribute the Foreword to the book. As with his scholarship on Chinese art, Professor Sullivan’s words here will certainly brighten up the chapters within this volume. During the spring and the

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summer of 2013, he discussed the book project with me and offered valuable advice on selected papers. On 5 August, he graciously showed me the draft of his Foreword in his dining room. Our last discussion on his revised Foreword was communicated by email on 15 September, two weeks before his sudden death in Oxford. Although Professor Sullivan’s Foreword for this book is now amongst his papers which are yet to be organised and archived by staff members at the Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology, I gratefully acknowledge my deepest debt to Professor Sullivan for his huge support, his useful advice and perceptive inputs. He has an honoured position in this volume, spiritually guiding both contributors and readers to open up discussions of the reception of Chinese art in different countries; hence, this book is dedicated to his memory.

INTRODUCTION MICHELLE YING-LING HUANG

The diffusion, exchange and integration of different cultures are consequences of globalisation that many people experience through the ages. Since the Han dynasty (206 BC-AD 220) cultural and artistic interactions between China and the outside world, developed through religious exchanges, foreign trade, diplomatic missions and other means along the Silk Road and via sea trade routes, encouraged the transmission of materials, ideas, skills and works of Chinese art from China to Korea, Japan, Europe and other countries.1 In recent decades, the development and impact of cross-cultural interactions on collecting, curatorial and creative practices has been a topical subject for contemporary scholars, as evidenced in Stacey Pierson’s Collecting Chinese Art: Interpretation and Display (2000), Vimalin Rujivacharakul’s Collecting China: The World, China, and a History of Collecting (2011), as well as Jason Steuber’s and Lai Guolong’s Collectors, Collections, and Collecting the Arts of China: Histories and Challenges (2014). These well-documented edited works provide historical narratives and compelling ideas on the collectors, dealers, curators and scholars who contributed to amass collections of Chinese art and artefacts in a global context. While the approaches to the collecting, display and making of Chinese art suggest tastes, identities, status and cultural politics, the framing and interpretation of Chinese art by institutions and individuals in different countries shape the public understanding and appreciation of the subject. The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures is a collection of essays demonstrating a focused study of the ways in which Chinese art was circulated, collected, exhibited and perceived in Japan, Europe and America from the fourteenth to the twenty-first century. Chapters 3, 5 and 8 in this volume are derived from a panel session on “China and the West: The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures from the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Century” in the 36th Association of Art Historians (AAH) Annual Conference held at the University of Glasgow on 15-17 April 1

For the early cultural encounters between China and the outside world, see, for example, Watt et al. 2004; Rastelli 2008, 23-45 and 53-9; Sullivan 1989.

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2010. Based on substantial archival materials, interviews and other scholarly references, scholars and curators from East Asia, Europe and North America jointly present cutting-edge research on cross-cultural issues in Chinese art with new perspectives and critical analyses. The discussions embrace a broad sense of art receptivity to include foreign attitudes to and perception and judgment of the visual arts and material culture of China, as well as their creative practices and aesthetic representations. They encompass the diverse media of painting, photography, garden design and material culture, while espousing a multiplicity of aesthetic, philosophical, socio-cultural, economic and political perspectives. Stimulating examples within this volume emphasise the Western understanding of Chinese pictorial art, while addressing issues concerning the consumption of Chinese art and Chinese-inspired artistic productions from early times to the contemporary period; the adaption of foreign stimuli in creative practices; the roles of collector, curator, museum and auction house in shaping the taste, meaning and conception of art; the cultural-political agenda of collaborative exhibitions; and the art and cultural identity of the Chinese diaspora in a global context. This introduction articulates the intertwined relationship between chapters, which are arranged in a chronological and thematic order and divided into four parts:

Blending Chinese and Foreign Cultures In the Tang dynasty (618-907 AD), international trade and religious activities stimulated Japan’s appreciation of Chinese art, and this continued to grow in subsequent periods.2 According to Nishida Hiroko 大 䓘⬷⫸ (2000), a large number of Chinese cultural materials, including the Song (960-1279 AD) and Yuan (1271-1368 AD) ceramics like celadon and qingbai ware 曺 䘥 䒟 , were imported to Japan and used in the ceremonies, interior decoration and tea drinking events of Zen temples and the military class in the late Kamakura period (1185-1392 AD). Historical records reveal that it was fashionable to use Chinese decorative art objects

2

In Tang China, the growing importance of international trade and Buddhism resulted in the foreign presence of large numbers of merchants, students, emissaries and pilgrims, some of whom were Japanese in search of education and sacred objects at great monasteries and famous Chinese sites. They acquired Buddhist statutes and copies of scriptures to take back to Japan. See Lewis 2009, 153-78.

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in Kyoto Ṕ悥, Kamakura 挴ᾱⶪ and the Kantǀ 敊㜙 region, and other places in Japan. Japanese artists and collectors also became involved with imported Chinese paintings and calligraphy, especially those produced in the fourteenth century. Fine specimens of early Chinese paintings can now be found in the Tokyo National Museum, Kyoto National Museum, and the Osaka City Museum of Fine Arts. Selected works are recently on loan to exhibitions in the West, including Masterpieces of Chinese Painting, 700-1900, held at the Victoria and Albert Museum from 26 October 2013 to 19 January 2014, and Chinese Paintings from Japanese Collections at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art from 11 May to 6 July 2014. These shows allow international audiences to gain a glimpse of China’s artistic heritage, in which early ink paintings were models for Japanese painters from the early fourteenth to the early twentieth century. In the exhibition catalogue of Masterpieces of Chinese Painting, 7001900 (2013), Itakura Masaaki 㜧ᾱ俾⒚ġilluminates a collecting history of early Chinese art in Japan and its impact on local artistic practices from the Nara (710-94 AD) to the Edo period (1603-1868 AD). He suggests that collections of Chinese art for members of the Japanese ruling elite were “assemblages of prestige goods” and functioned as “symbols of power and authority” (Itakura 2013, 87). Highly esteemed works in Japanese collections of the aristocracy, the shogunate and Buddhist temples included early tracing copies of calligraphy by Wang Xizhi 䌳佚ᷳ (30365) and his son Wang Xianzhi 䌳䌣ᷳġ (344-86) of the Eastern Jin dynasty (317-420 AD), ink paintings by Ma Yuan 楔怈 (act. 1190-1224) and Muqi Fachang 䈏寧㱽ⷠ (J: Mokkei) (act. mid- to late 13th century) of the Southern Song dynasty (1127-1279 AD), and other paintings by artists of the Zhe school 㴁㳦 in the Ming dynasty (1368-1644 AD). In view of the political, religious and cultural environments of Japan from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century, the present volume begins with an exploration of the Japanese conception of the art of Muqi, a Chan 䥒monk-painter. Aaron Rio explains how Song and Yuan Chinese paintings were circulated, collected and perceived in medieval Japan. The paintings attributed to and inspired by Muqi in the vast shogunal collection and Zen temples in the greater Kantǀ region of eastern Japan are apt examples, demonstrating the Japanese admiration of Muqi’s pictorial motifs and styles in the Muromachi period (1336-1573 AD). At the time, economic and religious interactions among the Japanese and Chinese in Hakata ⌂⣂ and Ningbo ⮏㲊 contributed to a growing interest in collecting Chinese art in Japan, in which Zen priests played an important role in transferring Muqi’s works to the shogunal collection.

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The increased cross-regional contacts between Japanese collectors and painters in Kyoto and Kamakura also encouraged an engagement with Southern Song paintings, particularly the styles of Xia Gui ⢷䎒 (act. 1180ca. 1230) and Muqi, as embodied in several Kantǀ landscape and religious paintings from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century.3 In his chapter, Rio illuminates how painters in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Kamakura relied solely on local collections of Chinese painting amassed in the thirteenth century, many of which were by or believed to be by Muqi, thus a local style of ink painting can in many ways be called a version of the “Muqi style”. He argues that the “local Muqi style” remained viable in the sixteenth century, when painters in the Kantǀ region were forced to navigate a “compartmentalising approach” to painting style introduced from Kyoto. This new approach brought the notion of Muqi- and Xia Gui-derived styles, among others, to Kantǀ and saw painters in the region relied on a shared “hypothetical model”. At the time, painters were inclined to choose a style suitable for a given pictorial subject: for example, the older, “local Muqi style” for Kannon 奛枛 (S: AvalokiteĞvara; C: Guanyin 奨枛) and doves; the new sixteenth-century “Muqi style” for eggplants, melons and monkeys; and the “Xia Gui style” for landscapes. It is this very multiplicity of styles, both “old” and “new”, “local” and “imported”, “Muqi” and “Xia Gui”, characterising the defining feature of Kantǀ ink painting. Rio’s analysis clearly reveals Japanese collectors’ and painters’ admiration for and their early engagements with fashionable styles of paintings by Muqi and other Southern Song painters. The fusion of local and foreign artistic traditions is the result of international economy and cultural activities. Since the beginning of the seventeenth century, the East India Company’s monopoly of maritime trade between China and Europe prompted the wide circulation of Chinese products, including artworks, in the global marketplace. Different cultures connect most often in the context of trade, religion and war, thus instigating the effect of cultural hybridity. 4 For instance, the European Jesuit missionaries Matteo Ricci (a.k.a. Li Madou ⇑楔䩯, 1552-1610) and Giuseppe Castiglione (a.k.a. Lang Shining 恶ᶾ⮏, 1688-1766) contributed 3 The Japanese taste in Southern Song painting was later adopted by collectors, curators and artists in early twentieth-century Britain and America, thus partly shaping the Western conception of Chinese painting. See Michelle Huang’s chapter in this volume. 4 On theories of hybridity and the effects of hybridisation upon identity, culture and the authority of power, see Bhabha 1994, 112-20; Burke 2009; Leuthold 2011, 10-26.

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to introduce Western art, science and technology to scholars, painters and astronomers in Ming and Qing (1644-1911 AD) China. The integration of Chinese and Western painting principles, perspectives and technical methods not only revealed in the court art, but also widely applied to the making of Chinese export art. When the process of hybridisation took place in international economic processes, the demand for Chinese export art not only sustained the fabrication of new aesthetic forms out of the confluence of two or more cultural currents, but also established dialogues between Chinese makers and overseas clientele. The early travelogues by Western artists, collectors and art critics and their commentaries on Cantonese artists’ skills in copying from or modelling on European paintings, prints, photographs and other kinds of art also reveal the Occidental conception of “beauty”, artistic skills and their value judgment of Chinese art. Maria Mok examines Chinese export painting as a hybrid form of artistic product enthusiastically acquired by Westerners during the late eighteenth and mid-nineteenth centuries. In her analysis, she addresses issues of art training and art market by comparing the styles of celebrated painters from China and Europe, including Spolium ⎚居暾 (act. 17701805), Lamqua ⓱ ␙ (1801/1802-?), Tingqua ⹕ ␙ (act. 1840s-70s), George Chinnery (1774-1852) and Auguste Borget (1808-77). In the confined area of foreign factories in Canton (Guangzhou ⺋ⶆ), where heterogeneous forms of cultural practice emerged, Cantonese artists intentionally blended local and foreign artistic traditions by applying pleasing colour, exotic subject matter and minute detail in order to cater to the taste of Western clientele. Chinese artists’ adaptation of local artistic tradition and their adoption of Western painting principles were similar to the motivation of European craftsmen in producing Chinoiserie objects. Dawn Jacobson (1993, 27) suggests that Chinoiserie is “western” and “a purely European vision of China; a fantasy based on a China of the imagination, the fabulous Cathay invented by the medieval world.” Interestingly, the imagined Chinese style had been incorporated into Western homes in the mid-eighteenth century. For instance, the English cabinetmaker Thomas Chippendale (1718-79) blended the Gothic and Chinese styles into exotic furniture known as “Chinese Chippendale”, using imaginative Chinese ornamentation such as pagoda cresting, pierced frets and lattice work.5

5

The design of Chinese ornamentation was illustrated in pattern-design books such as Thomas Chippendale’s The Gentleman and Cabinet-Maker’s Director (1754)

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In view of the exotic material and motifs prevalent in Western interiors, Clare Taylor examines European attitudes toward Chinese wallpapers in the eighteenth century and relates the developed taste to the Chinoiserie revival in the early twentieth century. She sets out the historical background of the supply and consumption of Chinese papers in Britain through a comparative study of interior decorations of three country houses, namely Berkeley House, Kelmarsh Hall and Hampden House. Taylor describes the materials, production methods and artistic qualities of Chinese wallpapers in different settings, while giving a detailed analysis of British Chinoiserie interiors. She further investigates the roles, functions and cultural meanings of Chinese papers, while examining the special elements of Chinese designs which appealed to European eyes. The case studies of Chinese-style interiors clearly reveal the Western representation of Chinese art and design. Chinese wallpaper associations with the exotic, luxury, aristocratic consumption, effeminacy, and female desire were interpreted and visualised in 1920s British homes.6 Instead of imitating the motifs and styles of Chinese painting and Chinoiserie objects, ZdenČk SklenáĜ (1910-86), was among the contemporary European artists, transformed his study of Chinese art and culture into abstract visual images of ancient Chinese characters, seal scripts and philosophical ideas. Unlike many Chinese and Western artists who had never gained first-hand experience outside their own countries during their lifetime, SklenáĜ’s cultural visit in Peking (Beijing ⊿Ṕ) in the spring of 1955 and his study of Chinese literature and culture were crucial factors affecting his perception of Chinese art and Daoism. As well as his direct contacts with Chinese scholars and artists, Lucie Olivová argues that SklenáĜ’s memories and sketches of Chinese landscape art, historic sites and lifestyle were important sources of inspiration for his oil paintings, book designs and illustrations produced after his China trip. SklenáĜ’s employment of Chinese calligraphic symbols reveals the Czech fascination of linear qualities, rhythmic spirits and mysterious symbols of Chinese characters in the second half of the twentieth century. The visual adaptation of “Chinese” motifs and philosophical ideas in SklenáĜ’s abstract paintings and book designs shows his artistic and conceptual response to early Chinese art, thought and culture. and Sir William Chambers’s (1723-96) Designs of Chinese Buildings, Furniture, Dresses, etc. (1757). See Jacobson 1993, 123-42. 6 On the meanings of Chinese material culture in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-centuries British domestic interiors and their intersection with various social-cultural and political issues of colonialism, identity, class, gender, collecting and display, see Cheang 2008.

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Envisioning Chinese Landscape Art Chinese thought, characters and pictorial art had been fascinations for Western modernists in the first half of the twentieth century. As with SklenáĜ’s study of Daodejing 忻 ⽟ 䴻 , British modernists were also inspired by Laozi’s 侩⫸ teaching and found associated thought-provoking ideas in Song landscape painting. I discern that Laurence Binyon (18691943) played an important role as cultural mediator, whose ideas of Chinese art and thought owed much to the writings of Japanese scholars, such as Okakura Kakuzo ⱉᾱ奂ᶱ (a.k.a. Okakura Tenshin ⱉᾱ⣑⽫, 1862-1913) and Taki Seiichi 㿏䱦ᶨ (1873-1945), and later disseminated to audiences in the East and West through lectures, publications and curatorial works. While investigating the provenance of Song landscape paintings in British and American museums by the 1910s, I argue that the lack of genuine works in museum collections and the problems of authenticity and attribution misled Western audiences’ understanding of the subject. Although Binyon was confused by the attributions and styles of Chinese landscape paintings of the Song and Ming dynasties, his interpretation of Asian painting was authoritative for his contemporaries, including the young English artist Paul Nash (1889-1946). Both Binyon and Nash admired the imagination and poetic expression of Song painters, as well as the aesthetic and philosophical ideas of their landscape paintings, which revealed human comprehension of cosmic life, the love of nature and the liberation of artistic freedom. The intellectual characters, romantic feeling and the use of empty space in the work of the Ma-Xia School not only appealed to the eyes of collectors and painters in medieval Japan, but also inspired Nash’s mystic landscape paintings, which revealed a brooding vision, a sensitive imagination and a deep appreciation of nature. In the 1930s and 1940s, Nash’s knowledge of Chinese painting was enhanced by the specimens displayed in exhibitions and reproduced in catalogues, including the volume of the A. W. Bahr collection edited by the Helsinki-born and Stockholm-based scholar Osvald Sirén (1879-1966), who gained more first-hand experiences of documenting art in East Asia than Binyon, with four voyages made between 1918 and 1935.7 From the mid-1920s onwards, Sirén illuminated the historical narratives of Chinese art in comprehensive publications, including the four-volume Chinese Sculpture from the Fifth to the Fourteenth Century (1925) and the seven7

Binyon took his only visit to China during his Far Eastern trip between August 1929 and January 1930. See Michelle Huang 2011.

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volume Chinese Painting: Leading Masters and Principles (1956-8). Paralleling the design of Siren’s house on Lidingo with his knowledge of Chinese and Japanese gardens as well as his love for eighteenth-century Rococo art, Minna Törmä’s research sheds new light on the Chinoiserie revival and the Chinese influence on European garden design in the second quarter of the twentieth century. Like SklenáĜ, Sirén’s personal experience in East Asia and his knowledge of Asian art affected his taste and his way of constructing hybrid architectural sites in Europe. While examining Siren’s motivations behind his two books on Chinese and European gardens published in 1949-50, Törmä considers the discourse of memory and nostalgia in her review of Siren’s photographic documentation of China trips. This encourages a reflection upon the relationship between man and nature, between text and image, between garden art, painting and poetry, as well as the relevance of Chinese thought and aesthetics for modern European garden art. Shifting to the representation of European landscapes through Chinese eyes, Mark Haywood explores the experience, memory and cultural identity of the Chinese diaspora in Britain by looking into Chiang Yee’s 哋⼅ (1903-77) travel writing in the mid-1930s and Weng Fen’s 佩⤖ (a.k.a. Weng Peijun 佩 ➡䪋 , b. 1961) photographs in the mid-2000s. During his stay in London in 1933-40, Chiang Yee became involved in Laurence Binyon’s circle of friends, including the avid collector of Chinese art George Eumorfopoulos (1863-1939). Chiang Yee was a prolific writer and established his fame in Chinese painting and calligraphy through exhibitions and publications, including The Chinese Eyes: An Interpretation of Chinese Painting (1935), Chinese Calligraphy (1938), and a series of the travel writing, The Silent Traveller (1937-72). On the one hand, he attempted to correct the misconception of Chinese civilisation, art and culture presented by Western scholars during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; on the other hand, he introduced new angles of Chinese painting, such as inscriptions and common elements in painting and literature. Zheng Da 惕忼 (2010, xxi) affirms that Chiang Yee’s artwork and writings “facilitated a shift for Westerners to the ‘Oriental Standpoint’ and promoted a better understanding between the East and the West.” Following the footsteps of the pioneering cultural interpreter who brought Chinese views to the British public in the 1930s, Weng Fen visited the English Lake District seventy years after Chiang Yee. Haywood investigates Western audiences’ attitudes toward Chinese artists and Chinese art over time by introducing an innovative project of contemporary photography, Return of the Silent Traveller, carried out in

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2005. Shifting from contemplation of timeless Nature to the reflection upon social and economic changes of a place, Weng Fen’s innovative approach offered more complex readings on the familiar British landscape for English art audiences. Unlike Chiang Yee who translated his memories of the Lake District into painting, poetry and prose, Weng employed elements of cinematic production in still-photography in order to suggest the Chinese gaze and feelings of otherness and alienation in the idealised English landscape. The artistic career and sentiment of the Chinese diaspora and the public response to contemporary Chinese art will be further discussed in subsequent chapters by Diana Yeh and Silvia Fok.

Conceptualising Chinese Art through Display Aside from artistic production, art writings and photographic documentation, the display practice of museums suggests the thinking and authority of collectors and curators in interpreting Chinese art. Lenore Metrick-Chen examines the ways in which Chinese objects were perceived, collected and exhibited in American museums by contextualising the issue within the political, economic and social history of the last quarter of the nineteenth century, when Japonisme was still in fashion. Nathan Dunn (1782-1844) and John R. Peters (dates unknown) demonstrated the efforts of collectors in persuading a more appreciative attitude towards the Chinese people and their art. Metrick-Chen extends her discussion to the aesthetic judgment in the West, offering a new perspective into the evaluation of the function and value of Asian objects under John Ruskin’s (1819-1900) paradigm of art and the predominance of Aestheticism. She also points out America’s excitement over American design and Japanese objects, but they lacked acknowledgement of Chinese objects and expressed prejudice towards Chinese artistic inability in adopting Western painting techniques such as modelling and perspective. Metrick-Chen discerns that American prejudice towards Chinese art was related to the social issue of the exclusion of Chinese people, which was due to the increasing number of Chinese immigration to the United States in the late nineteenth century. It was not until the 1900s that the formal qualities and aesthetic values of traditional Chinese art were generally admired in America and Europe, thus Chinese objects regained their importance in American museums and helped bring about a new artistic paradigm. A critical study of Western interest in the pictorial, decorative and landscape art of China in the first half of the twentieth century is given by Taylor, Huang and Törmä in this book. The choice of collectibles and exhibits reflects the taste of collectors

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and curators, and that influences the public understanding of the subject. Following the establishment of the Palace Museum in the Forbidden City, Beijing on 10 October 1925 and the subsequent south migration of China’s imperial treasures during the wars in the 1930s and 1940s, the glorious tradition and modern innovation of Chinese art were introduced to a wider audience through international exhibitions. Taking the perspective of art curation, Michaela Pejþochová and Noelle Giuffrida present a comprehensive study of large-scale exhibitions of Chinese art which toured in major cities in Europe and America in the 1930s and the 1960s. Pejþochová examines the cultural-political agenda of the Chinese Government in touring exhibitions of modern Chinese painting in nine cities of five European countries throughout 1934 till early 1935. She argues that such exhibitions allowed the Chinese Government to showcase the tradition and recent development of Chinese pictorial art on a world stage, in order to regain its reputation lost through the political weakness of the late Qing regime and in competition with the Japanese. Pejþochová also investigates the selection, shipment and storage of artworks that suggested the competition among prominent modern Chinese artists from Shanghai ᶲ㴟, Canton and other regions, as revealed in the antagonism between Liu Haisu ∱㴟䱇ġ(1896-1994), Xu Beihongġ⼸ず泣 (1895-1953) and Lin Fengmianġ 㜿桐䛈ġ (1900-91). Pejþochová affirms Liu’s role as artistic ambassador in encouraging an appreciation of and the collecting of modern Chinese painting in European museums and galleries, in collaborating with overseas Chinese artists and ambassadors and European curators, and in enhancing the European understanding of Chinese painters in southeastern China. She also evaluates the cultural strategies of Chinese artists and their adapted curatorial practices on collaborative exhibitions and art activities in Berlin, London, Geneva, Prague and in other European countries. The publication, talks, publicity and media coverage of the tour exhibitions in different regions are also discussed. The tour exhibitions of modern Chinese painting were the prelude to the International Exhibition of Chinese Art held at the New Burlington Galleries, London from 28 November 1935 to 7 March 1936. Its culturalpolitical agenda have been extensively discussed by Western and Asian scholars (e.g. Ellen Huang 2011; Steuber 2006). In view of the significant impact of the 1935-6 International Exhibition of Chinese Art, Giuffrida reconstructs historical details of the 1961 Chinese Art Treasures (CAT) exhibition, which was first held at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, then travelled to other major cities in the United States. As with Pejþochová’s approach, Giuffrida explores the motivation behind the exhibition plan, the timing and media coverage of the show, the selection

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and presentation of Chinese paintings from a cultural and political point of view. While illuminating the relations between Taiwan, mainland China and America between the mid-1950s and early 1960s, she examines the political, diplomatic, cultural and artistic roles of CAT in expressing national and institutional pride. Giuffrida further investigates the impact of CAT on public and scholarly reception of Chinese painting in early 1960s America, in order to reveal the methods of connoisseurship and problems of attribution, dating, grading and authenticity at the time. The choice of Chinese paintings reflects the taste of leading curators and art historians in America, while the canonised group of works relate to the American preconception of Chinese painting before 1961.

Positioning Contemporary Chinese Artists in the Globe While curators and cultural ambassadors introduced works of early and modern Chinese art to Western audiences, contemporary Chinese artists also took initiatives in promoting their own art. In Diana Yeh’s study of the artistic practice and transnational experience of Li Yuan-chia 㛶⃫Ἓ (1929-94), she takes a multicultural perspective in investigating the identity of the overseas Chinese artist, culturally specific works of art and the interpretation of modern Chinese art in Britain. Yeh points out the problems in the Eurocentric-American writing on Asian art history, while reaffirming Li Yuan-chia’s contribution in promoting art appreciation and creative practice throughout his career. 8 Li’s local engagements with modern art in Asian and European countries have been discussed in relation to the social and political environments of the twentieth century. It urges for a deeper reflection upon the translocal nature of Li’s art and encourages further debates over the perception and visualisation of “Chineseness” in a globalised world. Li Yuan-chia’s transnational background and his experimental art practice in different countries inform a hybrid form of abstract and conceptual art, which has received much attention in contemporary society. Li’s participation in art exhibitions and his viewers’ engagements with participatory and total environment art suggest a harmonious interaction between Chinese artists and the Western audience. 8

Li Yuan-chia’s artistic career and creative breakthroughs have recently been revisited in View-Point: A Retrospective Exhibition of Li Yuan-chia held at the Taipei Fine Arts Museum from 8 March to 8 June 2014. The exhibition curators, Guy Brett and Nick Sawyer, delivered two talks on the artist in the Friday Night Salon at Tate Modern on 4 April 2014.

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In comparison with the overseas experience and art training of Chinese male artists discussed by Haywood and Yeh, Silvia Fok offers an alternative view of the Chinese female artist Xing Danwen 恊ᷡ㔯 (b. 1967) by looking into her training in Western art and photography and her experiences in Europe and the United States. She examines the ways in which contemporary Chinese photography is perceived and evaluated in different cultures at the turn of the twenty-first century. She also expounds how Xing Danwen’s Western-inspired photography and her work with ethnic Chinese are received in Asia and the West. With Xing’s diverse experiences of exhibiting and publishing in Hong Kong, Japan, Germany and other places, Fok explores from a gender dimension the Western and Asian audiences’ responses to the culturally specific work by a female contemporary Chinese photographer. The People’s Republic of China has launched a series of modernisation campaigns since 1978, when Deng Xiaoping 惏⮷⸛ (1904-97) introduced a new international trade policy of opening up the nation to the outside world, contributing to more foreign trade and cultural exchanges with other Asian and Western countries. From the 1990s onwards, the global spotlight has been shed on China’s urban transformation, her rapid social and economic development, and her emerging role as a leading challenger to the United States global dominance. Following China’s increasing economic power and international status, Chinese collectors, artists and works of art also occupy important places in auctions, art fairs and privileged international exhibitions such as the Venice Biennale and Documenta.9 Wu Hung ⶓ泣 describes (2010, 288-9) that starting from the early 1990s the globalisation of contemporary Chinese art was in full swing, while its process was coupled with the commercialisation of contemporary Chinese art. Lü Peng ⏪ 㼶 also states that at the time Chinese art was in the process of heading toward the market—“an artist’s work can only be truly and effectively sustained when sales are made” (Quoted in ibid., 290). He explains that society uses money to affirm the value of aesthetic qualities and hidden meanings of the spiritual creation of contemporary Chinese art. 9

For instance, Zeng Fanzhi’s 㚦㡝⽿ (b. 1964) The Last Supper (2001), which is inspired by Leonardo da Vinci’s (1452-1519) mural painting of the same title (ca. 1495-8), symbolises China’s move toward capitalism during the economic reform in the 1990s. Zeng’s The Last Supper sold for HK$180.4 million (US$23.3 million) at Sotheby’s Hong Kong 40th Anniversary Evening Sale on 5 October 2013; its exorbitant auction price set record for Asian contemporary art. See Hunt 2013.

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While academic views, exhibition records and news publicity are some of the factors affecting the value and price of an artwork, art critics play an increasingly important role in organising art fairs, establishing a financial operating system, formulating criteria for art evaluation, and in developing close networks with various sectors in the international art world. 10 Moreover, auction houses also play an influential role in framing the meaning of Chinese art and speculating on its value. Elizabeth Kim argues that major auction houses, like Sotheby’s, manipulated the Chinese art market through rhetoric strategies and promotional tools. For instance, the works of some Chinese artists like Yue Minjun ⱛ㓷⏃ (b. 1962) are strategically associated with Cynical Realism, Western Modernism and major political events in contemporary China. Kim also investigates the media’s (mis-)interpretation of Yue Minjun’s art under the influence of speculative irrationality in the art market. She urges for a reflection upon the future development and education of contemporary Chinese art in Asia and the West, and the roles and ethics of art practitioners and marketers. Kim’s discussion also poses questions of the sustainability of contemporary artists’ international reputation, and the artists’ responses to the irrationality of the art market and the marketing strategies adopted to promote their works. In recent years, public museums are being built at a rate of more than a hundred a year, causing museum-building booms in not only Beijing and Shanghai, but also in the second- and third-tier cities. The Chinese Government aims to have 3,500 state-owned museums built in China by 2015.11 On the one hand, visiting museums reveal a pursuit of quality of life satisfying a growing public demand for art and culture; on the other hand, new and ambitious public museums have become propaganda vehicles in China, an integral part of the cultural policy. A struggle of power and authority between governments, museums, collectors, curators, auction houses, art critics, and other stakeholders in the global art system will emerge and have an impact on worldwide audiences’ understanding, appreciation and judgment of Chinese art. The chapters to follow will reveal the diverse views of individual contributors and hope to arouse new voices from readers who have encountered the objects, practices, people

10

See Lü Peng, “Reflections and Questions Raised after the First 1990s Biennial Art Fair (1993)”, in Wu 2010, 303-57. 11 Although China is very good at building hardware, the new museums generally contain lacklustre collections and lack the expertise of curators, conservators, educators and other support for academic research. See “Mad about Museums” 2013; Gardner 2013.

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and institutions surrounding the study of Chinese art and material culture in the past and the present.

Works Cited Bhabha, Homi K. 1994. The Location of Culture. London and New York: Routledge. Burke, Peter. 2009. Cultural Hybridity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Cheang, Sarah. 2008. “Dragons in the Drawing Room: Chinese Embroideries in British Homes, 1860-1949.” Textile History 39 (2) (November): 223-49. Gardner, Hannah. 2013. “China’s New Cultural Revolution is All about Museums.” The National, September 24. Accessed February 23, 2014. http://www.thenational.ae/world/east-asia/chinas-new-culturalrevolution-is-all-about-museums Huang, Ellen. 2011. “There and Back Again: Material Objects at the First International Exhibitions of Chinese Art in Shanghai, London, and Nanjing, 1935-6.” In Collecting China: The World, China, and a History of Collecting, edited by Vimalin Rujivacharakul, 138-52. Newark, DE: University of Delaware Press. Huang, Michelle Ying-ling 湫 㗈 䍚 . 2011. “Anglo-Chinese Cultural Exchanges: The Connection between Chinese Artists and British Curators in the 1920s and 1930s.” Paper presented at the British InterUniversity China Centre Conference on Britain and China: Past, Presents and Futures from the 19th to the 21st Century at the University of Bristol, August 24-26. Hunt, Katie. 2013. “Chinese Artist’s ‘Last Supper’ sets Record for Asian Contemporary Art.” CNN.com, October 6. Accessed March 31, 2014. http://edition.cnn.com/2013/10/06/business/record-asian-art/ Itakura Masaaki. 2013. “Chinese Paintings that Crossed the Sea: The Development of Chinese Art Collections in Japan.” In Masterpieces of Chinese Painting, 700-1900, edited by Zhang Hongxing, 87-95. London: V&A Publishing. Jacobson, Dawn. 1993. Chinoiserie. London: Phaidon Press. Lewis, Mark Edward. 2009. China’s Cosmopolitan Empire: The Tang Dynasty. Cambridge, Mass. and London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Leuthold, Steven M. 2011. Cross-Cultural Issues in Art: Frames for Understanding. Abingdon, Oxon and New York: Routledge. “Mad about Museums: China is Building Thousands of New Museums, But How Will It Fill Them?” 2013. The Economist, December 21.

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Accessed February 23, 2014. http://www.economist.com/news/special-report/21591710-chinabuilding-thousands-new-museums-how-will-it-fill-them-mad-aboutmuseums Nishida Hiroko. 2000. “The Collection and Appreciation of Chinese Art Objects in 15th-16th Century Japan, and their Legacy.” In Collecting Chinese Art: Interpretation and Display, edited by Stacey Pierson, 918. London: Percival David Foundation of Chinese Art. Steuber, Jason. 2006. “The Exhibition of Chinese Art at Burlington House, London, 1935-6.” The Burlington Magazine 148 (1241) (August): 52836. Sullivan, Michael. 1989. The Meeting of Eastern and Western Art. Berkeley: University of California Press. Rastelli, Sabrina, ed. 2008. China at the Court of the Emperors: Unknown Masterpieces from Han Tradition to Tang Elegance (25-907). Florence: Fondazione Palazzo Strozzi. Watt, James C. Y. ⯰ ⽿ ṩ , An Jiayao, Angela F. Howard, Boris I. Marshak, Su Bai and Zhao Feng. 2004. China: Dawn of a Golden Age, 200-750 AD. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Wu Hung, ed., with the assistance of Peggy Wang. 2010. Contemporary Chinese Art: Primary Documents. New York: Museum of Modern Art. Zheng Da. 2010. Chiang Yee: The Silent Traveller from the East—A Cultural Biography. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press.

CHAPTER ABSTRACTS

Chapter One Aaron M. Rio This paper focuses on a loosely defined lineage of ink painters active in the area of Kamakura in eastern Japan during the Muromachi period and the development therewith of a regional ink painting style rooted in the style of the Southern Song painter Muqi (act. mid- to late 13th century), or “Mokkei” in Japanese. Paintings associated with Muqi appeared in eastern Japan no later than the mid-fourteenth century, as evidenced by an extant inventory of art objects held at the monastery Engakuji ℮奂⮢ compiled in 1363, which lists five individual paintings by Muqi, including images of White-robed Kannon and gibbons. By the early fifteenth century, painters active in Kamakura had forged a more or less consistent system of Mokkei-style ink painting, within which certain subject matter—Whiterobed Kannon, pigeons, and gibbons, in particular—were regularly produced in the Muqi style, characterised by watery brushwork and deliberate, fluid execution. In 1423, for example, a large diptych of Muqistyle gibbons is known to have decorated the drawing room of the abbot’s chamber at the Kamakura monastery Kenchǀji. Similarly, although a contemporaneous thirty-two scroll set of images of White-robed Kannon held by Kenchǀji may appear as a hodgepodge of styles, closer examination reveals it as a collection of Muqi-style devotional images crucial to understanding painting in fifteenth-century Kamakura. Although the introduction of new painting models in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries introduced new varieties of the Muqi style to Kamakura, the distinct and durable local style represented by Kenchǀji’s Gibbons and works by the fifteenth-century painter Chnjan Shinkǀ ẚ⬱䛆⹟ (act. mid15th century) remained an important point of reference for later Kamakura painters. Chapter Two Maria Kar-wing Mok Produced in large quantities mainly in Canton throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, during the golden era of the China trade, Chinese export painting is a genre of painting known to be mainly executed in Western media and technique, produced for the Western market by Chinese artists. Guided by the works of Western artists which were ample

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in the form of prints, Chinese export artists made reference to Western art and adapted to its general principles and pictorial conventions, so dissimilar to those of traditional Chinese painting. Chinese export artists had a very specific target market that treasured a set of aesthetic values very different from those of Chinese fine art, which explains the emulation of Western art in Chinese export painting. However, apart from the exception of a few household names, such as Lamqua (1801/1802-?), Youqua 䄄 ␙ (act. 1840s-70s), whose works match the ideals and methods of the West, the majority of Chinese export artists were producing art of a hybrid style—non-Chinese but not completely Western. If judged solely from the standard of Western art, most of the paintings could be considered engaging endeavours with thought-provoking errors in the conventions of aspects such as composition, space and chiaroscuro. And yet, judging from the quantity of extant examples, these “imperfect” works were rather popular, meaning that although the Western market had high regard for their own artistic traditions, they were also intrigued by this unique hybrid style. This chapter attempts to attain a better understanding of the phenomenon of Chinese export painting through a combination of stylistic analysis and textual reference, including nineteenth-century travelogues of China travellers, to find out to what extent Western techniques were used in Chinese export painting, whether certain well-known traits of these paintings, such as the over-embellishing adornment, the fineness and the use of multiple perspectives, are careless mistakes, or deliberate devices to please the buyers. Chapter Three Clare Taylor This chapter explores the link between European attitudes to Chinese papers in the eighteenth century, and attitudes to these goods in the period when they were rediscovered in Britain, roughly between the end of the First World War and the mid-1930s. Writers focused on three key aspects in their accounts of Chinese paper: its supposedly unique manufacturing techniques, its categorisation by genre employing European models and associations with aristocratic consumers. The chapter outlines these and argues that they were indebted both to contemporary concerns, and those surrounding Chinese paper established in the eighteenth century. This chapter also examines how Chinese papers were acquired and sold in 1920s and 1930s Britain. It analyses the role played by individuals, commercial firms and museums in both supplying and fuelling demand. The factors that determined a paper’s desirability are discussed in relation

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to three schemes, each of which re-used eighteenth-century papers: the Berkeley House interior purchased by the V&A in 1924, the Chinese drawing room created by Nancy Lancaster (1897-1994) at Kelmarsh Hall in Northamptonshire in around 1928, and the decoration of the dining room at Hampden House in Buckinghamshire. These examples illuminate both the reasons for these schemes’ appeal and the ways in which eighteenth-century Chinese papers’ associations with luxury, effeminacy and the exotic were interpreted. Chapter Four Lucie Olivová In 1971, the highest award at the Biennale of Florence—Medaglia d’oro della Biennale del Fiorino—went to ZdenČk SklenáĜ (1910-86) and his paintings on Chinese themes. The eminent Czech artist had become interested in Chinese culture already in his youth. In 1955, he had the unique opportunity to visit Peking as one of the organisers of a Czechoslovak exhibition. During his stay, he met with the Chinese cultural elite (e.g. Ai Qing 刦曺 (1910-96), Li Keran 㛶⎗㝻 (1907-89), Guo Moruo 悕㱓劍 (1892-1978) and others) and formed friendships. SklenáĜ also visited historic sites and collected antiques—this can be reconstructed on the basis of his diary/sketch book he kept during that time. The trip consequently became a turning point in his creative art. Over the years, he painted more than thirty abstract oil paintings, in his highly peculiar style, yet inspired by the ancient Chinese ornament and the seal script. He also illustrated a number of Chinese literary works, published in Czech. Needless to say, the Chinese subject matter is not the only one in the oeuvre of SklenáĜ; what is essential, however, is that he achieved a specific artistic transformation based on his Chinese experience, and used it equally for all his artistic output. His “Chinese” works are a notable example of fusing cultures, and it is not without interest that they were exhibited in the National Art Museum of China (Zhongguo meishuguan ᷕ ⚳伶埻棐), Beijing, in April 2009. In this chapter, I shall attempt to analyse them. Chapter Five Michelle Ying-ling Huang The period between the 1880s and the 1910s was a burgeoning time for the collecting activity and historical study of Chinese painting in the West. The pictorial design and aesthetic ideas of traditional Chinese painting inspired British scholars and avant-garde artists with imaginative and spiritual ideas. For instance, Laurence Binyon (1869-1943) and Paul Nash

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(1889-1946) were fascinated with the “modern” intellectual characters of Chinese philosophers and painters, as exemplified in the intense imagination, poetic expression, metaphysical value, as well as the harmony of man and nature in twelfth-century Chinese landscape painting. Those ideas corresponded with the mental-emotive impulse of British modernists, thus Chinese painting was considered an alternative for revitalising the spirit of modern European art with non-scientific conceptions. Taking account of Binyon’s connections with British artists and the widespread influence of his pioneering writings on Asian art in the West, this chapter investigates his early study and interpretation of Chinese landscape painting, with examples drawn from public museums in Britain and America, in order to show the Occidental taste in the Song landscape art. I also show how Nash shared a common interest in Chinese painting and revealed his vision of Song landscapes in his later works. Chapter Six Minna Törmä This chapter discusses Osvald Sirén’s (1879-1966) views on Chinese garden art, as they are manifested in his scholarly studies such as Gardens of China (1949) and China and the Gardens of Eighteenth Century Europe (1950). Both works are pivotal in the history of Western perceptions on East Asian gardens and the relationship between China and Europe. Among Sirén’s scholarship, the volumes mark his recent retirement and manifest a remembrance of things past, albeit in different ways. During the Second World War, when Sirén lived isolated in Sweden, he sought refuge in memories of his wanderings in Chinese and Japanese gardens. With the aid of photographs he had taken on his travels, the earliest one dating to 1918, he recalled his experiences and complemented the research by looking at Chinese paintings, reading Chinese poetry and translating Ji Cheng’s Yuanye or “Craft of Gardens”. These provided him with a vehicle for his woyou ⌏忲 or “travelling whole lying down” and an escape from the grim reality of the times. If the Chinese part of this project was in some respects escapist, the European part may be regarded as a return to themes which began his career in 1900: the eighteenth century and Rococo. His journeys to Europe, ravaged by war, present in photographs a bygone world dilapidated and partly ruined; in the book, Sirén breathed life into them by seeking assistance in this recreation from literature and archival sources. The vulnerability of garden art became a fitting symbol for the state of the world.

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Chapter Seven Mark Haywood The current Western interest in contemporary Chinese art has been well evidenced through artistic and curatorial exchanges such as the British Council’s Artist Links (2002-6) and by exhibitions such as Tate Liverpool’s The Real Thing: Contemporary Art from China (2008). Naturally these endeavours have foregrounded art made in China, but whereas many European artists have now undertaken residencies in China, few of the new generation of Chinese artists have made the reverse journey in order to make art in a European context. This chapter considers a striking exception, my recent CLEAR project, Return of the Silent Traveller, in which Haikou-based artist, Weng Fen (b. 1961) undertook an artist’s residency in the English Lake District to mark the 70th anniversary of painter-poet Chiang Yee’s (1903-77) visit to the region (recorded in The Silent Traveller in Lakeland, the first in his successful series of illustrated travel books). Chiang Yee’s account has remained popular because it portrayed the familiar from an unfamiliar perspective; this chapter would similarly consider salient differences between Western, Romantic derived tropes of representation such as the male, magisterial gaze, and those of Weng Fen who did not simply draw on a different landscape tradition, but portrayed himself and his family as uncomprehending outsiders, ill at ease in a beautiful, but alien landscape. I also consider strategies such as the heightened colour saturation of the greens in Weng’s stunning large scale photographs, with which he conveyed the striking verdancy of the Lake District landscapes (in contrast to Western photographers who would intuitively eschew such devices as highly unnatural or artificial). Chapter Eight Lenore Metrick-Chen This chapter investigates how the exclusion of Chinese people from the United States in the nineteenth century was paralleled in the American art world, both in museum and in vernacular culture. I trace how the origin of the numerous Chinese things within the United States became obscured, subsumed under the category of “Japanese”. I also explore how their troubling presence in American museums helped transform how we understand art and contributed to changing the nineteenth-century paradigm of American art theory. Chinese objects have a long history in America. Within weeks of gaining independence from England in 1776, the United States launched the ship The Empress of China, initiating America’s participation in the

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coveted China trade. A century later, upon their incorporation in 1870, two major American art museums, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, immediately collected Chinese objects. But American anxiety about Chinese immigration influenced how these two Museums comprehended their own collections of Chinese objects. The Museums had limited understanding of Chinese art. The objects did not fit into the prevailing Ruskinian art discourse, based upon ideas of narrative, nature, and morality. Yet, because of this incompatibility, the display of Chinese objects in art museums contributed to the new art discourse of Aestheticism, with its attention to aesthetic values and formal relations. Art historical narrative reflects a culture’s official memory. This chapter attempts to help rectify this prolonged neglect. Chapter Nine Michaela Pejþochová The reception of modern Chinese painting in Europe in the 1920s and 1930s represents one of the significant aspects of Sino-Western encounters in the inter-war period. After the organisation of the first exhibition of Chinese modern painting in France in 1924, more than two dozen others ensued in two subsequent decades. Some of them were organised by Chinese cultural leaders on behalf of the Chinese Government, which regarded presenting contemporary art in Europe as a means to embellish the reputation of China as a modern and cultured country. As a result, several large European cities such as Berlin, Amsterdam, London, Milan, Geneva, Prague and Leningrad saw shows of paintings by twentiethcentury Chinese masters, lectures on modern Chinese art, public talks of the artists and the like. Interestingly, the names of two renowned, if mutually antagonistic, artists feature most often among the organisers of these exhibitions. One of them is Liu Haisu (1896-1994), the founder of one of the first public institutions in China to teach Western art techniques and a prominent advocate of modernist painting styles. The other is Xu Beihong (18951953), a Europe-trained painter, who, however, saw adopting Western realism as a way to reform Chinese art and was in sharp opposition to modernist tendencies in art. Consequently, the exhibitions of contemporary Chinese painting organised in Europe by these two personages, too, differed in many significant aspects. This chapter discusses the presentations of modern Chinese painting organised in Europe by Liu Haisu. It uses the existing archival and textual evidence to reconstruct the detailed scenario of the European travels of the exhibits; the conditions surrounding their presentations in each of the

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countries; the response of the local audiences; and the significance these shows had for the enhancement of the awareness of Chinese art in Europe. Chapter Ten Noelle Giuffrida Efforts to present the first major American exhibition of works from the National Palace Museum in Taiwan came to fruition in 1961 as Chinese Art Treasures (CAT) opened at the National Gallery of Art in Washington. Comprised of over 250 objects, with a major focus on paintings, the show also travelled to New York, Boston, Chicago and San Francisco, drawing large crowds on its year-long tour. As the first significant post-war exhibition of paintings from the Palace collection, it drew worldwide attention. CAT’s landing at the right time, in the right place, and with the right works, made the show a pivotal event in the history of exhibiting and studying Chinese painting in the United States. Focusing on a discrete time period, from the inception of the exhibition in the 1950s through its US tour and ending in 1962, this chapter explores the timing, composition, and presentation of the show, examining how and why each affected public and scholarly reception at the time. In addition to considering scholarly publications and popular media, this study draws upon first-hand accounts and archival correspondence to reconstruct an inner history of CAT. Discussions of the planning, painting selection, catalogue negotiations, media coverage, and scholarly debates will highlight political and scholarly factors that affected the show’s reception. As a result of CAT, its accompanying catalogue and the scholarly discussions it sparked, a core group of paintings from the Palace collection emerged as monuments in the newly forming post-war canon of Chinese painting. By raising the profile of Chinese painting for the American public, CAT spurred increased interest in American museum collections. CAT’s combination of all the “right stuff” assured both its success with the American public and its impact on Chinese painting studies in early 1960s America. Chapter Eleven Diana Yeh By tracing the journey of the artist Li Yuan-chia (1929-94), whose life and artistic practice spans China, Taiwan, Italy and Britain, this chapter discusses the politics of identity in the making, marketing and reception of art across national borders. Born in Guangxi ⺋大 province in China, Li became a founding member of Ton Fan Exhibition 㜙㕡䔓㚫, purportedly one of the first Chinese art groups to produce abstract art, in 1950s Taiwan.

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He subsequently moved to Italy, where he joined the international art group Il Punto before leaving for the international avant-garde art scene in London. He then moved to Cumbria, where he set up and ran the LYC Museum and Art Gallery from 1972 to 1982, and where he spent the rest of his life. By analysing Li’s journey across national borders, I discuss his shifting identities as he negotiated the historically specific demands of different national art contexts, as structured by both internal domestic politics and international diplomatic relations. Highlighting the critical role played by curators, art historians and the media in the framing and reception of his work, I discuss how Li has variously been positioned as “Oriental”, “international”, “Chinese” and “Black”. By mapping out the continual translation of his work from his own intentions through sites of exhibition and into the media, art criticism and national art histories, I also discuss how East-West dichotomies and the ethno-national politics of art and its reception erase the complexity of Li’s practice by obscuring its myriad cultural influences, and ultimately masking the way it emerges from and contributes to a global traffic in art. Chapter Twelve Silvia Fok Lens-based art has become a significant genre in contemporary Chinese art. Chinese artists have started to use photography and video to document performance art since the mid-1980s. Nevertheless, they prefer to exhibit performance photography rather than video in both local and overseas exhibitions. This phenomenon has led to a vibrant development of photography in contemporary China, as revealed in the artistic trajectory of Xing Danwen (b. 1967), a female artist residing in Beijing since the late 1980s and being active in the early 1990s. This chapter investigates how Xing Danwen developed a knowledge of Western photography in China and the West. I analyse the reception of her lens-based artworks in America, Europe and Asia. I also examine to what extent her culturally specific work has been appreciated and promoted by Western and Asian art critics. Chapter Thirteen Elizabeth Kim This chapter examines how the marketing of artworks by auction houses distorted the meaning of contemporary Chinese art in the 2000s, and subsequently contributed to the market bubble that burst in 2008. One work is chosen for analysis: Yue Minjun’s (b. 1962) Execution (1997),

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which set a record for highest price paid for a contemporary Chinese artwork at the time during the height of the art boom. In the auction catalogue, Sotheby’s justified the exorbitant price tag on the work by using vague historical references and art historical concepts that adhere to various advertising methods. By analysing the catalogue description in the framework of advertising concepts as categorised in George Felton’s Advertising: From Concept to Copy (2006), it is possible to dismantle the distorted and often contradictory claims made by the auction house regarding the value of the artwork. I establish that the catalogue descriptions strongly emphasised qualities of the Chinese artist’s works that are associated with Western modernism, while also offering a distorted view of Yue’s association with the student uprising in Beijing in 1989 and with the “Cynical Realist” movement. The fallacies indicate that the meanings of Yue Minjun’s art were distorted just as were the price and demand for his works. I argue that these distortions are congruent with much of the artwork’s description in the media, creating the illusion of value that circulated throughout the US and the UK markets. Through this case study, I present a possible cause of the speculatory behaviours in the art market bubble during the 2000s.

PART I BLENDING CHINESE AND FOREIGN CULTURES

CHAPTER ONE SHADES OF MOKKEI: MUQI-STYLE INK PAINTING IN MEDIEVAL KAMAKURA1 AARON M. RIO

In the history of Japanese painting, perhaps no Chinese artist became so great a cultural force as Muqi Fachang (act. mid- to late 13th century), the Southern Song (1127-1279 AD) Chan (Zen) monk and painter called “Mokkei” in Japan. Although the details of his life are largely unknown, Muqi is said to have begun his career in Sichuan ⚃ⶅ before relocating to Hangzhou 㜕ⶆ, where he was active at Chan monasteries in the area of West Lake.2 Better known and, indeed, better received in Japan than on the 1

A version of this paper was presented in Japanese as “Kamakura gadan ni okeru Mokkei-yǀ no nishu,” [Two Examples of the Muqi Mode in Painting from Kamakura] at the symposium, Chnjsei Nihon bijutsu o meguru shomondai: Higashi Ajia no shiten kara [Problems in Medieval Japanese Art from an East Asian Perspective], held at the Institute for Advanced Studies on Asia at The University of Tokyo on 21 June 2012. The author would like to thank the symposium organisers Itakura Masaaki and Aizawa Masahiko, Takahashi Shinsaku, and Joseph Scheier-Dolberg for helpful suggestions and discussions during the preparation of this manuscript. 2 The Hangzhou temple at which Muqi was active is cited by the painter of ink plums Wu Taisu ⏛⣒䳈 (act. mid-14th century) in Songzhai meipu 㜦㔶㠭嬄 (1351) as the now defunct Faxiangsi 攟䚠⮢, while Wu’s Japanese contemporary Gidǀ Shnjshin 佑➪␐ᾉ (1325-88) records it as the nearby Liutongsi ℕ忂⮢ in his diary. See Ebine Toshio, “Mokkei no shǀgai” 䈏寧̯䓇㵗, in Gotǀ Bijutsukan 1996, 88-90. Although his year of birth is unknown, Muqi is estimated to have died some time in the Zhiyuan 军⃫ era (1264-94 AD), based on information provided by Wu Taisu in Songzhai meipu. Songzhai meipu is transcribed with annotations in

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continent,3 Muqi was celebrated not only as the consummate Chinese ink painter but also as a disciple of the highly revered Chan monk and fellow Sichuan native Wuzhun Shifan 䃉 㸾 ⷓ 䭬 (1177-1249). 4 Fourteenth-century Japanese documents reveal that his ink paintings were collected, exchanged as social and financial currency, and exhibited with an unparallelled degree of reverence at least within a generation of his death. By the mid-fifteenth century, when Nǀami 傥旧⻍ (1397-1471) compiled the Gomotsu on’e mokuroku ⽉䈑⽉䓣䚖拚, an inventory of Chinese paintings in the collection of the Ashikaga shoguns in Kyoto, works by Muqi accounted for upwards of one-third of the collection, more than one hundred individual scrolls, far more than any other painter.5 Today, the vast majority of the three hundred or more paintings that have come to be associated with Muqi, and all of the most secure works, remain in Japanese Shimada 1988. Gidǀ Shnjshin’s diary, Knjge nichyǀ kufnj ryakushnj 䨢厗㖍䓐ⶍ⣓䔍 普 is transcribed in Tsuji 1939. 3 Previous scholars have frequently noted that Muqi was derided by Yuan (1271-1368 AD) critics. In Huaji buyi 䔓两墄怢 (ca. 1298), for example, Zhuang Su 匲倭 (act. late 13th century) describes Muqi’s painting as “inelegant” and “only suitable for the monk’s quarters.” In Gujin huajian ⎌Ṳ䔓揺 (ca. 1329), Tang Hou 㸗✽ (act. early 14th century) likewise dismisses Muqi’s painting as “crude” and “not in keeping with ancient methods.” See also, for example, Suzuki 1994. A number of Yuan and later critiques of Muqi are transcribed and translated in Wu 2011, 142-8. See also Ogawa Hiromitsu ⮷ⶅ塽⃩, “Chnjgoku Gaka, Mokkei,” in Gotǀ Bijutsukan 1996, 91-101, and Weidner 2007, 49-54, however, for important critical discussions of some of the misconceptions brought about by disproportionate attention to these critiques. 4 A number of Chinese monks who later assumed prominent positions in Japanese Zen monasteries and influential Japanese monks who received their training in Yuan China were contemporaries of Muqi and fellow disciples of Wuzhun Shifan. These include, among others, the Chinese monks Wuan Puning ⃨⹝㘖⮏ (1197-1276), who visited Japan in the 1260s and served as the second abbot of Kenchǀji ⺢攟⮢ in Kamakura, and Wuxue Zuyuan 䃉⬎䣾⃫ (1226-86), who spent time at Kenchǀji and served as the founding abbot of another Kamakura temple Engakuji in the early 1280s, and the Japanese monk Enni Benen ℮䇦⺩℮ (1202-80), who would become the founding abbot of Tǀfukuji in Kyoto. See Ebine in Gotǀ Bijutsukan 1996, 88-9. Richard Barnhart (2010) has recently offered a compelling argument for Muqi as the painter of a well-known portrait of Wuzhun Shifan at Tofukuji. 5 The majority of these 101 individual scrolls are combined in sets of two, three, or more, for a total of thirty-five works. Gomotsu on’e mokuroku is transcribed in full in Fujita 1985, 149-53. See also Yamashita Ynjji, “Nihonjin ni totte no Mokkei” 㖍 㛔Ş̣̬̩̤̯䈏寧, in Gotǀ Bijutsukan 1996, 102-8.

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collections, and many display remarkably distinguished provenances. 6 Their pedigree notwithstanding, however, most of these paintings reveal far less about the actual Muqi than about Mokkei, ink painter nonpareil of the Japanese imagination. This chapter, likewise, is not an examination of Muqi the Chinese painter, but rather will explore the ubiquity of Mokkei in the context of the development of Japanese ink painting in the Muromachi period (1336-1573 AD), specifically in the eastern city of Kamakura, the cultural centre of the greater Kantǀ region.7 Despite being distinguished in Japanese history as the thirteenth-century cradle of monastic Zen and the sinocentric cultural apparatus that accompanied it, painting circles in Muromachi-period Kamakura have received significantly less scholarly attention than those in the capital of Kyoto. Only recently have historians of Japanese art begun to delineate the contours of ink painting from Kantǀ, shedding new light on a prodigious body of painting and laying the groundwork for new areas of art historical inquiry.8 The following discussion focuses on two distinct examples of Muqi-style painting prominent in medieval eastern Japan. I begin with a form of the 6

Expectedly, Japanese art historians have dominated Muqi studies. On the actual Muqi, see Matsushita 1950; Wey 1974; Toda 1978; Suzuki 1994; and essays by Ebine and Ogawa in Gotǀ Bijutsukan 1996. For the most complete compendium of works by, attributed to, or associated with Muqi, see “Denrai Mokkei sǀ-sakuhin ichiran” ễ㜍䈏寧䵷ἄ⑩ᶨ奏, in Gotǀ Bijutsukan 1996, 110-29. 7 Previous discussions of Muqi-style painting in the Muromachi period have focused primarily on painters active in Kyoto, especially the Ami painters (Ami-ha 旧⻍㳦). See, for example, the extensive discussion in Wu 2011 of Muqi-style bird-and-flower painting in relation to the Ami painters Nǀami, Geiami, and Sǀami, Sesshnj 暒凇 (1420-ca. 1506) and his followers, and early Kano school 䊑慶㳦 painters in Kyoto. A number of ink paintings signalling a regional conception of Muqi specific to medieval eastern Japan are explored in Aizawa and Hashimoto 2007, 214-42. 8 Two Japanese art historians, Aizawa Masahiko and Hashimoto Shinji, have played a central role in opening up this field of inquiry. Their exhibition of related paintings held in 1998 at the Tochigi Prefectural Museum and the Kanagawa Prefectural Museum of Cultural History was the first large-scale exhibition to highlight so-called “Kantǀ suibokuga” 敊㜙㯜⡐䓣 (“ink painting in the Kantǀ region”) and generated a number of important studies. A subsequent catalogue raisonné published in 2007 introduces more than four hundred paintings produced in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Kantǀ, with a primary focus on renewed artistic exchange between Kamakura and Kyoto in the period after 1478. See Tochigi Kenritsu Hakubutsukan 1998; Kanagawa Kenritsu Rekishi Hakubutsukan 1998; Aizawa and Hashimoto 2007.

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Muqi style used to depict pictorial subjects such as isolated fruits and vegetables. This particular mode of Muqi-style painting—perhaps the most recognisable to an English-speaking audience due to its relationship to works like Muqi’s famous “Six Persimmons” that were romanticised in the West during the early twentieth century as the quintessence of “Zen painting”—developed in the sixteenth century in response to the introduction of new painting models arriving in Kamakura from the continent via western Japan. I will then look back on an older, more ambiguous type of Muqi-style painting that arose in Kamakura in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, primarily in response to local collections of Chinese painting amassed in the thirteenth century, Kamakura’s heyday. I propose that for painters active in Kamakura, even well into the sixteenth century, this older variety of the Muqi style held particular significance as a link to their own local painting tradition.

Visions of Mokkei in Sixteenth-Century Kantǀ In 1478, a monk and painter called Kenkǀ Shǀkei ➭㰇䤍⓻ (act. before 1478-ca. 1523) departed Kenchǀji, Kamakura’s premier Zen temple, where he held the position of scribe (shoki 㚠姀), and journeyed to Kyoto.9 He would spend three years in the capital before returning to Kamakura, only to journey back to Kyoto in 1493 for another brief visit.10 In Kyoto, he is said to have studied painting with Geiami 剠旧⻍ (1431-85), an art consultant of sorts to the Ashikaga shoguns,11 as evidenced by an inscription on Geiami’s Viewing a Waterfall (1480), a painting presented to Shǀkei upon his return to Kamakura.12 Through Geiami, Shǀkei likely gained some level of access to the vast shogunal collection as well as Geiami’s own sketches and studies of Chinese paintings.13 Considering that Shǀkei would remain at the centre 9

He is also referred to as “Kei shoki” ⓻㚠姀 (i.e., Kei, the scribe), particularly in pre-modern sources. Many of his followers in Kamakura also use the character kei ⓻ in their professional names. 10 See Aizawa and Hashimoto 2007, 54-67. 11 On the roles of Geiami, his father Nǀami and his son Sǀami, see Shimao 1996. 12 Geiami’s Viewing a Waterfall is reproduced and discussed in numerous publications. See, for example, Nezu Bijutsukan 2001, 94. 13 The Ashikaga shogunal collection began to take shape during the reign of Ashikaga Yoshimitsu 嵛 ⇑ 佑 㸨 (1358-1408; r. 1368-94), was expanded considerably by Ashikaga Yoshinori 嵛⇑佑㔁 (r. 1429-41), and became a source of cultural and financial capital through the activities of Ashikaga Yoshimasa 嵛⇑佑 㓧 (r. 1449-73). See Shimao 2011.

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of painting circles in Kamakura and the greater Kantǀ region of eastern Japan for at least another four decades, we can surmise that he was likely in his late twenties or thirties when he made his initial trip to the capital. The date of his first trip to Kyoto was not by accident. Prior to 1478, the Kantǀ region—ultimately within the sphere of Ashikaga rule but controlled primarily by shogunal deputies—had endured some eight decades of political upheaval and bloody warfare.14 One consequence of this tumult was that the Kantǀ region, and the city of Kamakura in particular, existed in relative cultural isolation throughout much of the fifteenth century. Despite its earlier importance as the seat of the Kamakura shogunate, by the turn of the fifteenth century Kamakura had been relegated to peripheral status and the city’s painters—including Shǀkei’s Kenchǀji forebear Chnjan Shinkǀ (act. mid-15th century)—cut off from the cultural and political capital of Kyoto. The late 1470s, however, saw both the end of the decade-long ƿnin War (ƿnin no ran ⾄ṩ̯ḙ) and the normalisation of relations between the various political factions within the Kantǀ region and between the shoguns in Kyoto and their intractable representatives in eastern Japan. This suspension of hostilities allowed Shǀkei to make his renowned first trip to Kyoto in the late 1470s, making him the first Kamakura painter in several generations to have any extensive contact with artists in Kyoto. Shǀkei’s trips to Kyoto have long served historians of Japanese art as the crux of painting in medieval Kantǀ,15 with Shǀkei and everything thereafter dubbed “Kantǀ suibokuga” (“Kantǀ ink painting”) and everything before mostly overlooked.16 What can, and has been said is that Shǀkei, newly alert to contemporary artistic trends in the capital, returned to the east armed with fluency in a style of ink landscape painting inspired by the Southern Song Painting Academy painter Xia Gui (J: Kakei), a style previously unknown or, more likely, simply unfashionable in Kamakura and the region. However, in an attempt to define “Kantǀ suibokuga” as a discrete regional painting circle, emanating from Shǀkei and inevitably measured against contemporaneous painting in Kyoto, important artistic continuities have regularly been under-appreciated. One of those enduring features of ink painting in medieval Kamakura is an ardent engagement with the paintings of Muqi, whose style served as a touchstone for Kamakura collectors and painters as early as the late thirteenth century. 14

The specifics of this history are discussed in some detail in Hashimoto 2010. See, for example, Aizawa and Hashimoto 2007, 11-22 and 49-82; and Aizawa 2003. 16 There are exceptions. An early catalogue entry by Yoshiaki Shimizu remains one of the more insightful readings of Chnjan Shinkǀ and ink painting in fifteenth-century Kamakura. See Shimizu and Wheelwright 1976, 72-7. 15

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After Shǀkei’s return to Kamakura and the arrival of painters associated with the Kano school, paintings recalling famous works by Muqi or produced in Muqi-derived styles gained widespread appeal in late medieval Kantǀ. Especially beginning in the mid-sixteenth century, works featuring pictorial subjects associated with Muqi became a necessary part of painters’ repertoires and were depicted in a variety of formats, from hanging scrolls to fans and folding screens. One such category of pictorial subjects newly commodified in sixteenth-century eastern Japan consisted of images of isolated fruits, vegetables, and flowering plants (J: kaki zatsuga 剙⋱晹 䓣). 17 Indeed, some of the most recognisable paintings associated with Muqi, both in Japan and in the West, are of this variety: Chestnuts and Persimmons at Ryǀkǀin 漵⃱昊, Rose Mallow at Daitokuji ⣏⽛⮢, and Daikon and Turnip in the Japanese Imperial Collection.18 Muqi-inspired images of eggplants and melons appear to have been particularly popular in Kantǀ. Melon, Eggplants, and Mantis by Keison ⓻ ⬓ (act. mid-16th century), a follower of Shǀkei active in Kamakura, is a typical example.19 Keison’s brushwork is methodical and his composition formulaic in comparison to the several extant images of melons attributed to Muqi, but he accomplishes what he needs to, that is, produce a picture that clearly advertises its Muqi-ness. Another Kantǀ artist active in the second half of the sixteenth-century, Settǀ 暒㳆, takes Keison’s composition, turns it ninety degrees clockwise, and adds a few tendrils here and there to create his own version of Melon, Eggplants, and Mantis.20 A separate image of eggplants by Keison, along with similar compositions by Sesson Shnjkei 暒㛹␐䵁 (ca. 1504-ca.1590), Shikibu Terutada (act. mid-16th century), and Maejima Sǀynj ⇵Ⲟ (act. second-half 16th century), suggest the existence of a common model in sixteenth-century Kantǀ.21 The similar dissemination of models for Muqi-inspired paintings can also be inferred by a number of works depicting Fenggan 寸⸚ , Hanshan ⭺Ⱉ, and Shide ㊦⼿ that relate compositionally to an image of the trio attributed to Muqi (See Toda 1995): fan paintings by Shikibu 17

On Muqi as a painter of kaki zatsuga, see “Mokkei josetsu” 䈏寧⸷婔, in Toda 1978, 51-60. 18 All are reproduced in ibid. 19 On Keison, see Itǀ 2000. Keison’s Melon, Eggplants, and Mantis is illustrated in Aizawa and Hashimoto 2007, 328. 20 Settǀ is discussed briefly in Aizawa and Hashimoto 2007, 102-4. 21 Ibid., 328-32. On Shikibu Terutada, see Yamashita 1985. Several of these works are also discussed by Hashimoto Shinji in Hong, et al 2008; see catalogue entries 259, 260, 263, and 276.

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Terutada, a hanging scroll attributed to Keison, and another hanging scroll by Sekishǀ Shǀan 䞛 㧝 㖴 ⬱ (act. 16th century). 22 In both cases, the hypothetical model was shared by artists associated with all the various painterly lineages and schools represented in eastern Japan, namely the Shǀkei (e.g. Keison) and Sesson (Settǀ) lineages and the Odawara branch of the Kano school (Shikibu Terutada, Maejima Sǀynj, Sekishǀ Shǀan). Such models likely arrived in Kantǀ through increased contact with Kyoto during and after Shǀkei’s period of activity. Images of melons thought to be by Muqi, for example, were prized in the capital already by the mid-fifteenth century, and similar images of Fenggan, Hanshan, and Shide can be found among the works of earlier Kano school painters active in Kyoto. This wave of new models and painting styles to eastern Japan appears to have had a significant effect on painters’ practices. Whereas earlier Kantǀ painters, many of whom were Zen priest-painters, typically worked in a single style, the impact of Shǀkei and Kano school painters’ interest in a more nuanced understanding of the history of Chinese painting and their compartmentalising approach to painting style led to increased importance placed on stylistic versatility. Keison, for example, one of the most prolific painters in this group, displayed proficiency in any number of disparate painting styles. In addition to the type of Muqi-inspired fruits and vegetables discussed above and landscapes in the style of Xia Gui and Kenkǀ Shǀkei, he also produced many figure paintings in ink, bird-and-flower pictures in the so-called “boneless” (C: mogu; J: mokkotsu 㰺橐) method, and more traditional Buddhist images. However, sixteenth-century followers of Shǀkei, not only Keison but also painters such as Keisǀ ⓻⬿ and Kǀboku 冰䈏, occasionally turned away from their teacher’s Xia Gui-style landscapes and the Kano school’s academic approach to style. In doing so, they reveal an interest in what can be understood as a much older, local painting style, one no less grounded in the study of Song (960-1279 AD) and Yuan (1271-1368 AD) painting, and Muqi in particular. Long before Shǀkei made his famous trip to Kyoto, this distinct style had been cultivated by generations of painters in Kamakura, by exploiting significant local holdings of Chinese painting, collections that were replete with works believed to be by Muqi.

Collecting Mokkei in Kamakura One of the highlights of the annual airing of temple treasures at Kenchǀji is a diptych of large silk hanging scrolls that depicts gibbons 22

Several are reproduced and discussed in Aizawa and Hashimoto 2007, 235-9.

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among weathered trees (Fig. 1-1). The pair immediately calls to mind the right-hand scroll of the famous White-robed Kannon, Gibbons, and Crane triptych, Muqi’s chef-d’oeuvre held at Daitokuji in Kyoto.23 In contrast to the mother and infant gibbon huddled against the cold in the Daitokuji composition, the Kenchǀji pair offers a seemingly more light-hearted approach to the subject. In the right scroll, a mother gibbon holds on tight with her legs twisted around the lower branch of a tree and gazes up toward another pair of gibbons swinging from upper branches toward a nondescript body of water below. In the left scroll, an adult gibbon sits cross-legged in a scraggly upper branch. She appears to scrutinise another gibbon on a rocky outcropping below who stretches out her arm, either pointing to or gently stroking the surface of the water, while an infant beside her reaches out his tiny hand toward a tendril dangling from the branch above. The paintings exhibit a dependence on ink washes in a wide tonal range, from the pale coat of wash that covers the entire silk surface to the much darker ink used for clumps of bamboo, vines, and moss. Contour lines are forgone. Like the flanking crane and gibbons scrolls of Muqi’s Daitokuji triptych, the Kenchǀji pair features a standard compositional formula wherein certain motifs, rocks in this case, weight the lower outside edges, drawing the eye up and toward a central icon. Oblique lines formed by overhanging tree branches and the gibbons’ outstretched limbs further enhance this effect. Both Kenchǀji scrolls bear inscriptions by Chikusei Tǀbon 䪢大䫱㡝 (dates unknown), 24 the 132nd abbot of Kenchǀji, placing them in the collection of the Chǀshǀken 倜 㜦 幺 , Kenchǀji’s abbot’s quarters, by 1423.25 Today at Kenchǀji, they are used as the flanking scrolls of a large, silk ĝƗkyamuni triad, although scholars generally agree that they originally flanked a central image of a White-robed Kannon, perhaps like the Muqi-attributed Water-Moon Kannon owned by Engakuji, another Zen monastery in Kamakura. Doubtless painted in Kamakura some time in the late fourteenth or early fifteenth century and later combined into a triptych, they are nonetheless exhibited as genuine Southern Song Chinese paintings, with the central icon attributed to Zhang Sigong ⻝⿅〕 (dates unknown)

23 Seals impressed on all three scrolls indicate that the triptych was once in the collection of Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, before it was acquired by Daitokuji in the sixteenth century. The triptych is reproduced in Gotǀ Bijutsukan 1996, 11-7. 24 This figure’s specific dates are unknown, and his estimated period of activity is derived solely from this inscription. 25 The inscription is reproduced and discussed briefly in Tokyo Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan 2003, 221.

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and the flanking gibbons scrolls to none other than Muqi himself.26 It is not that anyone at Kenchǀji is trying to pull the wool over viewers’ eyes. The traditional attributions have persisted since at least the mid-Edo period (1603-1868 AD) and likely long before,27 and the fabricated nature of the triptych has been evident to Kamakura visitors since at least the late seventeenth century. Shinpen Kamakura shi 㕘䶐挴ᾱ⽿, a Kamakura area guidebook published in 1685, for example, describes the Kenchǀji triptych as a “trio of paintings, with a central ĝƗkyamuni by Zhang Sigong and flanking gibbons by Muqi, combined because of stylistic similarities despite their being by separate artists.”28 Moreover, this ĝƗkyamuni triad is only one among numerous early Buddhist images of undetermined origin attributed to the semi-legendary Zhang Sigong, while the flanking scrolls join the ranks of no fewer than thirty other extant images of gibbons attributed to Muqi. 29 In the end, all of this is of little consequence. Authentically Muqi or not, these paintings are important both as art historical placeholders and for their enduring status in pre-modern Japan as conveyors of the style of Muqi. More importantly here, Kenchǀji’s Gibbons invites a closer look into the early engagement on the part of collectors and painters in Kamakura with paintings by Muqi and other Southern Song painters. Ink paintings and polychromatic Buddhist images from China began to be collected in Kamakura in the middle of the thirteenth century, as powerful political figures in Kamakura turned their attention to the 26

Numerous polychromatic Buddhist paintings of Chinese and Korean origin held in Japanese collections bear traditional attributions to Zhang Sigong, ostensibly a masterful painter of Buddhist images active in Zhejiang during the Song dynasty but whose name is recorded only in Japan. Zhang Sigong is discussed briefly in Weidner 1994, 229-30, and authoritatively in Ide 2004. The collections of Kenchǀji and Engakuji alone include dozens of Southern Song and Yuan paintings, all executed in polychrome on silk, purported to be by Zhang Sigong: thirty-three paintings of arhats (J: rakan 伭 㻊 ) at Engakuji, and images of White-robed Kannon, Bodhidharma, and the aforementioned ĝƗkyamuni triad at Kenchǀji, among others. 27 The box in which the Gibbons scrolls are stored also bears an inscription, dated 1772, attributing them to Muqi. 28 “ᶱⷭ⮵̯丒̰ᷕ慳徎⿅〕̍䫮ⶎ⎛̰䋧䋜䈏㹒̍䫮㟰̛̬͌慳徎䋧䋜⇍䫮 ̫͍̪̓⍾⎰̧̰̜⮵̩̚䔓橼䚠̳Ụ̠͓͌ẍ̫͋.” Shinpen Kamakura shi, compiled by Kawai Tsunehisa 㱛⎰⿺ᷭ, Matsumura Kiyoyuki 㜦㛹㶭ᷳ, and Chikaraishi Chichi ≃䞛䖜dž, is reproduced in full in Shiraishi 2003. The relevant section appears in volume 3 of the original. 29 Thumbnail images of many of these can be found in Goto Bijutsukan 1996. See also Fujishima 1984.

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establishment of Song-style Zen monasteries in the city. Central to this development were two powerful political figures, Hǀjǀ Tokiyori ⊿㜉㗪柤 (1227-63), fifth regent (shikken ➟㧑) of the Kamakura shogunate, and his son, Hǀjǀ Tokimune ⊿㜉㗪⬿ (1251-84), the eighth regent. Tokiyori studied Zen in Kamakura under Enni Benen, a Japanese monk who had just returned from a trip to China where he was a disciple of none other than Muqi’s own master Wuzhun Shifan. When construction of Kenchǀji, Japan’s first authentically Song-style Zen monastery, was completed in 1253, Tokiyori invited the Chinese monk Lanqi Daolong 嗕 㶻 忻 昮 (1213-78), another follower of Wuzhun who had already been in Japan for several years and was instrumental in the planning of Kenchǀji, to serve as the temple’s founding abbot. 30 Like his father before him, Tokimune spearheaded his own temple construction project, completing Engakuji in 1281 and inviting a Chinese monk and disciple of Wuzhun, Wuxue Zuyuan, to serve as the founding abbot.31 Wuxue would later serve as the fifth abbot of Kenchǀji. Zen monks and their lay benefactors furnished the newly established monasteries with requisite arrays of Chinese artworks, not only paintings but also sculptures, various ritual paraphernalia, vestments, and calligraphy, many making their way to Japan via the port cities of Ningbo, southeast of Hangzhou, and Hakata in southwest Japan. 32 These collections also certainly included ink paintings, brought to Kamakura by Japanese and Chinese monks arriving from the continent. Paintings by Muqi were collected in Kamakura no later than the early fourteenth century, merely a few decades after his period of activity. Evidence for this is provided by the Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku ṷ㖍 ⹝ ℔ 䈑 䚖 拚 , 33 an extant inventory of treasures in the collection of 30 The establishment of Kenchǀji and the roles of Hǀjǀ Tokiyori and Lanqi Daolong are discussed in Miura 1987 and outlined in Martin Collcutt, “‘Zen Art’ in a Monastic Context: Zen and the Arts in Medieval Kenchǀji,” in Levine and Lippit 2007, 22-33. 31 For a summary of Engakuji’s founding and later history, see Miura Katsuo ᶱ㴎 ⊅䓟, “Kamakura Engakuji no rekishi” 挴ᾱ℮奂⮢̯㬜⎚, in Gotǀ Bijutsukan 2006, 156-61. 32 Ningbo played a central role in trade and cultural exchange between Japan and China. Ningbo and its significance to the development of Buddhist art in Japan are explored in the catalogue to a groundbreaking exhibition held at the Nara National Museum in 2009. See Nara Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan 2009. 33 Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku is reproduced and transcribed in full in Kenkynj Shiryǀ 1933. Entries related to Muqi are also transcribed in Gotǀ Bijutsukan 1996, 154. For recent analyses of this important document, see Satǀ 2011; Furukawa 2009;

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Butsunichian, a mortuary subtemple at Engakuji dedicated to Hojǀ Tokimune. Originally compiled in 1320 and revised in 1363 by a monk called Hǀsei 㱽㶭 (dates unknown), the inventory lists a variety of objects, mostly of Chinese origin, including ceramics, calligraphic works by well-known Zen priests, official portraiture, and paintings. Among the dozens of paintings listed, including works by Chinese painters of the Song dynasty such as Li Di 㛶徒 (act. ca. 1163-97) and Emperor Huizong ⽥⬿ 䘯ⷅ (1082-1135), are seven individual hanging scrolls by Muqi: two images of gibbons inscribed by Daxiu Zhengnian ⣏ẹ㬋⾝ (1215-90);34 one of a gibbon in meditative pose bearing an inscription by Xutang Zhiyu 嘂➪㘢ヂ (1185-1269);35 one of gibbons in a pine tree; and a triptych of hanging scrolls with a central image of the bodhisattva Kannon flanked by birds.36 It is of particular interest that the subject matter represented here, namely gibbons, Kannon, and avian motifs, as opposed to fruits and vegetables, for example, are the three pictorial subjects most commonly associated with Muqi in early Kamakura. The Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku also provides evidence for the transfer of works by Muqi in and out of the Butsunichian subtemple and between Kamakura and Kyoto. A memo dated to the 20th day, eleventh month of Jǀji 1 (1362), for example, indicates that the above-mentioned Kannon triptych by Muqi was presented by Engakuji to the second Ashikaga shogun, Ashikaga Yoshiakira 嵛⇑佑娖 (1330-67; r. 1358-67). Similarly, the diary of the influential monk Gidǀ Shnjshin, who spent more than two decades in Kamakura at Engakuji and other area temples, 37 includes several notable mentions of transfers of works purported to be by and Takahashi Noriko’s “Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku ni yomeru koto: Sǀfnj no Zen bunka, Kamakura ni torai” ṷ㖍⹝℔䈑䚖拚̬͉̩͂͌̔烉⬳桐̯䤭㔯⊾ˣ 挴ᾱ̬⇘㜍, in Kanagawa Kenritsu Rekishi Hakubutsukan 2007. 34 Daxiu Zhengnian was a Chinese Chan monk who travelled to Kamakura in 1269 at the behest of Hǀjǀ Tokimune and eventually held positions at several monasteries in Kamakura, including Kenchǀji and Engakuji, before founding the fourth-ranking Gozan temple Jǀchiji 㳬㘢⮢ in 1283. 35 Xutang Zhiyu was a Chinese monk and influential adherent of the Songyuan school 㜦㸸㳦 of Chan Linji (J: Rinzai 冐㶰). Although he never travelled to Japan, a number of important Japanese monks studied under him in China, including Nanpo Jǀmyǀ ⋿㴎䳡㖶 (1235-1308), who had previously studied under Lanqi Daolong at Kenchǀji, studied under him in China. 36 Some of this is also detailed in Hashimoto 2010, 248. 37 For the biography of Gidǀ Shnjshin, see Tamamura 1983, 85-94; and in English, Parker 1999, 63-6.

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Muqi. On two separate occasions, in 1380 and 1385, he notes having received pairs of gibbons paintings by Muqi from the third shogun, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu. 38 Also in 1382, he describes a gathering with Yoshimitsu at Shǀkokuji 䚠⚥⮢ in Kyoto during which they view a set of paintings by Muqi, central images of Kannon flanked by paintings of the “Four Sleepers” and “Three Laughers.” Gidǀ notes that these “masterpieces” (meiga ⎵䓣) had all been acquired from Engakuji.39 The paintings catalogued in the Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku and mentioned in Gidǀ Shnjshin’s diary represent a mere selection of the Muqi paintings once held in Kamakura collections. Beyond Butsunichian and Engakuji, Kenchǀji also likely held any number of works by this beloved painter. Although we are left only to imagine the specific relationship of the Kenchǀji diptych to the four Muqi paintings of gibbons listed in the Butsunichian inventory, or perhaps a separate lost Chinese model, its relationship to Muqi is clear, as is the absorption of Muqi’s style by early ink painters in Kamakura.

Toward a Local Style in Medieval Kamakura Little else is known about painting in medieval Kamakura until the emergence in the first half of the fifteenth century of a Zen priest-painter known today as “Chnjan Shinkǀ,”40 who is often cited as Shǀkei’s painting 38

GidǀTsuji 1939, 12.15.Kǀryaku 2 and 4.16.Shitoku 2. Gidǀ’s diary is also translated and annotated with commentary in Kageki Hideo 1982. The Muqi paintings are presented to Gidǀ along with other items: in 1380, a brocade garment, Sugihara paper, and a lacquerware incense holder, and in 1385, a large incense holder made of katsura wood, a large Raozhou-porcelain incense burner, and a strand of 100 coins. 39 Ibid., 11.10.Eitoku 2. The Gomotsu on’e mokuroku lists a set of seven silk scrolls, five central images of Kannon flanked by paintings of the “Three Laughers” and the “Four Sleepers,” that may correspond to the paintings recorded in Gidǀ Shnjshin’s diary. The “Three Laughers” (i.e., Huiyuan ㄏ怈, Tao Yuanming 昞㶝㖶, and Lu Xiujing 映ᾖ朄) and “Four Sleepers” (Fenggan, Hanshan, Shide and Fenggan’s tiger) are both common Zen pictorial subjects. 40 The name “Chnjan Shinkǀ” is derived from a centuries-old misreading of two seals that appear on nearly twenty extant paintings associated with this artist. I have recently proposed a tentative alternative reading, either 厓 (kin) or 吋 (tǀ), rather than 䛆 (shin), for the first character of the seal commonly read “Shinkǀ.” This and numerous other problems related to the biography of this artist are discussed in the author’s forthcoming doctoral dissertation, but are beyond the scope of the current study. For an orthodox treatments of Chnjan Shinkǀ based primarily on contradictory

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teacher.41 His extant body of work consists of at least seventeen individual paintings, all mounted as hanging scrolls and all in ink, impressed with some combination of the three seals associated with him, in addition to at least five more attributed works. He painted mostly figural subjects, although his corpus also includes one landscape—appropriately, an image of nearby Mount Fuji—and several pictures within the bird-and-flower genre. As a whole, his oeuvre is characterised by sombreness and restraint, and most importantly, is largely derived from the style of Muqi. As both a monk and painter, he produced images primarily for devotional purposes or for other kinds of displays within the monastic complex. In this way, quite different from later Kamakura painters like Keison, Chnjan Shinkǀ’s painting subjects are largely religious, his paintings exhibit a marked sense of austerity, and he was likely less bound by the kind of formulaic Muqi-style painting models seen in the sixteenth century. In his Dove, a small painting on paper, a stout bird faces straight ahead, perched upon a thin brier branch above a rocky crevice, from which an orchid grows.42 The dove and the manner in which it is described are, without question, informed by Muqi. Similar doves can be found in several Muqi-attributed paintings in Japanese collections. The rest of Chnjan’s Dove, however, seems to borrow from paintings by the earlier Kamakura painter Gyokuen Bonpǀ 䌱䔡㡝剛 (1348-after 1420), such as his Orchids, Bamboo, and Thorns in the Brooklyn Museum, which ultimately follow the mid-fourteenth-century Chinese painter Xuechuang Puming 暒䨿㘖㖶 (act. mid-14th century).43 Chnjan Shinkǀ was certainly not the only medieval Japanese painter to reproduce a Muqi-style dove, but his particular take on the motif is unique. He ignores the way that Muqi’s birds fluff their feathers to fend off the cold, does away with Muqi’s attention to atmosphere, and seems mostly disinterested in modelling. Although at first glance the connection to Muqi is perhaps less clear, a heretofore little noticed group of images of the bodhisattva Kannon produced by anonymous painters active at fifteenth-century Kenchǀji— late Edo and Meiji (1868-1912) period sources, see, in English, Shimizu and Wheelwright 1976, 72-7. Various problems related to the biography of Chnjan Shinkǀ are introduced in Aizawa and Hashimoto 2007, 67-8. 41 Early modern compilations of artists’ biographies often refer to Chnjan Shinkǀ as Kenkǀ Shǀkei’s teacher, and modern scholars have perpetuated this myth despite there being no actual supporting evidence. More likely, Chnjan Shinkǀ was active in Kamakura several generations before Shǀkei, and Chnjan’s paintings served as an important early model for the young Shǀkei. 42 Dove is illustrated and discussed briefly in Aizawa and Hashimoto 2007, 212. 43 On Gyokuen Bonpǀ, see Hoshiyama 1976.

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with many bearing spurious traditional attributions to Chnjan Shinkǀ, Isshi ᶨᷳ, and Kenkǀ Shǀkei—should also be understood, collectively, as a decidedly local take on the style of Muqi. Perhaps the best-known of these is the central icon of White-robed Kannon, Tao Yuanming, and Li Bai, a large silk triptych erroneously attributed to Chnjan Shinkǀ in the Sansǀ Collection in California.44 The iconography of the central icon, a meditative Kannon in white robes seated on a rock in a boundless sea, is of a common type in medieval Japan, with many iconographically similar images having gained attributions to Muqi, not unlike the case of Muqi-style gibbons discussed above. However, the distinctive style of the Sansǀ triptych and its unexpected combination of the bodhisattva with Chinese poets—a marriage of iconic and ostensibly secular imagery common in late medieval Kamakura—betray the hand of a Kenchǀji painter active in the mid-fifteenth century, in the generation after Chnjan Shinkǀ and before Kenkǀ Shǀkei. Another nearly identical composition produced at Kenchǀji around the same can be found among Kenchǀji’s set of thirty-two paintings of Kannon, all of which are, like the Sansǀ Kannon, large, ink monochrome compositions on silk depicting decidedly Muqi-esque bodhisattvas in decidedly Muqi-esque settings (Fig. 1-2).45 Focusing only on the figure of Kannon, the Sansǀ and Kenchǀji figures share similar postures, with their 44 The attribution of this triptych—which is neither signed nor sealed—to Chnjan Shinkǀ is problematic. Although the triptych was once attributed to Kenkǀ Shǀkei and later reattributed to Chnjan Shinkǀ, a recent investigation of these and several additional paintings attributed to Chnjan Shinkǀ and the little known painter Isshi suggest that triptych should be reattributed to an anonymous painter active at Kenchǀji in the mid-fifteenth century, that is, between the periods of activity of Chnjan Shinkǀ and Kenkǀ Shǀkei. The same painter appears to have been responsible for at least two additional paintings: A White-robed Kannon in the Sansǀ Collection currently attributed to Isshi and Li Bai and Immortals, a diptych (and designated Important Cultural Property) in the Tokyo National Museum attributed to Chnjan Shinkǀ. It is possible that the Sansǀ triptych by the anonymous mid-fifteenth-century painter is a copy of an earlier model, perhaps by Chnjan Shinkǀ himself. In the absence of an extant painting by Chnjan Shinkǀ of an iconographically similar White-robed Kannon, a pictorial subject that he surely depicted, the central scroll of the Sansǀ triptych represents the most viable means of accessing his approach to the subject. The Sansǀ triptych is reproduced and discussed by Yoshiaki Shimizu in Shimizu and Wheelwright 1976, 72-7, and by Eva Havlicova in Levine and Lippit 2007, 192-3. The Sansǀ White-robed Kannon attributed to Isshi is also discussed by Shimizu, in Shimizu and Wheelwright 1976, 48-53. 45 Keisǀ and Keison’s paintings are among several Muqi-style doves following Chnjan Shinkǀ’s earlier work. See Aizawa and Hashimoto 2007, 212-3.

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legs crossed and hands held at the knees beneath their robes, wear nearly identical headpieces, and are seated on similarly described rocks. Indeed, these images of Kannon in many ways mirror that of Muqi from his White-robed Kannon, Gibbons, and Crane triptych at Daitokuji. Although the painters of the Sansǀ triptych and Kenchǀji’s set of thirty-two Kannon almost certainly never saw the Daitokuji triptych, they nevertheless had access to rich local collections that included a large body of paintings by or believed to be by Muqi, as well as paintings by Chnjan Shinkǀ and other Kamakura forebears in the style of Muqi. Another similar, currently unpublished painting of a White-robed Kannon in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston may enable the reconstruction of the transmission of this imagery in Kamakura, from Muqi to Chnjan Shinkǀ in the early fifteenth century and on to the anonymous Kenchǀji painters in mid- and late century. The figure of Kannon found in the Sansǀ triptych is so close to the Boston Kannon—which is, like so many images of this type, attributed to the enigmatic painter called Isshi—that the Boston work very well may have served as a model for this type of Kannon in late medieval Kamakura. In any case, it is this very type of Muqi-derived images of White-robed Kannon, represented by Kenchǀji’s Thirty-two Kannon and the Sansǀ triptych, among others, that were most accessible to Keison and other followers of Shǀkei in the sixteenth century. Several examples of their depictions of White-robed Kannon suggest that they reserved for this type of devotional imagery the local Kamakura style, ultimately a version of the Muqi style influenced by the likes of Chnjan Shinkǀ and the anonymous Kenchǀji painters in the generations before Kenkǀ Shǀkei. In one triptych, a White-robed Kannon flanked by landscapes, Keison uses his painting teacher Kenkǀ Shǀkei’s Xia Gui style for the landscapes but turns to Chnjan Shinkǀ for his depiction of Kannon seated on a rock and gazing at a waterfall. And, in Muromachi-period Kamakura at least, there was apparently nothing exceptional about this, for similar juxtapositions of two distinct painting styles within a single triptych can be found throughout sixteenth-century painting from Kamakura. Chnjan Shinkǀ’s flattened version of a Muqi dove also reappears in sixteenth-century Kamakura paintings produced by followers of Shǀkei. Keisǀ places his in a branch of loquat, while Keison’s is perched on a rock beside thorny brambles. Among Kenkǀ Shǀkei’s followers, Keison and Keisǀ in particular would turn time and again to paintings by Chnjan Shinkǀ as an alternative to more fashionable Muqi styles introduced from Kyoto. Previous scholars have characterised this as one part of a more extensive “conception of Muqi” in Kantǀ ink painting, formed by Chnjan Shinkǀ and enduring through the end of the sixteenth century (Aizawa and Hashimoto

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2007, 34-6). While a survey of Chnjan’s corpus does reveal his thorough engagement with works by Muqi or early Japanese syntheses thereof, it is not entirely clear that Keison and other sixteenth-century painters were cognisant of this. It is possible that, for Keison and Keisǀ, “Mokkei” was eggplants, melons and monkeys. For images of Kannon and doves (and, incidentally, Bodhidharma, ĝƗkyamuni descending the mountain, Chinese poets, Budai ⶫ堳 and others), they turned instead to the style of their local predecessor Chnjan Shinkǀ, which they may not have seen as having anything at all to do with Muqi, or Mokkei. It stands to reason that Chnjan Shinkǀ’s significance to these sixteenth-century Kamakura was less as a means of accessing the style of Muqi than as their artistic forebear in Kamakura and as an exemplar of a local style of ink painting unique to Kamakura.

Works Cited Primary Sources Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku ṷ㖍⹝℔䈑䚖拚. 1933. In “Kenkynj shiryǀ: Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku 䞼䨞屯㕁烉ἃ㖍⹝℔䈑䚖拚 .” Bijutsu kenkynj 24 (December). Gidǀ Shnjshin. Knjge nichiyǀ kufnj ryakushnj 䨢厗㖍䓐ⶍ⣓䔍普. In Tsuji Zennosuke 彣┬ᷳ≑, ed. 1939. Knjge nichiyǀ kufnj ryakushnj 䨢厗㖍䓐 ⶍ⣓䔍普. Tokyo: Taiyǀsha. Kawai Tsunehisa, Matsumura Kiyoyuki, and Chikaraishi Chichi ≃䞛䖜dž, comp. Shinpen Kamakura shi 㕘䶐挴ᾱ⽿. In Shiraishi Tsutomu 䘥䞛 ⃳, ed. 2003. Shinpen Kamakura shi, Jǀkyǀ 2 kan: eikyǀ, kaisetsu, sakuin 㕘䶐挴ᾱ⽿ˣ屆ṓḴ↲ˣ⼙枧ί妋婔ί䳊⺽. Tokyo: Kynjko Shoin. Nǀami, comp. Gomotsu on’e mokuroku ⽉䈑⽉䓣䚖拚. In Fujita Tsuneyo 喌䓘䳴ᶾ and Kǀkan Bijutsu Shiryǀ Zokuhen Kankǀkai 㟉↲伶埻屯㕁 䵂䶐↲埴Ể, eds. 1985. Kǀkan bijutsu shiryǀ zokuhen 㟉↲伶埻屯㕁䵂 䶐 2, 149-53. Tokyo: Kǀkan bijutsu shiryǀ zokuhen kankǀkai. Wu Taisu. Songzhai meipu 㜦㔶㠭嬄 (1351). In Shimada Shnjjiro Ⲟ䓘ᾖḴ 恶 and Hiroshima Shiritsu Chnjǀ Toshokan ⸫Ⲟⶪ䩳ᷕ⣖⚛㚠棐, eds. 1988. Shǀsai baifu 㜦㔶㠭嬄. Hiroshima: Hiroshima Shiritu Chnjǀ Toshokan.

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Secondary Sources Aizawa Masahiko 䚠㽌㬋⼎, and Hashimoto Shinji 㧳㛔ヶ⎠. 2007. Kantǀ suibokuga: kata to imeiji no keifu 敊㜙㯜⡐䓣 : ✳̩͜ΙΰͰ̯䲣嬄. Tokyo: Kokusho Kankǀkai. Barnhart, Richard. 2010. “Thinking About Muqi.” Keynote Lecture at the Dynastic Renaissance: Art and Culture of the Southern Song Conference for the National Palace Museum, Taipei, November 23. Fujishima Yukihiko 喌Ⲟ⸠⼎. 1984. “Nihon ni okeru Mokkei-fnj Enkǀ-zu no tenkai: enkǀ no shitai o chnjshin to shite 㖍㛔̬̋̒͌䈏寧桐䋧䋜 ⚛̯⯽攳: 䋧䋜̯⦧ン͓ᷕ⽫̧̩̘.” Bijutsushi kenkynj 伶埻⎚䞼䨞 21 (March): 41-61. Furukawa Motoya ⎌ⶅ⃫ḇ. 2009. “Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku seiritsu ni kansuru ikkosatsu ˬṷ㖍⹝℔䈑䚖拚˭̬敊͌̚ᶨ侫⮇.” Kanagawa Kenritsu Rekishi Hakubutsukan kenkynj hǀkoku 䤆⣰ⶅ䚴䩳 㬜⎚⌂䈑棐䞼䨞⟙⏲ 35: 13-24. Gotǀ Bijutsukan ḼⲞ伶埻棐. 1996. Mokkei: dǀkei no suibokuga 䈏寧烉ㅏ ㅔ̯㯜⡐䓣. Tokyo: Gotǀ Bijutsukan. —. 2006. Kamakura Engakuji no meihǀ: nanahyakujnjni-nen no rekishi o kataru Zen no bunka 挴ᾱ℮奂⮢̯⎵⭅烉ᶫ䘦⋩Ḵ⸜̯㬜⎚͓婆͌ 䤭̯㔯⊾. Tokyo: Gotǀ Bijutsukan. Hashimoto Shinji 㧳㛔ヶ⎠. 2010. “Kantǀ suibokuga to wa nani ka 敊㜙㯜 ⡐䓣̩̰ỽ̌.” Art History Forum 31 (December): 245-64. Hong Sǂn-p’yo 㳒┬㛻, and Tochigi Kenritsu Bijutsukan 㞫㛐䚴䩳伶埻棐, eds. 2008. Chǀsen ƿchǀ no kaiga to Nihon: Sǀtatsu, Taiga, Jakuchnj mo mananda rinkoku no bi 㛅歖䌳㛅̯䴝䓣̩㖍㛔烉⬿忼, ⣏晭, 劍⅚̓ ⬎̡͔晋⚥̯伶. Osaka: Yomiuri Shinbun Osaka Honsha. Hoshiyama Shinya 㗇 Ⱉ 㗳 ḇ . 1976. “Gyokuen Bonpo ni tsuite.” Geijutsugaku Kenkynj 剠埻⬎䞼䨞 2: 33-56. Ide Seinosuke ḽㇳ婈ᷳ庼. 2004. “Sakuhin no aidenteti to gaka no jitsuzon: Chǀ Shikǀ hitsu to sareru butsuga no ba’ai ἄ⑩̯͚͜ͿΫ;͛;͛ ̩䓣⭞̯⭇⬀烉⻝⿅〕䫮̩̖͍͌ṷ䓣̯⟜⎰.” In Ugoku mono: Bijutsuhin no kachi keisei to wa nani ka ̇̐̕ΚΆ烉ˬ伶埻⑩˭̯ Ὁῌ⼊ㆸ̩̰ỽ̌, edited by Tokyo Bunkazai Kenkynjjo 㜙Ṕ㔯⊾屉 䞼䨞㇨, 239-60. Tokyo: Heibonsha. Itǀ Hiromi Ẳ喌⬷夳. 2000. “Kantǀ suibokuga no sakusha Keison, Sekkan no sakuhin 敊㜙㯜⡐䓣̯ἄ侭 ⓻⬓ί暒敊̯ἄ⑩.” Tǀyǀ Daigaku kiyǀ 39: 406-20. Kageki Hideo 哕㛐劙晬, ed. 1982. Kunchnj Knjge nichiyǀ kufnj ryakushnj: Chnjsei Zensǀ no seikatsu to bungaku 妻㲐䨢厗㖍䓐ⶍ⣓䔍普烉ᷕᶾ 䤭₏̯䓇㳣̩㔯⬎. Kyoto: Shibunkaku. Kanagawa Kenritsu Rekishi Hakubutsukan 䤆⣰ⶅ䚴䩳㬜⎚⌂䈑棐, ed. 2007. Kaikan 40-shnjnen kinen tokubetsuten: Sǀgen butsuga 攳棐40␐

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⸜姀⾝䈡⇍⯽烉⬳⃫ṷ䓣. Yokohama: Kanagawa Kenritsu Rekishi Hakubutsukan. Levine, Gregory, and Yukio Lippit. 2007. Awakenings: Zen Figure Painting in Medieval Japan. New York: Japan Society. Matsushita Takaaki 㜦ᶳ昮䪈. 1950. “Mokkei iroiro 䈏寧͎͎̅̅.” Kobijutsu ⎌伶埻 1 (5) (November): 22-9, 37. Miura Katsuo ᶱ㴎⊅䓟. 1987. Kenchǀ Kǀkoku Zenji no ryakushi ⺢攟冰 ⚥䤭⮢̯䔍⎚. In Kamakura Gozan daiichi-i Kenchǀji hihǀ ten 挴ᾱḼ Ⱉ䫔ᶨỵ⺢攟⮢䦀⭅⯽, edited by Kenchǀji and Asahi Shinbunsha 㛅 㖍㕘倆䣦, n.p. Tokyo: Asahi Shinbunsha. Murano Shinsaku 㛹 慶 䛇 ἄ . 2008. “Den-Shǀkei hitsu Kannon-zu (Kenchǀji-zǀ) sanjnjni-fuku no kenkynj ễ䤍⓻䫮奛枛⚛ 炷⺢攟⮢哝炸 ᶱ⋩Ḵ̯ⷭ䞼䨞.” Kajima Bijutsu Zaidan nenpǀ 渧Ⲟ伶埻屉⚋⸜⟙ 26: 482-91. Nara Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan ⣰列⚥䩳⌂䈑棐. 2009. Seichi Ninpǀ: Nihon Bukkyǀ 1300-nen no genrynj, subete wa koko kara yattekita 㔜⛘ ⮏㲊烉㖍㛔ṷ㔁1300⸜̯㸸㳩ˣ̧̧̺̰̤̠̔̔̌͊̎̚ͅ. Nara: Nara Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan. Nezu Bijutsukan 㟡 㳍 伶 埻 棐 , ed. 2001. Nezu Bijutsukan zǀhin sen, shoga-hen 㟡㳍伶埻棐哝⑩怠. Tokyo: Nezu Bijutsukan. Parker, Joseph D. 1999. Zen Buddhist Landscape Arts of Early Muromachi Japan (1336-1573). Buddhist Studies Series. Albany: State University of New York Press. Satǀ Hironobu Ỹ喌⌂ᾉ. 2011. “Kenkynj yoreki, Jǀji ni-nen zuke Engakuji Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku ni tsuite: Karamono o meguru hitobito no shosǀ 䞼䨞ἁ㿅 屆㱣Ḵ⸜Ẁ℮奂⮢ṷ㖍⹝℔䈑䚖拚̧̬̥̅烉Ⓒ 䈑͓͂̑͌Ṣdžȃ䄨⴨.” Kamakura ibun kenkynj 挴ᾱ怢㔯䞼䨞 27 (April): 100-7. Shimao Arata Ⲟ ⯦ 㕘. 2011. “Muromachi jidai no bijutsu shisutemu: Higashiyama gyomotsu no sekai ⭌䓢㗪ẋ̯伶埻ͯͱ;Θ: 㜙Ⱉ⽉䈑 ̯ ᶾ 䓴 .” In “Shinpojiamu: Higashiyama gyomotsu e no shikaku: takaramono to dǀbǀshnj hǀkoku ͯΫΕͰ͞Θ烉ˮˬ㜙Ⱉ⽉䈑˭̹̯ 夾奂ΰ⭅䈑̩⎴㚳埮˯⟙⏲.” Special Issue, Tokugawa Bijutsukan ronshnj ⽛ⶅ伶埻棐婾普 7 (April): 73-9. —. 1996. “The Stewards of Art in Muromachi Japan: Nǀami, Geiami, Sǀami.” Chanoyu Quarterly 84: 7-36. Shimizu, Yoshiaki, and Carolyn Wheelwright. 1976. Japanese Ink Paintings from American Collections: The Muromachi Period: An Exhibition in Honor of Shujiro Shimada. Princeton: Princeton University Art Museum. Suzuki Kei 懜㛐㔔. 1994. “Mokkei shiryǀ 䈏寧屯㕁.” Kokka ⚳厗 1188 (November): 34-7.

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Tamamura Takeji 䌱㛹䪡Ḵ. 1983. Gozan Zensǀ denki shnjsei ḼⰙ䤭₏ễ 姀普ㆸ. Tokyo: Kodansha. Tanihata Akio 察䪗㗕⣓. 1997. “Chajin ga unda ‘Mokkei burando’ 勞Ṣ̍ 䓇̡͔ ‘䈏寧ΎΡΫ΁’.” Geijutsu shinchǀ 48 (January): 51-65. Tochigi Kenritsu Hakubutsukan 㞫㛐䚴䩳⌂䈑棐 and Kanagawa Kenritsu Rekishi Hakubutsukan 䤆 ⣰ ⶅ 䚴 䩳 㬜 ⎚ ⌂ 䈑 棐 . 1998. Kantǀ suibokuga no 200-nen: chnjsei ni miru kata to imeiji no keifu 敊㜙㯜⡐ 䓣烉ᷕᶾ̬夳͌✳̩͜ΙΰͰ̯䲣嬄. Utsunomiya: Tochigi Kenritsu Hakubutsukan and Kanagawa Kenritsu Rekishi Hakubutsukan. Toda Teisuke ㇠䓘䤶ỹ. 1995. “Mokkei-ha Bukan Kanzan Jittoku zu 䈏寧 㳦 寲⸚⭺Ⱉ㊦⼿⚛.” Kokka 1190 (January): 32-5. —. 1978. Mokkei, Gyokkan 䈏寧 · 䌱㼿. Suiboku bijutsu taikei 㯜⡐伶埻 ⣏䲣 3. Tokyo: Kǀdansha. Tǀkyǀ Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan 㜙Ṕ⚥䩳⌂䈑棐. 2003. Kenchǀji sǀken 750-nen kinen tokubetsuten: Kamakura, Zen no genrynj ⺢攟⮢∝⺢ 750 ⸜ 姀 ⾝ 䈡 ⇍ ⯽ 烉 挴 ᾱ — 䤭 ̯ 㸸 㳩 . Tokyo: Tǀkyǀ Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan and Nihon Keizai Shinbunsha. Weidner, Marsha. 1994. Latter Days of the Law: Images of Chinese Buddhism, 850-1850. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. —. 1997. “Fit for a Monks’ Quarters: Monasteries as Centers of Aesthetic Activity in the Later Fourteenth Century.” Ars Orientalis 37: 49-77. Wey, Nancy. 1974. “Mu-ch’i and Zen Painting.” PhD diss., University of Chicago. Wu Xiaojin. 2011. “Metamorphosis of Form and Meaning: Ink Bird-and-Flower Screens in Muromachi Japan.” PhD diss., Princeton University. Yamashita Ynjji Ⱉᶳ塽Ḵ. 1985. “Shikibu Terutada no kenkynj: Kantǀ suibokuga ni kansuru ikkǀsatsu ⺷悐廅⾈̯䞼䨞烉敊㜙㯜⡐䓣̬敊̚ ͌ᶨ侫⮇.” Kokka 1084 (June): 3-9, 11-31.

Shades of Mokkei

21

Fig. 1-1. Artist unknown (traditionally attributed to Muqi), Gibbons, Muromachi period (before 1423). Ink on silk, 153.2 x 97.4 cm. Pair of hanging scrolls. Kenchǀji (Kamakura).

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Fig. 1-2. Artist unknown (traditionally attributed to Kenkǀ Shǀkei), White-robed Kannon, Muromachi period (15th century). Ink on silk, 128 x 50.3 cm. One of thirty-two hanging scrolls. Kenchǀji (Kamakura).

CHAPTER TWO MISTAKES OR MARKETING? WESTERN RESPONSES TO THE HYBRID STYLE OF CHINESE EXPORT PAINTING MARIA KAR-WING MOK

Throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, encounters between China and the West bore fruit in the emergence of an idiosyncratic product for the Western market known as Chinese export painting. Grouped under the term “painting” are: oil painting, watercolour, gouache and reverse-painting on glass. These paintings for export were produced in large quantities in Canton (now Guangzhou), when from 1757 to 1842 the city was the sole port of access to China for foreign trade as a consequence of the control the Qing (1644-1911) government wished to exert over Sino-Western trade. As its name indicates, Chinese export painting catered to a market in the West and was produced by Chinese artists working for studios in Canton, and later in further treaty ports opened after the Second Opium War (1856-60), notably Hong Kong and Shanghai. These paintings were meant for “export”; they were never intended for the local market. The market in the West treasured a set of aesthetic values very different from those of the Chinese, which explains the emulation of Western art and the use of Western media and techniques in Chinese export painting. However, apart from the exception of a few household names, such as Lamqua (1801/1802-?)1 and Youqua (act. 1840s-70s), whose works matched 1

The most important piece of evidence regarding the age of Lamqua is in the Hong Kong Museum of Art. It is an inscription on the back of the frame of an oil painting entitled Self-Portrait of Lamqua (accession no. AH1972.0010) that says, “Lamqua/ Aged 52/ Painted by himself/ Canton 1853” (Dated 1854 in Chinese, a discrepancy awaiting further research). The date of Lamqua’s death remains a mystery, but literary accounts seem to suggest that he was no longer in business around the 1860s.

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the ideals and methods of the West, the majority of Chinese export artists were producing art of a hybrid style—non-Chinese but not completely Western. If judged solely from the standard of Western art, most of the paintings could be considered engaging endeavours with thought-provoking errors in composition, space, chiaroscuro, etc. And yet, judging from the quantity of extant examples, these “imperfect” works were rather popular, implying that even though the Western market held high regards for their own artistic traditions, they did not seem to mind the technical imperfection. This is quite intriguing, considering the rare occasions that any market is ready to spend on “flawed” products. A further study on stylistic features of Chinese export painting and relevant textual references, particularly the writings of Westerners who had been to China, may help illustrate how this idiosyncratic commodity was perceived and received by Western customers during the late eighteenth and mid nineteenth centuries.

Copies or Derivations Chinese export painting artists were primarily self-taught. There is no evidence that any of these artists received any formal and extensive tutelage in Western art, although many researchers tend to think that Western artists who had been to South China must have left behind some influences, most of their sojourns were too short and none of them left concrete, unquestionable record of acquiring Chinese students. Rather than learning from Western artists in person, it is commonly agreed among art historians that the skills and concepts of Western visual art presentation were learned through exposure to the works of Western artists which were ample in the form of prints. This learning channel was most convenient since Chinese export artists were producing copies of Western works and prints for sale. Sir George Staunton (1737-1801) (1797, vol. III, 125), who came to China with the distinguished Macartney Mission from 1792 to 1794, spoke of these Cantonese copies of European prints, implying their quality must have been remarkable enough that a “gentleman eminent for his taste in London” would add a coloured copy made in China of a print from a study of Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723-92) to his collection of valuable paintings. Of the Cantonese artists who executed such replicas, Staunton (Ibid., 385) called them “uncommonly expert in imitating European works. They mend, and even make watches, copy paintings, and colour drawings with great success.” Several other visitors noted that European prints were brought over and transcribed into oils of remarkable quality. John Barrow (1764-1848) (1806, 327), secretary to Lord Macartney (1737-1806), noted “coloured prints of Europe that are carried out to Canton are copied there

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with wonderful fidelity”. Apart from textual references, pictorial references testify to this rather widely known practice of copying from European paintings, engravings and, later, photographs for the export art market. Chinese Artists—from a Sketch by our Special Artist in China found in The Illustrated London News, 30 April 1859 (Fig. 2-1),2 clearly showing a studio in Hong Kong where artists were making copies and enlargements of Western portraits from daguerreotypes. Many such copies were duplicates made on demand. Carl Crossman (1991, 162, 167 and 170), curator of the Peabody Museum,3 remarked that oil paintings based on Western prints were very popular and produced in large numbers. He also noted examples in the Peabody collection that are extremely faithful to their originals, so difficult to distinguish that some of these copies have passed for Western works. Although a good part of the export art business was established in the fabrication of duplicates, extant examples show that the majority of the export paintings were neither copies nor exact duplicates. There is an interesting group of works that resemble duplicates, but are in fact works of Western derivation. Their nature is best described by the following observation of a customer in an export painting shop/workshop: “these drawings are not finished by copying from others, neither are they altogether original” (Downing 1838, 96). Temple on the Henan Canal, Guangzhou (1838) (Fig. 2-2) and A Temple in Henan, Guangzhou (mid-19th century) (Fig. 2-3) show two almost identical works that suggest stark traces of imitation. Fig. 2-2 is a coloured lithography after a work by Auguste Borget (1808-77) who travelled to Canton, Hong Kong and Macao from 1838 to 1839, making textual and pictorial records along the way. He wrote about this scene in his travelogue La Chine et les Chinois (1842).4 Apparently, he had visited the site and sketched this image on-site. Fig. 2-3, the gouache by Tingqua (a.k.a. Guan Lianchang 斄倗㖴) (act. 1840s-70s) is almost a mirror image of Borget’s, indicating that he must have seen a printed copy, if not the original. As Charles Toogood Downing (dates unknown) (1838, 99) observed during his visits to these export painting shops, although an artist may start his work by tracing the outline from a Western print or template, he would continue the 2

This loose page is in the collection of the Hong Kong Museum of Art (accession no. AH1980.0042). 3 The Peabody Essex Museum has in its custody one of the most extensive collections of Chinese export paintings. 4 Auguste Borget wrote that the scene was located in Henan, opposite the foreign factories. For details of his description of the scene, see Borget 1842, 25 and plate 29.

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rest of the work independently: Rarely after this is it necessary for the Chinese artist to look at his copy; the perfection of the work then depends entirely upon his own taste. Some, who are very experienced, are able to finish it altogether without any assistance after the outline is taken, but in general they refer to their model occasionally.

Hence, apart from the stunning resemblance in composition, variations in the details can be discerned in Fig. 2-3. The rustic charm of the shed, the temple, the village and the old trees in Borget’s image is replaced by a less rugged, and rather new and tidy rendering. As a native, Tingqua also managed to give a more authentic depiction of the dragons on the temple roof, the temple gate and the lantern. The reflection of the modified red temple gate in water is a convincing sign that Tingqua did not blindly copy from Borget, instead he “learned” how to handle reflections—a concept much neglected in traditional Chinese landscape painting. Guided by, rather than entirely copying from the works of Western artists, Chinese export artists were exposed to Western art and adapted to its general principles and pictorial conventions. A typical example of many Chinese export port scenes of the late eighteenth to early nineteenth century, View of the City of Guangzhou from Pearl River (early 19th century) (Fig. 2-4) is characterised by a low horizon and a sweeping sky, placing the viewer somewhere in mid-air, far away from shore. Influence of the viewpoint and exacting details of European port scenes of the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries has been noticed by art historians (Crossman 1991, 111). That theory can be substantiated when Fig. 2-4 is compared with the work of the Dutch draughtsman John Nieuhoff (1618-72), Distant View of Guangzhou (c. 1655) (Fig. 2-5).5 The echo is prominent; the major difference lies in the water crafts; the vessels in the Chinese artist’s version have far less variety in type, size, positioning and foreshortening, revealing a less mature understanding of proportion, spacing as well as modelling of three-dimensionality. Guangzhou Factories (c. 1810) (Fig. 2-6) exemplifies a tight, conventional vocabulary in horizontal composition repeated and adopted over decades: a lowered shoreline that gives a strangely high vantage point, a narrow strip 5

John Nieuhoff, or Jan Nieuhof, travelled to China with the Dutch Embassy in 1655. The paintings recording his voyages were published with his commentary in his famous travelogue, An Embassy from the East India Company of the United Provinces to the Grand Tartar Cham Emperor of China (1769). Many of his works are the earliest views of Chinese towns and ports ever presented to the West.

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of space left for the architectural strip between a vast sky and the river, and boats neatly but rather unrealistically placed along the river in the foreground. The stark, bare, almost flat quality that finds its origin in the engraved views of seventeenth-century Dutch and English ports is again evident. While View of the City of Guangzhou from Pearl River (Fig. 2-4) is a depiction of a broader view of Canton, Guangzhou Factories (Fig. 2-6) portrays only the “foreign factories”6 in the southwestern suburbs but shares the same composition. What we see here is a prototype of all export pictures of the foreign factories dating from the mid-eighteenth century to the 1830s, showing how closely Chinese export artists followed the types of Western artworks made available to them. While earlier port scenes resembled tightly structured Dutch landscapes, later examples followed the nineteenth-century change of artistic taste in the West. Works after the 1840s echoed the romantic trend, resulting in more freedom in composition and viewpoint (See Crossman 1991, 128-30). Differing from the conventional and unrealistically high viewpoint of earlier formats, Borget’s work of the same theme, Foreign Factories, Guangzhou (1838) (Fig. 2-7), offers a more natural composition with a much lower vantage point, taking the viewer down closer to the level of the water. Larger in proportion to the houses ashore and corresponding to their actual spatial relationship, the water vessels are arranged in a realistic and rather casual manner; they overlap each other, with masts and hulls blocking the houses. This viewpoint of the foreign factories, resembling what one would have seen from a boat close to shore, has been adopted by the Cantonese export artist Tingqua in his work bearing the same title (Foreign Factories, Guangzhou, in the Hong Kong Museum of Art collection, accession no. AH1980.0005.005) though in a less sophisticated manner. Because these are not exact copies but derivations, the change of style has been followed closely but the level of technique would not always tally. This lapse of technical understanding is also very obvious in interior scenes. A Chinese export interior scene, entitled Receiving Guest (mid-19th century) (Fig. 2-8), clearly adopts Western linear perspective in an attempt to create a convincing space of accurate proportions and a sense of depth. For instance, the lines of the top centre of the arch narrow to a vanishing point at the horizontal scroll on the wall outside. However, if the lines of the ceiling, the windows and the floor are joined, different eye levels and vanishing points appear. Anyone familiar with Western perspective may 6

Western traders resided and conducted business at the special quarter named “foreign factories” where European style buildings were leased to them. A “factory” was a trading establishment.

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judge this Chinese work defective. However, those acquainted with the perspective used in traditional Chinese art may immediately relate to the multi-perspective experience offered by traditional Chinese ink painting. So, are these imperfections resulting from ineptitude? Or are they merely characteristics of Chinese export painting?

Imperfect or Hybrid? Perspective is not the only area where these highly “westernised” export images betray principles of Western art.The exceptionally fine details that are often recognised as a distinctive feature of Chinese export painting could be interpreted as an inept adaptation of Western techniques. The fine brushwork for instance, marks a significant difference in the depiction of waterways and the sky between the work by Marciano Baptista (1826-96) 7 and Chinese export artists. Baptista manifests mastery in watercolour to give the sky and clouds subtle tonal nuances in a soft pastel palette. Chinese export artists define the water in minute brushstrokes, the ripples are represented by rigidly delineated stripes, and reflections rendered in great delicacy. The sky and clouds are also painted with fineness, lacking the spontaneity of Western watercolours so nicely exemplified by the free, spontaneous brushwork of Baptista. Before one determines whether it is imperfection, technical mistakes, or indigenous specialty in question, attention should be drawn to the fact that Chinese export artists were learning mostly from prints, rather than systematically from Western artists; it was therefore naturally harder for them to assimilate brushwork, or the Western method of paint application. The use of extremely fine strokes, particularly in watercolours and gouaches, is not so dissimilar to those in traditional Chinese painting. In fact, from the descriptions of those who had actually seen these Chinese artists at work in Canton, one may safely conclude that Chinese brushes were used: The brushes employed in painting are similar to those in common use for writing, but are made much finer, consisting of a piece of small bamboo with hair fastened into one of the extremities (Downing 1838, 100).

The way the painting tool is manipulated may accentuate the linear effect, which might be a deliberate decision rather than a technical naivety. 7

Professional artist, Marciano Baptista, was born and lived in Macao before moving to Hong Kong by the 1850s. It is believed that he was assistant to George Chinnery (1774-1852) and adopted Chinnery’s style. He was well known for his topographical painting.

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Downing (1838, 100-1) noted that in order to achieve extremely fine strokes, some artists would paint simultaneously with two brushes. The smaller is held perpendicularly between the fingers of the right hand as in writing, while the larger is placed horizontally between the first and second fingers of the same hand.

It suggests that the artist was holding the brush, in this case the smaller brush, in a native manner, otherwise there will be no room between the first two fingers for the larger brush. The Studio of Tingqua (Fig. 2-9),8 is a depiction of the studio of one of the most celebrated Chinese export artists, best known for his watercolours in the bird-and-flower genre, port scenes and interiors. The studio (with shop below) was located at 16 New China Street, known to have been frequented by Westerners who desired works that epitomised a slice of China, such as the rows of export pictures seen here hanging on the walls. This important work demonstrates that an established artist might employ other painters or apprentices, such as these three working by the windows, to cope with the numerous orders. It is also interesting to note that the painters are all holding their brushes in the traditional Chinese manner. 9 Lamqua, the “prince of Canton limners”, 10 offered works both in English and Chinese styles, as recalled by one of his customers who wrote: Thence my friend took me to Lamqua’s studio—Lamqua, the great painter, the Millais or Ouless of South China […] He offered to paint me English fashion (that is in good drawing and perspective) or China fashion (out of all drawing and proportion and perspective)—China fashion to be £8, English fashion £10. He could paint in both styles, and it was indifferent to him which (Salis 1892, 12, quoted in Crossman 1991, 89).

Another customer remembered “when the [trading] season is over and his foreign friends have left the port, he finds sufficient employment among his own countrymen” (Downing 1838, 91). The trading season, which started in the summer and ended in January or February of the following 8

The studio has long been identified as that of Tingqua’s because several versions of this work exist, the most important one bears the name “Tingqua” on the sign board over the window at centre. See Crossman 1991, 191 and colour plates 64 and 186. 9 Similarly, the Chinese export artists in Fig. 2-1 also hold the brush in the same way, suggesting that many of these artists probably knew how to paint in the native Chinese way. 10 A compliment by Osmond Tiffany (1849, 85).

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year, was determined by the direction of the monsoon. It seems that Lamqua was not the only artist working in Chinese style, “he has under him many natives who follow the other branches of the business after the Chinese style, in separate apartments of the same house (shop)” (Ibid.). Lamqua’s works are regarded as demonstration of his full understanding of the technical and aesthetic qualities of Western art, all extant examples are in English fashion; there are no known examples of Lamqua’s “China fashion” works. He was probably one of the very few who could manage to paint in both styles, the majority, as extant works reflect, knowing only how to paint in the native manner, interpreted in their own way, managing to produce works in a westernised style, format and media. That is why their works were not totally in English fashion, nor quite exactly in China fashion, but somewhere in between, hence a hybrid of both fashions, encapsulated by the unique features of export art, such as the very fine brushwork and the multiple perspectives. To some, they may look naïve or erroneous. If the premise that Chinese export artists might have been trained initially in the Chinese tradition is logical, then it is not surprising to find other Chinese elements in their westernised works. A standard export flower-and-bird painting features a very decorative style reminiscent of the meticulously drawn traditional Chinese ink paintings of the academic school. 11 Pheasants, birds, pine trees and flower sprays are common subjects in traditional Chinese painting. Similar motifs can be seen in export flower-and-bird painting, rendered in detailed delineation and fine colouring with a void ground similar to traditional indigenous works. The most obvious Western influence is a touch of chiaroscuro to give a sense of three-dimensionality. Other non-Western subject matter that inspired export painting is found in a very popular genre with the industries of China trade as its content. The serial sets illustrating the respective stages in production of tea, silk, cotton and ceramics come from an indigenous tradition of Gengzhitu 侽䷼⚾,12 or diagrammatic pictures that represent agriculture and silk production. The nineteenth-century version of Gengzhitu produced during the Kangxi ⹟䅁 period (1662-1722) by the court artist Jiao Bingzhen 䃎䥱屆 (1689-1726) 11

Craig Clunas (1984, 89) opined that among all subject matters of Chinese export painting, flower-and-bird had the most solid background in the native pictorial tradition and was well received by Western clients. 12 Gengzhitu was first painted during the Southern Song dynasty (1127-1279 AD) by Lou Shu 㦻䑡 (1090-1162). The original work is no longer extant, but survives in prints. Other versions, imperial production or civilian editions, were produced during the Qing dynasty (1644-1911 AD).

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circulated widely in the form of civil prints. Although this edition shows elements of Western perspective introduced by Jesuit missionaries at court, it mainly adopts traditional Chinese draughtsmanship and palette. Export sets employ much brighter colours and represent volume by heavier tonal gradations, but otherwise follow closely the formula of the native album, making them the most legitimate hybrid.

Why Hybrid Art㸽 Even though the use of native tools, native technical training and native inspiration have been identified in Chinese export painting, it is hard to say that these are the reasons for the emergence of the hybrid style, at least not the major reasons, and definitely not the only reason. Not if one remembers that Chinese export artists were excellent copyists. Numerous satisfied customers testified to this with abandon remarks such as, “It is astonishing with what correctness the Chinese will follow their original, and finish their copy with great beauty” (Downing 1838, 95). The copies they produced that deeply impressed their Western clients, were done by the very same kind of paint brush, held in the very same native manner, and were executed by the very same people who were possibly trained in the native way. So why did they not produce works that at least look “purely” Western? They would have been able to. Why combined Western aesthetic elements with Chinese elements? Why produced a hybrid? To answer this, a review of how the West saw traditional Chinese art is necessary. Although few genuine Chinese paintings reached Europe before the nineteenth century, Chinese painting was a common target for criticism, especially for those who had had access to them. The Portuguese Jesuit Alvarez Semedo (1585/6-1658), who lived in China for some twenty years, commented: In painting they have more curiosities, than perfection. They know not how to make use of either oyles [oils], or shadowing in this art, and do therefore paint the figures of men without any grace at all (Martini and Semedo 1655, 56).

During his stay in China on the Macartney mission, John Barrow (1806, 323) noted: With regard to painting, they can be considered in no other light than as miserable daubers, being unable to pencil out a correct outline of many objects, to give body to the same by the application of proper lights and shadows, and to lay on the nice shades of colour, so as to resemble the tints

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32 of nature.

The American missionary Samuel Wells Williams (1812-84) (1857, vol. II, 173) was very specific in his criticism: Even the best painters have no proper idea of perspective, or of blending light and shade, but the objects are exhibited as much as possible on a flat surface, as if the painter drew his picture from a balloon, and looked at the country with a vertical sun shining above him. As might be inferred from their deficiencies in linear drawing and landscapes, they eminently fail in delineating the human figure in its right proportions, position, and expressions, and of grouping the persons introduced into a piece in natural attitudes […] Shadows upon portraits are considered a great defect, and in order to avoid them a front view is usually taken. Landscapes are also painted without shading, the remote objects being as minutely depicted as those in the foreground, and the point of view in pieces of any size is changed for the nearer and remote parts. The vanishing point of a picture is not a single one, which would of course be inferred from their ignorance of perspective and the first elements of drawing.

The lengthy forty-four years Williams stayed in China, with a large portion of that in Canton, makes it natural to question whether the painters he referred to are Chinese painters in general, or export painters with whom Westerners would have had so much more opportunity to enter into contact. Fortunately, the comments quoted above were followed by compliments to export artists. The paintings obtained at Canton may, some of them, seem to disprove these opinions of the mediocrity attained by the artists in that country, but the productions of the copyists in that city are not the proper criteria of native uneducated art. Some of them have had so much practice in copying foreign productions, that it has begun to correct their own notions of designing. These constitute, however, a very small proportion of the whole, and have had no effect on national taste (Ibid., 174-5).

These critics, who apparently did not have the slightest idea of the philosophies behind Chinese aesthetics and pictorial representation, mirrored the taste and preference of their fellow countrymen, and their comments epitomised the reception of Chinese art in the West in the mid nineteenth century. As potential customers of export art, and since they had such negative views of Chinese art, one may wonder why the export artists did not resort purely to Western techniques, and avoid altogether the slightest traits of Chinese art. In fact, there were artists who were able to do that. The portraitist

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Spoilum (act. 1770-1805)13 is known for a flat and clear-cut style, with only light shadowing and minimal three-dimensionality found in the sitter’s face. It has been pointed out that Spoilum’s portraits show close resemblance to English Tudor portraits or the works of eighteenth-century American portraitists 14 in using a half-length, rigid, frontal pose, with the figure detached from the background by a crisp edge and a spattering of bright details over the dark garments. The resemblance to Western portraits is not surprising because these artists copyied Western family portraits on demand. Another export artist whose works show no trace of the Chinese touch is the celebrated Lamqua. By any standard, he had mastered the Western conventions of portraiture learned from, or at least inspired by, the most well-known expatriate English artist George Chinnery (1774-1852).15 His mastery shown in his self-portrait (dated 1853/4, in the Hong Kong Museum of Art collection, accession no. AH1972.0010) illustrates stunning fidelity to Chinnery’s dramatic chiaroscuro of setting a theatrically spot-lit face against a dark background, the use of bold vermilion to highlight the lips and the corners of the eyes and nose, with swift and confident strokes particularly evident on the collar, all of which demonstrate his full understanding of the technical and aesthetic qualities of Western art, at least as represented by Chinnery and his contemporaries. 16 Lamqua’s highly accomplished work positioned him as a serious rival to Chinnery. In those very popular port scenes, Chinese artists whose dexterity parallels any Western landscape painter have also left behind works that 13 Spoilum is the first Cantonese export artist known for his Western style portraits on reverse glass and canvas. 14 G.H.R. Tillotson (1987, 93) noted the resemblance to English Tudor portraits. Crossman (1991, 44) noted the shared qualities between Spoilum and American painters such as John Brewster (1766-1854) and William Jennys (1774-1859). 15 George Chinnery left Britain to India in 1802 at the age of 28 before settling in Macao in 1825. His style had a great influence on the amateur and professional artists in the region. Chinnery was noted “stoutly denying” Lamqua’s being a pupil of his; their contemporaries seemed to hold contradictory opinions. Conner 1993, 263; see also Tillotson 1987, 96-7. The controversy remains unresolved among scholars, but a rather convincing opinion was given by Patrick Conner (1999, 50-1), who questions direct instruction because Lamqua was capable of sophisticated portraits within two years after Chinnery arrived, and the latter would have avoided the potential risk of nurturing a rival in view of the already flourishing business of export painting. 16 Lamqua not only made reference to Chinnery’s works, Osmond Tiffany (1849, 85) noted that at his studio/workshop, “His walls are decorated with his own copies of English paintings, and he possesses the engraved works of several British artists. His admiration for Sir Thomas Lawrence is profound.”

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witness their ability. Guangzhou “New” Factories (c.1855) (Fig. 2-10) is a work believed to be painted by Youqua. The most distinctive feature is his choice of an oblique wide angle, showing more depth and three-dimensionality, abandoning the conventional frontal view used in most export paintings of foreign factories. Not only is the perspective impeccable, accuracy in proportion and foreshortening of the densely painted houses and crowded shore, a sophisticated composition, naturalistic gradation of colours in the clouds, a strong chiaroscuro achieved depicting sunlight through the clouds onto the centre of the river; all are elements reflecting technical maturity in the Western art tradition, without any trace of hybrid style. The non-hybrid works by artists like Lamqua, Youqua, and a few others may seem like a logical choice for Western customers who had been showing their dislike for local Chinese art for decades, as quoted above, but the vast number of export paintings in hybrid style that were bought and shipped out of China suggests that at least part of the Western market had also fallen for those works which are marked by gaudy colours, minute brushstrokes and a naïve or flawed perspective. Market demand may be the explanation for these stylistic characteristics that would not have been otherwise continued through generations of export artists, had everyone chosen to paint like Lamqua. In fact, again in textual excerpts, the market preference was rather discernible, and many such commentaries coincide with the stylistic quality of export painting, still visible on extant items today. Among the earliest travellers, Pehr Osbeck (1723-1805) (1771, 242) seemed to have appreciated the use of intense colour: The painting of this country, representing men and their employments, trees, plants, flowers, fruit, birds, and the like, by their lively colours compensate for the want of art.

To those who may be sceptical as to what “the painting of this country” Osbeck referred, his footnote under the above comments clearly points to export painting: Some years ago the Chinese were very defective in their drawings; but of late, since they have had opportunities of seeing the performances of European artists, they are much improved, and particularly in perspective, with which they were before perfectly unacquainted (Ibid., 242-3).

John Barrow (1806, 326), who has been quoted for his relentless criticism on native Chinese art, found export art very pleasing,

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As to those specimens of beautiful flowers, birds and insects, sometimes brought over to Europe, they are the work of artists at Canton where, from being in the habit of copying prints and drawings, carried thither for the purpose of being transferred to porcelain, or as articles of commerce, they have acquired a better taste than in the interior parts of the country.

The popularity Chinese export art gained in the late eighteenth century sustained well into the nineteenth century. Downing (1838, 88) was not as negative on Chinese art, he objectively pointed out the cultural gap neglected by other critics: “In China, a high degree of perfection has been attained in painting, but in a totally different style from that of other nations.” Interestingly, in the lengthy discussion he devoted to the art of painting in his book chapter, Downing raised an insightful point on the appreciation of art: The degree of perfection noticed in these performances is, of course, vary variable, depending in a great measure upon the cultivation of the mind of the artist; for it requires, even in our own country, a long course of experience to be able to relish its higher excellences. Thus among the lower orders in Great Britain, a gaudy, showy daub, would be preferred to a Correggio or a Raphael, as the expression, grouping, etc., are completely thrown away upon such people, but who yet admire the brightness of colours which they can well understand (Ibid.).

While one may disagree with the connection between inabilities in fine art appreciation and social rank, he gave a clue to the popularity of the colouring in export art. Of all artistic elements, pleasing colours are most readily received by viewers, which may be the reasons behind the popularity of export reverse glass painting, just as Downing (Ibid., 112) noted, Our Jack-tars are much caught by this showy material, and generally carry away some trumpery specimens to dazzle the eyes of the fair dames of Shadwell and Blackwall.

Osmond Tiffany (1823-95) from Baltimore, was also fond of the colouring. On pith paper, which at the time was often referred to as “rice paper”, Tiffany (1849, 84) saw the colouring and the palette as a prominent quality: nothing can exceed the splendour of the colours employed in representing the trades, occupations, life, ceremonies, religions, etc. of the Chinese, which all appear in perfect truth in these productions.

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According to him, these works deserved appreciation and were a good buy. Not only the proper colours, but the exact attitudes of the figures are worthy of admiration […] They cost, for the usual class of excellence, from one to two dollars a dozen; which is not high, when we consider their truth, the time spent upon them, and the variety of colours employed (Ibid.).

Samuel Wells Williams, who has written extensively on native Chinese art and export art, also recorded the popularity of pith paper painting, a major type of export watercolour. Williams (1857, vol. II, 175) noted that colouring was the reason of its success, “The paintings on pith paper […] are also much sought after for their splendid colourings.” Second to dashing colours, fineness is another feature that received a great deal of compliments. Downing (1838, 99-100) again was very explicit in his opinions: It now remains but to mention the way in which they work to produce that extreme fineness of detail, which is so conspicuous in the best specimens of these drawings. In some of them the workmanship is so fine, that you fancy you can actually see the threads of which the tunic is composed, belonging to a man very little larger than a grain of rice. The fine down or rather feathers on the back of a butterfly are often so perfect, that it would appear almost as if they had been counted for the purpose.

He also thought that such fineness was achieved by the way the brush was held, that is, specifically pointed out not the Western way but the native way: The perpendicular way in which the pencil is held by these people enables a finer stroke to be made than perhaps could easily be accomplished by our way of handling (Ibid., 102).

Another piece of valuable information other than its image on The Illustrated London News (Fig. 2-1) is the accompanying text quoted as follows: Some of the native painters are extremely clever, and a few of them have engrafted European perspective upon Chinese minuteness, and are consequently able to produce very creditable oil and water-colour pictures.

To offer a matrix of Western aesthetic features, such as “perspective” here, with those of the Chinese, such as “minuteness”, was an “extremely clever” act, a tactic, a deliberate decision to please the buyers, and judging from the comments of the contented customers, the tactic worked very well.

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Conclusion The focus of this chapter centres mainly on stylistic features and tendencies discernible in Chinese export painting. The terms “hybrid” and “hybridity” used throughout this discussion refer to the signature style of Chinese export painting that is non-Chinese but not completely Western. There is no intention to relate such style to the rhetoric of hybridity that focuses on the impact of mixture upon identity and culture, as characterised by theories of leading scholars such as Homi Bhabha and Stuart Hall. There were borrowing, exchange and combination of visual language and taste, without developing a cultural paradigm that altered the authority of power as argued by Bhabha, or creating new cultural identities and groups as those identified by Hall. Such activities seemed more of a commercial tactics taken by export painters, a very small group whose influence on the historical development of Chinese art still awaits attention from and further research by the academia. Apart from a small number of Chinese artists whose works technically equal those of their contemporary Western professional artists, many of the export artworks resorted to over-embellishing adornment, partially emulating compositions or themes from their Western counterparts; they adhered to native genres and presentation, with minimal Western touches; they were less “westernised”, but nonetheless appreciated by their Western clientele who claimed, “we do not look for the higher excellences of the art, but are content if they exhibit splendid colours and great minuteness of detail” (Downing 1838, 103). Equipped with an acute sense to the concurrent taste in the West, the artists reacted ably to create a new type of art, which embodies hybridity and exotic appeal and was well accepted in the Western market. Some important traits of this hybrid art, such as minute brushwork, exuberant colours and non-Western perspective, could be easily taken for technical mistakes or immaturity if their works are judged purely and narrowly from conventional Western aesthetic standards, without realising that such features could be reassessed as stylistic characteristics developed over decades targeting the Western taste for Chinese art, not necessarily authentically Chinese, but nonetheless attractive in the eyes of those who acquired these works. Such intention of the commodity providers may well be called marketing strategy in modern terminology. Other market-oriented tactics may be found, for instance, in the choice of subject matter, particularly those embedded with fantasies of the Orient, such as scenes of Chinese corporal punishment and settings with the cloistered Chinese ladies, that so intrigued Western audiences. Exotic content, much like the above-discussed stylistic and technical features, did

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not offer an authentic epitome of China and Chinese art to the West, but would make export paintings highly desirable objects of curiosity, which further account for their popularity in the West.

Works Cited Primary Sources Barrow, John. 1806. Travels in China. London: Printed for Cadell and Davies. Borget, Auguste. 1842. La Chine et les Chinois. Paris: Goupil et Vibert. Downing, C. Toogood. 1838. The Fan-qui in China in 1836-1837, vol. II. London: Henry Colburn. Martini, Martino, and Alvaro Semedo. 1655. Bellum Tartaricum, or The Conquest of the Great and Most Renowned Empire of China, by the Invasion of the Tartars ... together with a Map of the Provinces, and Chief Cities of the Countries. London: John Crook. Osbeck, Peter. 1771. A Voyage to China and the East Indies. London: Printed for Benjamin White. Staunton, Sir George. 1797. An Authentic Account of an Embassy from the King of Great Britain to the Emperor of China, vol. III. London: W. Bulmer and Co. for G. Nicol. Tiffany, Osmond Jr. 1849. The Canton Chinese or the American’s Sojourn in the Celestial Empire. Boston: James Munroe. Williams, Wells S. 1857. The Middle Kingdom, vol. II. New York: Wiley & Halsted.

Secondary Sources Clunas, Craig. 1984. Chinese Export Watercolours. London: Victoria & Albert Museum. Conner, Patrick. 1993. George Chinnery, 1774-1852: Artist of India and the China Coast. Suffolk: Antique Collectors’ Club. —. 1999. “Lamqua. Western and Chinese Painter.” Arts of Asia 29 (2) (March-April): 46-64. Crossman, Carl L. 1991. The Decorative Arts of the China Trade: Paintings, Furnishings and Exotic Curiosities. Suffolk: Antique Collectors’ Club. Tillotson, G.H.R. 1987. Fan Kwae Pictures: The Hongkong Bank Art Collection. London: Spink & Son.

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Fig. 2-1. Anonymous, Chinese Artists—from a Sketch by our Special Artist in China, illustrated in The Illustrated London News, 30 April 1859, p. 428. Print on paper, 40.5 x 28 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1980.0042.

Fig. 2-2. Auguste Borget (1808-77) (drawn), Eugene Ciceri (1813-90) (lithographed), Temple on the Henan Canal, Guangzhou, 1838. Coloured lithograph, 26.3 x 41 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1964.0332.029.

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Fig. 2-3. Attributed to Tingqua (act. 1840s-70s), A Temple in Henan, Guangzhou, mid-19th century. Gouache on paper, 18.3 x 25 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1980.0004.017.

Fig. 2-4. Anonymous, View of the City of Guangzhou from Pearl River, early 19th century. Gouache on silk, 40 x 70 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1964.0162.004.

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Fig. 2-5. John Nieuhoff (1618-72), Distant View of Guangzhou, c. 1655. Engraving, 18 x 29 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Donated by Sir Paul Chater. Museum accession no. AH1964.0111.

Fig. 2-6. Anonymous, Guangzhou Factories, c. 1806. Oil on canvas, 19.5 x 26 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Donated by Sir Robert Ho Tung. Museum accession no. AH1964.0029.

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Fig. 2-7. Auguste Borget (1808-77) (drawn), Eugene Ciceri (1813-90) (lithographed), Foreign Factories, Guangzhou, 1838. Coloured lithograph, 24.7 x 40.7 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1964.0332.023.

Fig. 2-8. Anonymous, Receiving Guest, mid-19th century. Gouache on paper, 38 x 50 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1974.0001.002.

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Fig. 2-9. Tingqua (act. 1840s-70s), The Studio of Tingqua, mid-19th century. Gouache on paper, 17.5 x 26.5 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Museum accession no. AH1988.0012.

Fig. 2-10. Anonymous, Guangzhou “New” Factories, c. 1855. Oil on canvas, 64.6 x 110.5 cm. Collection of Hong Kong Museum of Art. Donated by Sir Robert Ho Tung. Museum accession no. AH1964.0039.

CHAPTER THREE “PAINTED PAPER OF PEKIN”: THE TASTE FOR EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY CHINESE PAPERS IN BRITAIN, C. 1918 - C. 1945 CLARE TAYLOR

No experience could be more delightful than to waken in a bedroom hung with “painted paper of Pekin”; unless it be to imagine ourselves, in pleasant company, drinking fragrant hyson or orange pekoe out of cups of porcelain, while the clock chimes, the mandarin nods his head from side to side, and the false nightingale jumps out of his gilded box to sing (Sitwell 1945, 117).

This passage was first published in 1945 by the poet and writer, Sir Sacheverell Sitwell (1897-1988), in his survey of British Architects and Craftsmen. It draws on a well-known eighteenth-century account, that of the poet and playwright Marie Anne Fiquet du Bocage (1710-1802), who described breakfasting in 1751 in the closet of the Bluestocking Elizabeth Montagu’s (1718-1800) London house which was lined with painted paper of Pekin, and adorned with the prettiest Chinese furniture; a long table, covered with pellucid linen, and a thousand glittering vases presented to the view coffee, biscuits, cream, butter, bread toasted in many ways, and exquisite tea (Quoted in Hutcheon 1907, 204-5; Baird 2003, 45-6).

Du Bocage’s description embodies many of the contemporary attitudes to eighteenth-century imported Chinese paper: its supposed associations with courtly life, its qualities of uniqueness by virtue of being painted rather than printed in distemper colours, as the emerging English papers were produced, and its association with spaces designated as female, in particular the closet and dressing room. The prevalence of this attitude into the

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twentieth century is also reflected in Sitwell’s assessment, which specifically places the paper in the bedroom and moreover reinforces its value as a setting for a complete experience of Chinese style goods. This chapter explores the link between European attitudes to Chinese papers in the eighteenth century, and attitudes to these goods in the period when they were rediscovered in Britain, roughly between 1918 and 1945. I will be examining how Chinese papers were supplied and sold at this period, focusing on three schemes, each of which re-used eighteenth-century papers: the interior from Berkeley House purchased by the Victoria & Albert Museum (V&A) in 1924, the Chinese drawing room installed at Kelmarsh Hall in Northamptonshire in around 1928, and the decoration of the dining room at Hampden House in Buckinghamshire. In so doing, I hope to illuminate the reasons for these schemes’ appeal and the ways in which eighteenth-century Chinese papers’ associations with luxury, effeminacy and the exotic were interpreted in 1920s Britain.

The Rediscovery of Eighteenth-Century Papers Chinese wallpapers, known as India papers, had been imported into London as early as the 1690s as part of the quota of private trade to which the East India Company’s officers and men were entitled, from where they were auctioned to be brought by private individuals, architects or tradesmen. The papers’ heyday was from the 1740s to the 1790s, although the trade continued into the nineteenth century. Why then was the 1920s a period of rediscovery of, and demand for, Chinese paper? Early articles on eighteenth-century papers were often written from the perspective of furniture historians. These included a series of articles in the Connoisseur published during and after the First World War by Oliver Brackett (1875-1941) and MacIver Percival.1 In part this reflected a more general trend to look beyond the architectural treatment of the interior, notably in the work of the pioneering historian of English interior decoration, Margaret Jourdain (1876-1951), who considered wall hangings as well as panelling and painted finishes in her publications, including an article on Chinese papers in Country Life in 1924. 2 Significantly, these publications illustrated papers both in situ and removed from the wall (although not always attributed), a pattern which other authors took up, including C.C. (Charles) Oman (1901-82) of the V&A who published a 1

For example, Brackett 1918, 83-8; Percival 1917, 79-85. Jourdain 1924, 835-7. Jourdain (1909, 368) referred to “Oriental” papers as early as 1909. On her pioneering role, see McKellar 2007, 337-40; Harris 2010, 71-2. 2

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series of articles on Chinese papers and significantly English papers in the Chinese style, in the late 1920s and early 1930s (See Oman 1927, 168-71; 1928, 15-22; 1933, 150-1). Enthusiasm for Chinoiserie in 1920s and 1930s design may also have contributed to an audience for research on this area, including articles on Chinese papers by W. Stewart-Greene (1922, 303-6) and the early pioneer of wallpaper studies, E.A. (Eric) Entwisle (1900-98) (1934, 367-74). Entwisle (Ibid., 367) claimed that in papers as With all Chinese pictorial art, there is that essentially native interpretation of both figures and scenery, which has rarely been imitated successfully by Occidental artists, which [he stated] cannot fail to inspire in us an admiration for a race which lavished its highest artistic accomplishments on articles which they well knew were destined for commercial purposes.

Entwisle (Ibid., 371) also claimed that later papers show no lack of skill, and that increased demand seems in no way to have disturbed the placid temperament of the Chinaman, for the only defects noticeable in the later types are a slightly more conventional design and a less impeccable taste in colour.

His work then reveals the prevalence of both an essentialist view of “Chinese-ness”, and the imposition of a European viewpoint. By contrast, Jourdain’s later work demonstrated an early appreciation of the ways in which Chinese art was measured by European standards. A 1948 article entitled “Chinese Paper Hangings” was a rare early example of accurate usage of the term for eighteenth-century paper, and focused on analysis of papers at the V&A or still in situ (for example at Coutts’ bank) (Jourdain 1948, 684-5). Jourdain also collaborated with R. Soame Jenyns (1904-76) on Chinese Export Art in the Eighteenth Century, first published by Country Life in 1950, which included a chapter on “Paper-Hangings, Prints and Paintings”. The book gave prominence not only to paper hangings, but also other neglected decorative fixtures such as paintings on glass, noting that these objects, although admired for their colouration, were often seen negatively in the West in relation to their use of perspective and treatment of figures (Jourdain and Jenyns 1967, 15 and 25-32). The prominence accorded to Chinese papers is also related to issues of survival. Valued from the first due to their rarity and cost, the eighteenth-century hanging methods used for these papers were also key. In contrast to contemporary English-made papers, which were often pasted directly onto the wall with only a thin liner, Chinese papers were recognised

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as having a “lining of thick rice paper”, almost always pasted onto canvas or coarse linen, and usually hung from battens, aiding their removal and reinstatement (Percival 1925, 167). Writers focused on three key aspects in their accounts of Chinese paper: its manufacturing techniques, categorisation by genre employing European models and associations with aristocratic consumers. The narrative they established surrounding Chinese paper is, I want to argue, indebted both to their own concerns and those established in the eighteenth century. One of the key elements in Chinese papers claims to exclusivity, as noted by both du Bocage and Sitwell, was that it was painted, not block printed, unlike English paper. However, this view is refuted by the evidence of extant schemes. For example, the White Dressing room at Felbrigg in North Norfolk was hung in around 1751 with a paper that combined the techniques of painting, stencilling and block printing. Moreover, the design reproduces almost exactly that hung in the drawing room at Ightham Mote in Kent, so refuting claims to exclusivity. Nor was the Felbrigg room the white interior it is presented as today: the ground was originally a vibrant pink which contrasted with a gilded rope border, and the design was modified at the start by an English paper hanger, who trimmed the lengths to tighten the design, removing open areas of ground (See Taylor 2009a, 46, 49 and Fig. 5). Brackett (1918, 84) took up another key element in the European view of manufacture explaining that “Chinese wallpapers were hand-painted on long strips with realistic representations of birds, flowers or figure compositions”. As Chang Yueh-siang (2008, 25) of the V&A has argued, skills in botanical painting did contribute to the representation of plants in papers, although according to John Barrow’s (1764-1848) (who travelled with Lord Macartney’s (1737-1806) embassy to China in 1792-4) writing in 1805, supply was fuelled by European demand, since The Chinese having found that the representations of natural objects are in more request among foreigners, they pay strict attention to the subject that may be required.

Other subjects were far from realistic. Craig Clunas has pointed out that when it came to papers of views of manufacture, painters in Canton (now Guangzhou) would never have seen actual tea cultivation or porcelain manufacture, so could not show such processes accurately. These were therefore depicted as fantasy landscapes where the effects of large-scale tea cultivation and smoke from porcelain production were ignored in favour of depicting what Clunas (1984, 25 and 28-9) characterises as “an idyllic life in harmony with nature”.

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A third element in the attitude towards Chinese papers’ manufacture developed in the 1920s involved the imposition of European categorisations, dividing works of art and commercial products. Citing the display of Chinese papers on the north staircase of the V&A in 1934, Entwisle (1934, 371) regretted that so little definite information can be ascertained regarding the identity of the individual artists [since] It is difficult to believe that the rhythmical ideas expressed by these beautiful decorations were inspired by minor artists or copyists.

The reality was very different, since current research suggests that papers were batch-produced in workshops at Canton, far from the Imperial capital of “Pekin”, either by those producing album sets or painted silks, and evidences the failure to recognise the commercial culture in which papers were produced. The desire to categorise using European models evident in Entwisle’s claims continued in the division of Chinese papers into three categories, on the basis of the types of landscape depicted: firstly, flowering plants with birds; secondly, scenes of Chinese daily life (later subdivided to include hunting and urban activities); and thirdly, flowering plants with animals and people.3 This division has proved extremely potent into the twenty-first century, reinforced by an eighteenth-century letter pricing Chinese papers according to the complexity of the design, with figure subjects more costly (Saunders 2005, 260-1, note 5). Finally, writers in the 1920s and 1930s drew attention to the association between papers and aristocratic consumers, Sitwell emphasising the appeal of China as a courtly culture and aligning papers with the consumption of goods available to the Chinese elite. However, what is lacking is comment on the role of papers in establishing China and Chinese goods as a site of female irrationality, excess and desire. This was already established in the eighteenth century; Montagu herself described seeking the “barbarous gaudy gout of the Chinese”, and her dressing room as “Like the temple of some Indian God” (Quoted in Climenson 1906, 270). As Sarah Cheang (2008, 80) has argued, in her catalogue essay to Chinese Whispers, twentieth-century Chinoiserie therefore provided on the one hand a reassuring set of continuities referring back to the eighteenth century, and on the other served as a location for European excess and social transgression.

3

For example, Oman 1928, 18-21; Honour 1962, 134.

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Suppliers, Decorators and Advisors These attitudes towards papers exclusivity, subjects and aristocratic associations also fuelled demand, and Chinese papers were removed from interiors and sold in considerable numbers from the 1920s onwards. Several factors determined a paper’s desirability. An aristocratic and country house provenance was important, as was size, since in the 1920s papers were frequently hung from above the skirting, not from above the dado rail: Entwisle (1934, 372) recorded the sale at Sotheby’s in May 1934 of a set of twenty-five panels owned by the Earls of Hardwicke, formerly at Sidney Lodge on the Hamble (a house designed by Sir John Soane (1753-1837)), taking care to note that each of the panels measured 12 feet 7 inches long. Such large sets were highly valued, especially if they were unused, as Stewart-Greene (1922, 306) claimed was “a very fine set”, which the Duke of Atholl told him had been found in the carpenter’s shop at Blair Atholl in the early 1920s. 1920s taste was also predominantly for floral papers; for example, MacIver Percival (1925, 167) declared that scenes of Chinese life “lack the charm of the floral panels. They are certainly quaint and extremely interesting, but can hardly be described as beautiful”. Perhaps too the demand for floral papers was due to the difficulties of re-installing papers with complex figure patterns. However, not everyone shared this taste, for example Captain Harry Lindsay (d. 1940), who assisted the 6th Marquess of Anglesey (1885-1947) in the decoration and furnishing of Beaudesert, Staffordshire, after the fire of 1909. Lindsay’s work included the creation of the Queen Anne bedroom (Fig. 3-1), using eighteenth-century Chinese wallpapers showing scenes of daily life, which he had acquired from another country house, where it had never been hung (Avray Tipping 1921, 8; Cornforth 1988, 180-1; Worsley 2002, 82). Nor was it just individuals who were involved in this trade. Long established decorating firms also supplied panels, and they had the resources to have them removed, cleaned, restored and installed in a new location. As in the eighteenth century, when leading firms such as Eckhardts had devised model rooms, so firms displayed rooms in historical styles. 4 One example is Keebles premises in Carlisle House on Soho Square, where Roland Fleming (1896-1968), who began working for the firm around 1925, devised “An original room redecorated in the Chinese

4

For details on Eckhardts display techniques, see Taylor 2011, 146.

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taste”. 5 Once installed, the decoration was retained whilst the stock of furniture changed as items were sold and acquired (Calloway 1988, 174, Fig. 217). However, not all decorators valued papers equally. Percival (1925, 68) reported “a very disappointing experience” when he heard from a decorator “in an ancient country town” who had taken down a set of Chinese papers backed with linen, keeping them as they were in such good condition, only to be told that they were destroyed “with other rubbish” when he moved premises. Such was the demand for eighteenth-century papers that this rapidly outstripped supply. As early as 1928 Oman (1928, 22) explained in Old Furniture that in spite of the numbers of these papers that have survived, the present demand for them so far exceeds the supply that hand-painted copies closely following the Chinese originals are at present being produced in London.

Sometimes this took the form of painting in missing sections, to allow a paper to be installed in a new space. For example, in 1932 Rex Whistler (1905-44) designed a section to complete a paper purchased by Sir Samuel Courtauld (1876-1947) in Bath for the bedroom of his London house on South Audley Street.6 Repainting areas of loss also developed into a business, supplying sets of papers painted from scratch which were easier to both install and copy. Thornton Smith in Soho Square, London were well known for their work not only repainting but also supplying complete sets; indeed Fleming claimed that Chinese wallpapers “old and new” were Walter Thornton Smith’s “special favourites”. 7 Restoring “old” Chinese wallpapers and painting facsimiles was one of the tasks undertaken by John Fowler (1906-77) who trained in the firm’s painting studios in the 1920s.8 The

5 Carlisle House booklet, n.d., V&A Archive of Art & Design (hereafter AAD) 1984/10/PLS. See also Powers 1995, 51-8; Taylor 2015. Fleming’s work for the firm included the flat of Mrs Garland Emmet in Devonshire House where Chinese paper was hung in the sitting room. 6 The section, on the chimneypiece wall, framed Picasso’s L’Enfant au Pigeon (1901), see Whistler and Fuller 1960, 5 cat 6; Calloway 2006, cat 84, col. pl. 56. Whistler’s final project, executed in oil on wallpaper at 39, Preston Park Avenue, Brighton, was also a Chinoiserie scheme. See Calloway 1988, Fig. 342. 7 Roland Fleming, Decoration in England 1900-50, unpublished MS, nd, V&A AAD 1/6-1981, 29. 8 Fowler began by painting leaves and stems, soon moving on to painting birds. In 1965, he recalled that after the papers had been suitably “aged” they were sold as

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architect, interior decorator and author Basil Ionides (1884-1950) (1926, 3) also advised that if the pattern of a Chinese wallpaper was “unsuitable” in any colours or details, it could be easily altered with the aid of “a little watercolour and brushes”, before varnishing “with a little brown in the size”, presumably to reproduce the effect of a faded ground. The framing of paper into panels, sometimes picked out with borders, also enabled a limited supply of lengths of fixed size to be ecked out, and avoided difficulties with matching. At Lockleys in Hertfordshire, the upstairs parlour (Fig. 3-2) was decorated by Sir Evelyn de la Rue (1879-1950) with advice from Basil Oxenden (1874-1919). Oxenden evidently played a key role, since H. Avray Tipping claimed in 1921 that Sir Evelyn depended on his advice “in all matters of decoration and furnishing”, and lamented that his death had “deprived a very large circle of friends of the help of one whose advice they could so confidently rely” (Tipping 1921, 8). Lighting, furniture and textiles all formed part of the treatment as a Chinese room, which was hung with an “exceptionally interesting old paper in the form of large panels” (Ibid.). The colouring was vibrant: an apple green ground was decorated with bamboos and trees with purple peonies and yellow hibiscus.9 Printed wallpapers reinterpreting eighteenth-century Chinoiserie designs were also available. John Line’s The Cathay Decoration (Fig. 3-3), introduced in 1928, consisted of ready cut-out fillings, available in large, medium and small, with a base extension border to create a landscape effect. The firm’s promotional literature promised that Though Chinese in character, it can be used with any other type of furnishing, and will make a direct appeal to those who realize the possibilities of the modern adaptable wall decoration.10

Both the form (albeit with flexibility) and the colouration (especially the buff ground) reflected that of surviving faded eighteenth-century papers. On the other hand, some Chinoiserie schemes also reflected less the colouration and patterns of faded papers than the vibrant colours admired at Lockleys. Interior advice manuals also commented on Chinese style papers. In 1929, Robert Randal Phillips (b. 1878) advised his readers that “individual genuine eighteenth-century originals at a vast profit. See Wood 2007, 13 and note 17; Calloway 1988, 142; Jones 1989, 11. 9 Avray Tipping 1920, 54 and Fig. 10; 1921, 5 and Fig. 7. The papers are described in Jourdain and Soame Jenyns 1967, 29 and Fig. 38. 10 John Line & Sons Ltd Wallpaper Album (1928), Museum of Domestic Design and Architecture, Box SW.2A.

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results” could be obtained with wallpaper patterns based on Chinese designs, which he illustrated with a dining room interior of a by no means grand house, captioned “Reviving an old manner of wall treatment” (Phillips 1929, xxii and 8) (Fig. 3-4). What appears to be a largely non-repeating pattern, described by Phillips (Ibid., xxii and 48) as “a reproduction of Chinese paper of a free design”, consisting of branching flowering “trees” with flying birds and birdcages is illustrated hung to provide visual interest centred on the chimneypiece and sideboard. Ionides illustrated his best-selling manual, Colour and Interior Decoration (1932), with papers which reflected taste both for the faded and for more vibrant colourations, in particular the contrast between black, scarlet and gold, a dramatic combination which he claimed “suggests a Chinese origin”.11

Chinoiserie and the Period Room Demand was then fuelled not only by private individuals, but also by large firms as well as advisors on interior decoration. Demand for Chinese style papers also came from another direction. At the V&A the purchase of a complete eighteenth-century room interior from a house at Wotton-under-Edge, near Stroud in Gloucestershire, was linked to enthusiasm for the period room, since, according to the then museum Director, Sir Cecil Harcourt-Smith (1859-1944), the V&A had long wanted “a suitable room—if possible with paper in the Chinese style—in which to exhibit our furniture of this Chinese kind”.12 This may reflect the view of furniture historians more widely, since as early as 1917 Percival (1925, 168) had maintained that it was “most important” that mahogany and japanned furniture should have the appropriate background, since without being seen against “brilliant colour and full patterning” the intricate silhouettes of these pieces would “stand out too boldly”. The Berkeley House room, including the Chinese style paper and carved over-mantel (designed for the display of ceramics), was purchased by the V&A in 1924 from F.C. Harper of 78, Royal Hospital Road, Cheyne Walk, London, for £23 3s 9d.13 Harper, a property speculator, had bought the house only two years earlier, following the death of the previous owner, 11

Ionides 1926, Chapter XII “Contrasts in Colour”, especially 23, 61-3 and 68. The associations between dramatic colour combinations, Ionides’s designs and 1920s modernity are discussed in Cheang 2008, 78-9. 12 Minute note, 13 August 1924, R. F. Harper correspondence in V&A AAD, Registered Files (hereafter RF), MA/1/H752. 13 Berkeley House file, V&A Furniture Archive, Information Section. W.93:1-631924, see http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O79083/period-room-unknown/.

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Vincent Perkins (d. 1922), a member of the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society (“Panelled Room” 1924, 365). Harper renamed the former Burgage House at 31, Long Street, Berkeley House to imply an association with the occupants of nearby Berkeley Castle, which may have aided him in finding buyers for the house’s interiors, since at least one other room was sold onto another museum (Verey 1989, 497).14 Despite Harper’s renaming of the house, this scheme had, in fact, none of the aristocratic associations claimed, since it is likely to have been installed by a local tradesman, perhaps William Mayo who died in 1740, a town mayor whose family were goldsmiths. 15 By February 1925 the room was installed in the V&A, reported in The Times as “an interesting addition” to the “series of English rooms in the department of woodwork” (Quoted in “Panelled Room” 1924, 364). The border, originally a fret, had been replaced in the eighteenth-century by a stencilled edging of floral festoons in a vivid black and pink colouration, which was retained. A museum minute written by Brackett in 1923 noted that the room’s pine panelling was painted in two shades of green up to the dado, whilst the paper was painted in colours in the Chinese style with flowering trees and birds, made up of small pieces of paper stuck together, the paper stamped on the back with a crowned monogram (V&A, RF).

Once removed from the wall, English duty stamps (the “crowned monogram” Brackett referred to) were revealed on the back, indicating (along with the pasting together of small sheets to form a piece or length) that it was of English manufacture rather than imported. This discovery led to negative comments about the scheme. Oman (1933, 150) claimed that the artist has been at pains to copy accurately the fauna and flora of the originals, [but] a comparison shows that he has entirely missed the skilful composition which the Chinese papers invariably display.

According to Oman, the English designer is a copyist who has “missed”, rather than deliberately reworked, aspects of the “originals” composition. However, the paper was still seen as in a different category to other surviving English papers in the Chinese style. In 1945, Entwisle (1945, 24, pl. III) illustrated it to represent a paper “worthy of study” with the caption 14

I have not traced the “oak-panelled room of earlier date sold to an American museum”. 15 For more on this scheme, see Taylor 2009a, 41-3.

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“Better type of XVIII-century Chinoiserie design”. Honour (1962, 263, cat 83) also claimed in the caption to one panel that Comparison with Chinese papers of the same type reveals how the artist responsible for this piece has drawn motifs from such hangings but rearranged and overcrowded them in a singular unoriental fashion.

In this case, distinctions were complicated since the design was painted, not block printed, and showed manufacturers responding to consumer demand for a pattern both denser than Chinese papers, and designed with the scale of a town house parlour in mind, reducing the expense and wastage of hanging a Chinese paper which would have been substantially trimmed to fit.

Chinese Papers in the Country House The Berkeley House room also provided the inspiration for at least one interior, the Saloon of Sir Philip Sassoon’s (1888-1939) country house in Hertfordshire, Trent Park, re-modelled by Sassoon with the architect Philip Tilden (1887-1956) between 1925 and 1931.16 The scheme re-interpreted the Berkeley House design, scaling up the eighteenth-century paper, whilst retaining its colourway and painted technique. Like the museum and decorators’ rooms, this was intended as a setting for other Chinese style objects, reflecting Sassoon’s “passion for chinoiserie”, as much as the lacquered cabinets and porcelain jars which furnished the interior. 17 The Saloon was conceived not just as a setting for the display of objects, but also for 1920s sociability. What is also significant is that the walls and floors were conspicuously lacking in the rich red and black colouration and reflective metallic surfaces that characterised other 1920s Chinese style interiors, notably those designed by Ionides. Perhaps Sassoon wanted at Trent to root his Chinese style interior in an English (and museum) provenanced copy, avoiding Chinoiserie’s associations with female excess. The Saloon paper, on the one hand, rejected ideas of luxury (since it was based on an English copy) and yet was also itself a luxury object since it was hand-painted. Study of the aims that underlay the creation of the Chinese drawing room at Kelmarsh (Fig. 3-5) created by Nancy Lancaster (1897-1994), then Mrs Ronald Tree, in around 1929 reveals further issues around notions of luxury, effeminacy and the exotic in the choice of Chinese paper as a setting 16

This scheme is discussed in Taylor forthcoming. Hussey 1931, 71, Fig. 11. Evidently contemporaries were aware of the connection between the Berkeley House paper and Trent. See Oman 1933, 151. 17

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for 1920s sociability. Lancaster described its function clearly: “We would meet for cocktails there before dinner [...] and bridge after” (Becker 1996, 165-6). As at Trent, the paper created a mood of exoticism that extended to other objects, including the room’s flower arrangements, which may have been intended to complement a red lacquered screen. Lancaster recalled that I kept rather strange flowers in the Chinese Room. I would have orchids from Ronnie’s cymbidium house, sealing wax red anthirinums and amaryllises (Quoted in Becker 1996, 165-6).

Other furnishings, including settees and curtains in green silk with silver braid, contributed to a mood of luxury and comfort. Unlike Sassoon, however, Lancaster was evidently keen to hang an original paper. Robert Becker (1996, 165) gives this account of how Lancaster acquired the paper: In her tireless scouring of the country Nancy had found a room at Kimberley Hall in Norfolk hung in a particularly fine late eighteenth century Chinoiserie wallpaper; the room dimensions had matched those of the Kelmarsh room perfectly, and the owner had agreed to part with the paper as well as the room’s carved mantelpiece.

Although the scheme did have this provenance (it was formerly at Kimberley and perhaps prior to that at Felbrigg), when Oman (1928, col. pl. opposite 18) illustrated one panel of the scheme in 1928 the set was in the possession of Edwards & Sons of Regent Street. Since the room’s dimensions are also not quite the ideal claimed (the chimney breast is largely made up of twentieth-century infill), the paper may have been with Edwards for areas of loss to be repainted, or they may indeed have been involved in the paper’s acquisition. On the one hand, the Kelmarsh scheme can be seen as a site of irrational, female desire, echoing not only eighteenth-century ideas, but also, as Cheang (2008, 76-7) has pointed out, 1920s fictional depictions of women who possess oriental interiors as seductive, the Chinese room providing the setting for domestic disturbance, immorality and subversion. On the other hand, I argue, the scheme points to Chinese papers’ role in presenting an alternative aesthetic. Louise Ward has argued that Lancaster’s work was the specific source of the “English country-house” style as it existed in the 1980s. The interiors created at Kelmarsh between 1926 and 1933, which pre-dated Lancaster’s ownership of Colefax and Fowler, combined, according to Ward, comfort and elegance to create an atmosphere of

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understated luxury. Key to this was the use of faded fabrics and care-worn objects, an aesthetic which brought together Lancaster’s American ideas of convenience with a sense of the “informality and history” she found in English country houses. Ward concludes that Lancaster’s interiors did not present themselves as either avant-garde or modern, and the use of provenanced Chinese paper is, I argue, a neglected but significant part of this aesthetic, combining connotations of exclusivity and luxury with another element in the lexicon of “care-worn objects” (Ward 2004, 95-8). The dining room at Hampden House in Buckinghamshire is a rather different interior (Fig. 3-6). Here, papers were neither sourced from dealers or country house owners, nor were they reproduced, but rather an existing eighteenth-century scheme was reinterpreted. In the late 1750s, Chinese papers were hung in two adjacent ground floor rooms, the parlour and state bedchamber, perhaps supplied by the leading paper hangings tradesman, Thomas Bromwich of Ludgate Hill (act. 1727-d. 1787). These schemes refute the associations between Chinese paper and female consumers established in the eighteenth century, since they were installed by John Hampden VIII (d.1754, later 1st Earl of Buckinghamshire), an early enthusiast for Chinoiserie.18 The paper hung in the parlour also rejected easy models of Chinese papers depicting “realistic” landscapes, since it combined a floral paper and borders with grotesque panels based on a print after Jean-Antoine Watteau (1684-1721), produced in London in the 1730s (Taylor 2009a, 50-2). However, the paper replaced Watteau’s European figure groups with Chinese figures engaged in activities which would nevertheless be familiar to European consumers such as fishing, walking in gardens and consuming luxuries like tea. These papers survived on the wall until at least the late nineteenth century. At some point between 1906 and around 1930 the decision was taken to remove the north wall of the parlour and insert a colonnade to create an enlarged dining room in the form of a rectangular space leading off the square parlour. However, the eighteenth-century Chinese scheme was not entirely abandoned; rather, two elements were re-used. The grotesques were framed up in the imitation bamboo border from the original scheme to create individual panels, and hung alternating with new ornamental trellis-work plaster decorations above the dado. So provenance was evidently important at Hampden too, where an existing Chinese scheme was adapted to the 1920s taste for panelled schemes, also enabling the ecking out the original paper, which was at the same time partially re-coloured, suggesting, as the authors of the interior 18

For discussion of the eighteenth-century schemes, see Taylor, 2009b.

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advice manuals quoted above asserted, that the faded, care-worn effects sought by Lancaster and Sassoon were not universally admired. As at Trent, the room formed the setting for Chinoiserie objects, including a “Chinese Chippendale” torchere, an eighteenth-century Chinoiserie leather screen and yellow silk curtains embroidered in yellow and gold with floral motifs and phoenix birds.19 On the one hand, all three schemes at Trent, Kelmarsh and Hampden are firmly situated in 1920s taste; all formed settings for collections of Chinese style furniture and objects as a background for 1920s sociability, drawing on the material’s associations with eighteenth-century ideas of luxury and aristocratic consumption. Other aspects of these schemes, in particular their supply and hanging, are also firmly rooted in the growth of the decorating profession and in the skills of those who sought out Chinese papers in country house interiors. Just as in the eighteenth century when these papers were a meeting point between China and the West, some of the assumptions about eighteenth-century production, design and consumption still resonated. Myths about their unique hand painted qualities proved enduring, as did their association with luxury. Arguably, Lancaster’s use of a Chinese paper also echoes eighteenth-century associations between this material and female consumers, however, here and at Trent, papers were hung not in bed-chambers but in a principal reception room. Unlike the vibrant colours of the originals, these faded, care-worn objects also allowed owners to convey taste for the exotic, whilst at the same time seeking to escape the censure of excess.

Works Cited Primary Sources Papers of the Earl of Buckinghamshire. Buckinghamshire Record Office. AR 62/1442/16. R.F. Harper Correspondence. Archive of Art & Design (AAD). Victoria & Albert Museum (V&A), London. Registered File, MA/1/H752. Fleming, Roland. n. d. Decoration in England 1900-50, unpublished MS, AAD. V&A. 1/6-1981. —. n. d. Carlisle House Booklet. AAD. V&A. 1984/10/PLS. 19

Hammett, Rafferty & Co 1939, Sale of Old English and French Furniture, Hampden House, Great Missenden, 20 April: “Dining Room”, Papers of the Earl of Buckinghamshire, Buckinghamshire Record Office AR 62/1442/16/2.

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Avray Tipping, H. 1920. “Lockleys, Hertfordshire I.” Country Life (10 July): 48-55. —. 1921. English Homes: Period V Early Georgian. London: Country Life. Brackett, Oliver. 1918. “English Wallpapers of the Eighteenth Century.” Connoisseur 52 (October): 83-8. Climenson, Emily J., ed. 1906. Elizabeth Montagu, the Queen of the Bluestockings, 2 vols, I. London: John Murray. Entwisle, E. A. 1934. “Chinese Painted Wallpapers.” Connoisseur 93 (June): 367-74. —. 1945. “Historians of Wallpaper.” Connoisseur 115 (March): 23-9. Hussey, Christopher. 1931. “Trent Park-II.” Country Life (17 January): 66-72. Hutcheon, R. 1907. Mrs.Montagu and Her Friends, 1720-1800: A Sketch. London: John Murray. Ionides, Basil. 1926. Colour and Interior Decoration. London: Country Life. Jourdain, Margaret. 1909. “Crewel-Work Hangings and Bed Furniture.” Burlington Magazine 15 (78): 366-8. —. 1924. “Old English Wallpapers and Wall Hangings: Part II Chinese Wallpapers and Papers in Chinese Style.” Country Life (24 May): 835-7. —. 1948. “Chinese Paper Hangings.” Country Life (1 October): 684-5. ___ and Soame Jenyns, R. 1967. Chinese Export Art in the Eighteenth Century. Feltham: Spring Books. Oman, C.C. 1927. “Old Wallpapers in England 2. Early Coloured Papers.” Old Furniture 2: 168-71. —. 1928. “Old Wallpapers in England 3. Chinese Papers.” Old Furniture 3: 15-22. —. 1933. “English Chinoiserie Wallpapers.” Country Life (11 February): 150-1. “Panelled Room from Wotton-under-Edge.” 1924. Transactions of the Bristol & Gloucestershire Archaeological Society 46: 364-5. Percival, MacIver. 1917. “Old Wallpapers.” Connoisseur 47 (February): 79-85. —. 1925. “Chinese Wallpapers in England.” Journal of Decorative Art and British Decorator (May):165-8. Randal Phillips, Robert. 1929. The Modern English Interior. London: Country Life. Sitwell, Sacheverell. 1945. British Architects and Craftsmen: A Survey of Taste, Design and Style during Three Centuries 1600 to 1830. London: Batsford.

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Stewart-Greene, W. 1922. “Chinese Wall-Papers.” The Architects’ Journal 61 (6 September): 303-6.

Secondary Sources Baird, Rosemary. 2003. “The Queen of the Bluestockings: Mrs Montagu’s House at 23 Hill Street Rediscovered.” Apollo 163 (August): 43-9. Becker, Robert. 1996. Nancy Lancaster: Her Life, Her World, Her Art. New York: A. Knopf. Calloway, Stephen. 2006. Rex Whistler: The Triumph of Fancy. Brighton and Hove: Royal Pavilion, Libraries and Museums. Calloway, Stephen. 1988. Twentieth Century Interior Decoration: The Domestic Interior from 1900 to the Present Day. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Chang Yueh-siang. 2008. “Imperial Designs and Enlightened Tastes: Motifs from Nature on Chinese Export Wallpapers.” Wallpaper History Review: 23-8. Cheang, Sarah. 2008. “What’s in a Chinese Room? 20th Century Chinoiserie, Modernity and Femininity.” In Chinese Whispers: Chinoiserie in Britain 1650-1930, edited by David Beevers, 75-81. Brighton & Hove: The Royal Pavilion & Museum. Clunas, Craig. 1984. Chinese Export Watercolours. London: V&A Museum. Cornforth, John. 1988. The Search for a Style: Country Life and Architecture 1897-1931. London: Andre Deutsch & Co. Harris, Alexandra. 2010. Romantic Moderns: English Writers, Artists and the Imagination from Virginia Woolf to John Piper. London: Thames & Hudson. Honour, Hugh. 1962. Chinoiserie: The Vision of Cathay. New York: Dutton. Jones, Chester. 1989. Colefax and Fowler: The Best in English Decoration. London: Little, Brown & Co. McKellar, Elizabeth. 2007. “Representing the Georgian: Constructing Interiors in Early Twentieth-Century Publications, 1890-1930.” Journal of Design History 20 (4): 325-44. Powers, Alan. 1995. “Ronald Fleming and Vogue Regency.” Journal of the Decorative Arts Society 19: 51-8. Saunders, Gill. 2005. “The China Trade: Oriental Painted Panels.” In The Papered Wall: The History, Patterns and Techniques of Wallpaper, edited by Lesley Hoskins, 42-55. London: Thames & Hudson. Taylor, Clare. 2009a. “Chinese Papers and English Imitations in

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Eighteenth-Century Britain.” In New Discoveries: New Research, Papers from the International Wallpaper Conference held at the Nordiska Museet, Stockholm, 2007, edited by Elisabet Stavelow-Hidemark, 36-53. Stockholm: The Nordiska Museet. —. 2009b. “‘Figured Paper for Hanging Rooms’: The Manufacture, Design and Consumption of Wallpapers for English Domestic Interiors, c.1740-c.1800” PhD diss., The Open University. —. 2011a. “Eckhardts & Co. and the Supply of Wall Decorations for Shugborough.” Georgian Group Journal XIX: 145-50. —. Forthcoming. “‘Modern Swedish Rococo’: The Neo-Georgian Interior in Britain, c. 1920-c. 1945.” In Re-appraising Neo-Georgian Architecture: Colonial, Domestic and Pastoral Visions 1850-1970, edited by Elizabeth McKellar and Julian Holder. London: English Heritage. Verey, David. 1989. Gloucestershire I: The Cotswolds. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Ward, Louise. 2004. “Chintz, Swags and Bows: The Myth of the English Country-House Style, 1930-90.” In Interior Design and Identity, edited by Suzie McKellar and Penny Sparke, 92-113. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Whistler, Laurence, and Ronald Fuller. 1960. The Work of Rex Whistler. London: Batsford. Wood, Martin. 2007. John Fowler: Prince of Decorators. London: Frances Lincoln Ltd. Worsley, Giles. 2002. England’s Lost Houses from the Archives of Country Life. London: Aurum Press.

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Fig. 3-1. The Queen Anne bedroom, Beaudesert, Staffordshire, decorated by Captain Harry Lindsay, illustrated in Country Life (1919).

Fig. 3-2. Upstairs parlour at Lockleys, Hertfordshire, decorated by Basil Oxenden, illustrated in Country Life (1920).

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Fig. 3-3. “The Cathay Decoration” illustrated in Distinctive Decorations, wallpaper album, John Line & Sons Ltd., 1928.

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Fig. 3-4. Dining room, illustrated in R. Randall Phillips, The Modern English Interior (1929).

Fig. 3-5. Drawing room, Kelmarsh Hall, Northamptonshire, decorated by Nancy Lancaster in around 1929.

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Fig. 3-6. Dining room extended from parlour, Hampden House, Buckinghamshire, created before 1930.

CHAPTER FOUR “CHINESE” PAINTINGS BY ZDENċK SKLENÁě LUCIE OLIVOVÁ

In 2010, one century had passed since the birth of the eminent Czech artist ZdenČk SklenáĜ (1910-86). His anniversary prompted various happenings to commemorate him and his oeuvre: for example, the large retrospective exhibition at the City Gallery of Prague (17 March-6 June 2010), and the presentation of his illustrations of The Monkey King cycle at the Shanghai World Expo 2010, to name just two. This chapter may also be seen as a part of the increasing attention paid towards SklenáĜ’s legacy. It examines how SklenáĜ’s experience in China and his study of Chinese literature and culture affected the way he perceived and created “Chinese” art, and explores the degree and the nature of “Chineseness” in his mind. ZdenČk SklenáĜ is best known as an excellent book designer-typographer and an outstanding illustrator. In art circles, he is also much remembered as a professor at the Academy of Art, Architecture and Design (UMPRUM) in Prague in 1945-50 and 1968-76, the same institution from which he had graduated in 1939. Launching his career as an artist, his early paintings reveal influence of Surrealism, which experienced its heyday in Prague at the time. His works attracted much attention, and soon after the Second World War (1939-45), he was one of the six young artists to be selected for an exhibition of young Czechoslovak artist in the gallery La Boëtie, Paris.1 In the 1950s, he gradually developed his own style of painting. The coming of his maturity, however, coincided with a period when official art policy sharply differed from his standpoint and gave him no encouragement or support. SklenáĜ lost his position at UMPRUM and mainly gained his living by designing books. He became involved in the production of nearly 600 1

The exhibition was selected by Josef Šíma (1894-1971) and Paul Eluard (1895-1952), and toured in Paris, Brussels, Antverp and Liège in 1946 (Vachtová 2010, 16).

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publications and created the covers for over half of them.2 In the 1960s, when the Czechoslovak regime loosened its grip, SklenáĜ began to enjoy more recognition from abroad. In April 1968, he finally regained the teaching position at UMPRUM and kept it until his retirement in 1976. During his life, SklenáĜ made about 280 oil paintings. However, without the official permission, they could not be much exhibited and were not generally known. 3 According to Ivo Binder (pers. comm. 2011), chief curator of the retrospective exhibition Ten Thousand Things, Ten Thousand Years, the whereabouts of 226 of them are known. Their subject matters revolve around a few inspirational sources and can be thus grouped along them. In the earlier period, they were the sing-song girls and dancers, city landscapes, and biomorphic landscapes. For his oeuvre from the 1950s onwards, the foremost and striking inspiration was China. Another, equally strong inspiration, matching in obscurity and strangeness, was the sixteenth-century artist Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527-93) who had served the imperial court in Prague. His were composite paintings, composed of innumerable minute details, and SklenáĜ prominently used this mode, for example in portraits where the head of the sitter is surrounded by relevant motifs. One of his major topics was calligraphy, or léttrisme, which explored bold and symmetrical Roman capitals. He also painted a cycle of Moravian folk embroideries, a cycle of Bohemian Forest and other motifs.

SklenáĜ and Chinese Art SklenáĜ developed an interest in Chinese art when he was a student studying the subject from a very limited number of books such as Oscar Münsterberg’s two-volume Chinesische Kunstgeschichte (1910; 1912). Gradually, his interest transformed fascination. As if luck would have had it, he met with the rather rare opportunity to visit China, where he “hadn’t dared to hope of ever seeing” (SklenáĜ 2002, 183). At the time, it was extremely difficult for Czechs to travel anywhere abroad. He was, nevertheless, dispatched to China as a member of the small team responsible for setting up the exhibition of Ten Years of Socialist Construction in Czechoslovakia in Peking in 1955. 4 During his stay in 2

From the information panel at the 2010 exhibition titled Ten Thousand Things, Ten Thousand Years at the City Gallery of Prague. 3 For this very reason, the main goal of the 2010 retrospective exhibition was to regain SklenáĜ’s reputation as a successful oil painter, something his oeuvre fully deserves. 4 Precisely, his small team was in charge of the cultural sector of the Czechoslovak exhibition which toured in Peking (15 April-24 May 1955), Shanghai (15 October-

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Peking from late February to early May 1955, SklenáĜ kept a diary or rather a notebook with sketches, which became the vital testimony of the various motifs he had encountered and later developed in his works. He also recorded meetings with various personages such as the poet Ai Qing (1910-96), the painter Li Keran (1907-89), and the calligrapher Guo Moruo (1892-1978), visiting historic sites and collecting antique objects of art (Fig. 4-1). It is apparent that his role as an employer at the exhibition gave him more freedom and possibilities to look around than being a member of the annual official delegation of artists, as stipulated in the Cultural Agreement between Czechoslovakia and China in 1952. The journey to China gave SklenáĜ a direct taste of the fascinating world of Chinese art and lifestyle. Strongly impressed, he used his Chinese experience and transformed it into an important subject matter that accompanied him throughout his artistic career: his “Chinese” paintings represent over one-third of all his oil paintings. Initially, they simply were paintings on Chinese themes, depicting his memories of Chinese landscape, theatre, ornaments, etc. He gradually turned to the ancient forms of Chinese characters—the seal script—and made them part of his ever more abstract works, increasingly using the characters and some other motifs as symbols: he did not paint anymore what had been seen with his eyes, but what had been experienced in his mind. The “Chinese” paintings were never intended as a series, but were sometimes presented together. Initially, five of them appeared at the 1959 exhibition of China in the Works of the Czechoslovak Artists. In a letter to his artist friend, SklenáĜ bitterly complained that other five paintings, “my best and the most modern ones” were refused out of the ten offered on the occasion.5 The other artists on this exhibition had undertaken journey to China within the official cultural exchange. They painted their impressions of China after their return back home, some also published an essay, and thus their Chinese episode concluded. On the contrary, SklenáĜ continued to produce “Chinese” paintings after his trip in China. A few years later, he was able to send a set of twenty-one works to the Biennale Internazionale d’Arte held in Florence from 8 May to 20 June 1971.6 He was awarded the highest prize, Medaglia d’Oro. It should be mentioned in passing that the 13 November 1955) and Canton (1 March-10 April 1956). It was the second largest exhibition staged abroad after the Czechoslovak Communist Party had overtaken the rule. Olivová 2009, 41. 5 Letter to Otto Stritzko, 23 November 1959. I am most grateful to Professor František DvoĜák for making this source known to me. 6 The reference to the 400-page catalogue is 20. Premio del Fiorino, Biennale Internazionale d’Arte. Firenze: Centro Di, 1971.

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same award went to the American artist Mark George Tobey (1890-1976), who reminds of SklenáĜ in many ways: both shared an interest in Eastern culture and philosophy and employed Chinese calligraphic symbols. Nonetheless, their art developed in a similar way without the mutual influence of one another. The continuing interest of SklenáĜ in East Asian culture is evident by a number of illustrations and book designs he made for new translations from Chinese literature (twelve titles), Korean literature (six titles) and Mongolian literature (one title). Coincidently, the first graduates in Sinology, newly established at Charles University in 1950, were encouraged to translate literary works, old and new, and several achieved good results. This was an unprecedented inlet on the Czech literary scene, favourable to SklenáĜ’s vested interest. Not only did he design such books, but provided some of them with illustrations in colour. Notably, in 1958, the anthology of Bai Juyi’s 䘥⯭㖻 poems The Black Pool Dragon (Drak z þerné tĤnČ) appeared, followed in 1961 by The Return of Laozi (Návrat starého mistra, short stories by Guo Moruo), Treasure Box (SkĜíĖka s poklady, six tales by Feng Menglong 楖⣊漵), and Monkey King (Opiþí král, the novel by Wu Cheng’en ⏛㈧】). A few years later, he illustrated the collection of the Cantos of Old China (ZpČvy staré ýíny). These very popular renditions of ancient Chinese poetry, rendered to Czech verses by Bohumil Mathesius (1888-1952) who as a matter of fact did not know any Chinese and mainly based them on German translations, came out in some thirty varying editions since their first appearance in 1939, not a few with the illustrations of acknowledged artists. ZdenČk SklenáĜ’s illustrations have accompanied three different editions of the Cantos of Old China, published in 1967, 1988 and 2009, respectively.7 The engagement in books and illustrations related to China compelled SklenáĜ to study Chinese culture with more intensity. In April 2009, long after SklenáĜ passed away, twenty-five of his “Chinese” oil paintings, as well as his illustrations of classical Chinese literature were shown at the National Art Museum of China (NAMOC) (Zhongguo meishuguan) at Peking, and gained a positive acclaim of wide public. Finally, the biggest get-together was presented at the 2010 retrospective exhibition of Ten Thousand Things, Ten Thousand Years in Prague, with twenty-nine on display, plus a number of graphic papers, and last but not least, the figures from The Monkey King, on the occasion set into motion-pictures by OndĜej Doležal of the Pixl-Studio, Brno.

7 The last one is a bilingual (Chinese and Czech) bibliophily of giant format, printed in 200 copies and published by The Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ, Prague.

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Visual Forms of the “Chinese” Works by SklenáĜ It is very likely that the making of “Chinese” paintings and illustrations which came out as a consequence of the visit to Peking must have reinforced SklenáĜ’s Chinese spell. During his stay, he kept a diary where he jotted notes and sketched visual impressions (Fig. 4-2). Thus, we know where he went and what caught his attention the most. For example, he sketched bronze masks and Buddhist steles when visiting the Palace Museum in the Forbidden City on 20 and 26 March, and 21 April 1955. He also successfully reproduced the characters Tianzi guxi ⣑⫸⎌ⶴ on the seal of Emperor Qianlong Ḧ昮䘯ⷅ (1711-99; r. 1736-95) (Fig. 4-3). It is quite clear that he was mainly interested in the symmetrical and regular ornaments, carved in hard material, cast in metal, or applied onto architectural construction. He traced out the decorative paintings on the beams of historical palaces, roof tiles, wooden grilles in the windows, and carved lanterns—even a drawing of the flooding Yellow River (seen from above during a flight) is treated as a whirl of forceful lines. After SklenáĜ returned home in May 1955, he transmitted his memories on canvas or wood, at first in a direct manner, painting Chinese Fish (1956), Chinese Turtle (1958), Tavern of Peking Poets (1956, two versions), Dawn in the Western Mountains (1956), Chinese Seals (1957), Peking Opera (1957, two versions), Somewhere on the Yellow River (1958), etc.8 Intriguing as they are, these works depicted their titles. One may regard them as paintings with Chinese themes, executed by a European artist in his peculiar style, which kept changing accordingly in the development of his whole oeuvre. In these works, he had not created any special style unique to the Chinese subject matter. Their formal manner always followed the changes applicable to all his other topics which were not related to China, such as portraits, biomorphic landscapes, and Latin calligraphy. In the first year or two after his return, SklenáĜ gradually abandoned the topic of what had been seen and shifted to depict his feeling and experience. He replaced depictions of places visited, or peculiar objects remembered, with selected Chinese motifs, notably the script and made them part of his ever more abstract works. For the greatest part, the titles of his “Chinese” paintings, dated 1958 and later, seem less particular that may have been partly caused by fading memories, but evermore so, by the overall turn in his artistic progress. When characterising them, one could say that his paintings are not large, on the average 30 x 40 cm, or 70 x 90 cm. On each painting, he used to work for a long time. He painted the whole surface with 8

Reproduced in Vachtová 2010, 146, 148, 176, 171, 179, 147 and 175, respectively.

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several layers of paint, the mass rising unevenly. Then he fully covered it with small and interwoven details—pictorial on some works, or geometrical on other works, always uneasy to discern. The brushstrokes which delineate their forms may be curves, or lines hooked in sharp angles; this changes periodically and produces the general style of this or that painting. The details or ornaments form the typical bustling structure which makes the final entirety of the painting. Various colours may be used, but there is one dominant colour tone on each painting. The composition is two-dimensional, built from flat motifs of tangled lines. Produced by adding one layer onto another, at the later phase of his artistic life, he also applied sand or similar rough elements on the paint, finally cutting into the dried surface with a sharp knife or steel point. It may come as a surprise that he had not approached the art of the fluid Chinese ink painting, but instead the art of three-dimensional bronzes and carved stones. His illustrations also bear his distinct style and immediately reveal his authorship. The image is fully covered with swarming detail and the objects of depiction are not always easy to discern. At first sight, the observer may get lost in it and dazzled by the bright dominant colour. For instance, SklenáĜ used labourious techniques combining colour litographs and drawings, or reproducing off set. In the outcome, his “Chinese” works are free of any sentiment of Orientalism and illusion. This was because they were based on solid knowledge of Chinese ancient and medieval art. He faithfully transmitted its forceful spirit and formal aspects. His picture of a beautiful lady echoed the plump figures and attire of Tang (618-907 AD) court ladies (1974) (Fig. 4-4), while the black-and-white invoked Chinese rubbings. Although the viewer may not be knowledgeable enough to notice this fact, what he would notice is the modern spirit which his “Chinese” works emanated. Critics soon commented on SklenáĜ’s illustrations positively (See, e.g., Brožková 1962, 4). Whoever observes the painting titled Chinese Antiquities (1958) (Fig. 4-5) should recall the painter’s own words: In the beginning, there is a chaos which needs to be organized. The ground, made of layers of coloured mass, contains innumerable images (Quoted in Vachtová 2010, 205).

The observer of this entirely covered canvas has to carefully and patiently make out the details, for they are not easily discernible; they seem hidden and then emerge suddenly.9 He will eventually notice, in the centre of the 9

In this respect, and in style too, this painting reminds of the Hommage à František Tichý executed in 1950-4.

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bottom section, a rider with a spear on a jibbing horse, close to him, upward and to the right, there is a figure of a shadow puppet. Several masks, fish, a peacock, a turtle, various Chinese characters (i.e. script) pop out one after another. This painting, at first sight a net of ornamental lines, in fact overflows with Chinese curios and antiques which filled the painter’s mind. He certainly accommodated there many more objects than one would have imagined, and conveyed the mysterious sense of the world of Chinese antiques. The painting clearly reveals his very complex approach to the Chinese motifs and their adaptation into his art.

Painting the Chinese Script No differently did he view Chinese characters as mysterious symbols of his encounter with Chinese culture. Motivated by practical reasons, SklenáĜ occasionally copied characters in standard form in his diary from China: they are numbers, basic vocabulary, etc. These attempts demonstrate the typical stiffness of a foreigner who has not been taught how to write Chinese characters. However, he also copied the forms of archaic characters which strongly attracted him, as evidenced in his diary and consequent artistic progress. The seal script, as the archaic forms are known, does not modulate brushstrokes and restricts improvisation or spontaneity. It is imbued with its formal perfection, order and rhythm. It can be perceived as the precise opposite of the Zen calligraphy which, incidentally during the same period, inspired European avant-garde artists. Back home from China, SklenáĜ extensively dealt with the archaic Chinese characters, which became one of his favourite subject matters. In the course of the 1960s, he painted a dozen of oil paintings—not mentioning lithographs and other minor graphic works—variously titled: Chinese Characters, An Archaic Chinese Character, Still-life with Chinese Characters, etc. Being inspired by Chinese motifs, SklenáĜ’s calligraphic paintings are especially fascinating among his works and well demonstrate the gradual transformation of his art. In his early painting of Chinese Seals (1957), SklenáĜ covered the canvas with a considerable number of brightly coloured, small forms of seal characters. 10 They are isolated seals and characters which he had faithfully copied from various imprints or reproductions. Their meanings are obviously of no relevance, but their quantity and variety suggest what he wanted to convey. Later on, however, he only selected one character and modified its form; at the outcome, it may have resembled the ancient script, or vivified as a 10

Reproduced in Vachtová 2010, 179.

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forceful human figure. Oftentimes, the depiction achieved abstract forms, as visualised in the Archaic Chinese Quotation (1963) (Fig. 4-6) in the National Gallery, Prague. One would not even think of decoding the lines and forming them into their legible source. Yet, in this case, it is possible. When one turns the canvas (Fig. 4-7), at the back is a vertical line of eight characters in seal script: qingyun delu, fuyao zhishang 曺暚⼿嶗ĭġ㈞㎾䚜ᶲ, literally “blue clouds gain way, floating directly up.” It is a congratulatory phrase used on a person’s promotion. 11 Although the characters are handsome, they seem to have been written by a gauche hand, assumed to be the painter’s. There are actually more inscriptions on the frame: he signed his name and wrote the title and the date: “Chinese Characters | 1963”. There is no evidence of his understanding of the meaning of the phrase, and since he later titled this painting Quotation, I assume that he did not exactly know the meaning of the phrase or may have been uncertain about it, at best. The abstract painting on the front of the canvas, then, is a visual transformation of the eight characters, a play of dismembered lines of the original phrase. As on other paintings from that time, the colours are not bright, but somber. The mode of representing the character can be also detected on The Chinese Character IV (1962) in the Modern Art Gallery at Roudnice nad Labem.12 However, no inscription is available to elucidate its meaning. Chinese calligraphy as rendered by SklenáĜ apparently was an artful play with lines, more important than the meaning of the words. SklenáĜ could not read Chinese, but did he understand the characters he chose to paint? From what witnesses told, it can be assumed that rather not. Jointly and equally, the question of his understanding of their proper meaning was not of prior importance. At some point, he would have asked for the meaning of a particular character he borrowed for his painting (See SklenáĜ 1978), then possibly distorted and replaced it with a special, personal meaning bound with the completed painting. For SklenáĜ, Chinese characters remained fascinating visual forms, which could be dismantled into singular lines and again put together; he regarded them as linear ornaments or structures, at the expense of their literal meaning. His painting may show an image which looks quite like an archaic Chinese character, but no such character exists (Fig. 4-8). It is, nevertheless, a beautiful representation which takes advantage from the fact that Chinese characters are regarded as the sign of Chinese cultural identity.

11

It is more common to use the short version qingyun zhishang 曺暚䚜ᶲ, “blue clouds rise directly up”, but this is of no big relevance to us. 12 Reproduced in Vachtová 2010, 160.

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Painting the Tao In the late 1970s, being his final creative period, SklenáĜ often made one painting in two versions, a smaller one and a bigger one.13 The Tao of Berta Krebsová (1978-9), sometimes titled Hommage à Berta Krebsová, also comes in two versions; the second and a more complex version will be analysed (Fig. 4-9). Berta Krebsová (1909-73)14 was SklenáĜ’s good friend and the translator of Daodejing, being the ancient Daoist canon attributed to the Old Master or Laozi, and for many, the essential text of Chinese philosophy. As a fellow of the Oriental Institute in Prague, Krebsová worked on the translation for several years, and when it was completed, SklenáĜ designed the book. On the cover, he used the “kaligram” TAO, composed of the three majestic Roman capitals overlapping on a central axis (Fig. 4-10). This calligram became the central element of the painting. In 1973, when Krebsová died unexpectedly at the age of 64, SklenáĜ decided to create the painting as a tribute to her memory. He chose bright, dazzling blue colour as the overall tone which was also applied to some other paintings at the time. Above the calligram “TAO” is a red-line square with the same character in Chinese, written in the standard script; SklenáĜ also made a small oil painting with this character alone.15 The image on the right is a lotus flower, tilled with pinkish red; those on the left are five flowing capitals: B-E-R-T-A. Below, in the central section or on the same level as the “O” of “TAO” are side circles; the right one is the motif of mountains in clouds; the left one his favourite motifs of two fish or yin-yang 昘 春 . These two motifs in roundels were used as black-and-white illustrations in the Czech Daodejing, translated by Berta Krebsová. Below the right roundel, the two characters “Laozi” are discernible. All these motives are inconspicuous; one has to observe and contemplate before seeing them. All over, there are still more lines; winding white ones are 13

For example, Hommage to Bohumil Kubišta, both dated 1975; or Park in Florence, the smaller one dated 1978; the large one dated 1980, being one of his latest works ever. 14 Berta Krebsová wrote her dissertation on Lu Xun 欗彭 (1881-1936) and later translated his short stories into Czech. After the war, she studied in France with Paul Demièville (1894-1979) and became interested in Daoism. She is best known for her translation of Daodejing into Czech (Kniha o Tau a ctnosti. Praha: Odeon, 1971). Krebsová was a diligent scholar and a merry companion. It was a great shock and grief to her friends when she was found in her home dead. She was married to Jaroslav PrĤšek (1906-80) and had no children. 15 It was painted in oil on wood in the scale of 29 x 19 cm. The image is reproduced in Vachtová 2010, 150.

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reminiscent of the Chinese ornament for clouds, while straight dark ones visually prop up the composition. The interpretation of the painting surely does not end here, and could be further analysed at several levels. The visual ornaments not only identify signs, but also mysterious symbols of Chinese culture and thought, presented through SklenáĜ’s perception of things Chinese; some may remain illegible without his enlightenment and explanation. SklenáĜ painted the Hommage à Berta Krebsová in the final stage of his creative art period. It happened in the moment when he reached his summit, and he acted accordingly with the Daoist philosophy: “To hold and fill to overflowing isn’t quite as able as to stop in time [...] If your work is done, withdraw! That is the way of Dao.”16 Thereby, it is apparent that over the years, the tie of ZdenČk SklenáĜ to Chinese culture and philosophy became evermore stronger. He moved from ancient Chinese art to the ancient thought and let it influence not only his oeuvre, but also his way of life.

SklenáĜ’s Affinity with China and Czech Cultural Milieu It is not until one attempts to evaluate Chinese influences on contemporary Czech art that the role of ZdenČk SklenáĜ fully emerges. He was not only fascinated by ancient Chinese culture, but seriously studied it and, phase by phase, adopted the Chinese Tao as his attitude to life. Earning the nickname “Buddha” from his students certainly was not only due to his squint eyes and plump cheeks, but primarily to his mind. His progress had taken place in spite of the fact that from the early 1960s to the early 1980s, the once so warm political relations between China and Czechoslovakia literally froze, and their mutual contacts, including the cultural exchange, shrank to trade. Professor SklenáĜ’s lasting ardour for ancient Chinese culture was quite peculiar at that time. This is not to say that Chinese art as such had not been presented to and well received by Czech society earlier in the twentieth century. The art collector VojtČch Chytil (1896-1936) put up a series of pioneering exhibitions of contemporary Chinese painters from Peking in the 1930s, featuring Qi Baishi 滲䘥䞛 (1864-1957) and other great masters, and attracted much attention from Czech audiences. It also prompted collecting. For instance, the painter Ludvík Kuba (1863-1956) amassed a fine collection of Tang clay figurines, yet his impressionist paintings show no 16

This quotation from Chapter 9 of Daodejing can be found in the biographical study of ZdenČk SklenáĜ written by František Šmejkal (1984, 44), who quoted it in order to explain the sudden retreat of the painter.

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Chinese influences whatsoever. Since the 1940s, Cantos of Old China (first published in 1939), the anthology of classical Chinese poems, has become a bestseller and remained the opening gate to Chinese culture for many to this very day. Poetry rather than visual arts became the vehicle of the continuing mutual recognition. When Sinology was established at Charles University after the war, literature became the main field. Friendly relations between China and Czechoslovakia in the 1950s made space for cultural links, but at the same time, the official and semi-imposed nature of those relations, plus the fact that China was and still remains totalitarian, cast shadow on things Chinese. In an attempt to trace the Chinese vestige in Czech art, one should mention that four Czechs studied at the time at the Central Academy of Arts in Beijing; one of them was Josef Hejzlar (1927-2012), who became an historian of modern Chinese ink painting, is well known abroad for his Chinese Watercolours (1978). In addition, the National Gallery and the Náprstek Museum had established Chinese collections and periodically staged exhibitions; some—such as the show of Ming (1368-1644 AD) woodblock illustrations in 197817—were quite successful. Nevertheless, no matter how eager recipients of Chinese culture the Czechs were, they remained spectators. It is true that there were several artists who made illustrations to Chinese (and also Japanese) books in Czech rendition, notably Eva BednáĜová (1937-86) or Jaroslav Šerých (b. 1928), whose illustrations of Chinese folktales are accomplished both in aesthetic and technical terms, but they seem to be illusions of, not acquaintance with the Chinese reality. In order to gain “Chineseness”, many of these illustrators tended to focus on the lyricism and poetic nature associated with it, rather than elaborating on accessible images of Chinese art, which may have remained rather alien to them, and at times they even confused it with Japanese art. On the contrary, SklenáĜ was an artist and a connoisseur well-read in the field. He was able to capture the essence of Chinese art which he chose to model, while retaining his own artistic expression. In his “Chinese” paintings, one can distinguish between paintings on a Chinese subject matter, paintings under Chinese influence, and paintings carrying the painter’s inner “Chineseness” which was not suggested by the means of any apparent or habitual formal signs. In spite of never adopting Chinese painting techniques, he was indeed capable of adopting and recreating the 17

The exact title was Ten Bamboos Studio: the Eastern Graphic Art from the Painters’ Albums and Manuals, staged by the National Gallery, Prague at the Kinsky Palace in August 1978.

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Chinese inspiration, on the basis of a profound understanding cultivated by reading and study. Among the Czechoslovak artists who either travelled to China in the 1950s—usually as members of art delegations, or for other reasons approached the subject matter of China, ZdenČk SklenáĜ was the only one who reflected his encounter with Chinese culture in his work and let the Chinese experience influence him throughout his life. That was his remarkable achievement viewed from the perspective of contemporary Czech art.

Works Cited Primary Sources SklenáĜ, ZdenČk. 1978. A Letter to Augustin Palát in February. Manuscript in The Papers of A. Palát. Masaryk Institute—Archives of the Academy of Science of the Czech Republic, Praha. —. 2002. Vzpomínání [Recollections]. Praha: Odeon.

Secondary Sources Brožková, Libuše. 1962. “ýínské ilustrace ZdeĖka SklenáĜe” [Chinese Illustrations by Z.S.]. Výtvarná práce 10: 4. Olivová, Lucie. 2009. “Cesta ZdeĖka SklenáĜe” [The Tao of Z.S.]. Nový Orient 64: 38-42. Šmejkal, František. 1984. ZdenČk SklenáĜ. Praha: Odeon. Vachtová, Ludmila et al. 2010. ZdenČk SklenáĜ 1910-1986. Praha: Galerie ZdenČk SklenáĜ.

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Fig. 4-1. Left to right: Ye Qianyu 叱㶢Ḱ, Adolf Hoffmeister, Wu Zuoren ⏛ἄṢ, Ai Qing, ZdenČk SklenáĜ, and Li Keran in front of the Cuihualou Restaurant, Peking on 15 March 1955. © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ.

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Fig. 4-2. Sketches in pencil, taken in the Palace Museum, Beijing on 26 March 1955, from ZdenČk SklenáĜ’s notebook. © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ.

Fig. 4-3. ZdenČk SklenáĜ’s sketch of the imperial seal (left) in his notebook. © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ.

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Fig. 4-4. ZdenČk SklenáĜ, Tang Lady, 1974. Lithograph on paper, 17.2 x 8.7 cm. The image was originally made for the book cover of The Treasure Box (1961). Here, the artist used it in a New Year’s greeting. © A. Palát.

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Fig. 4-5. ZdenČk SklenáĜ, Chinese Antiquities, 1958. Oil on canvas, 70 x 90 cm. © Gallery of Modern Art, Hradec Králové.

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Fig. 4-6. ZdenČk SklenáĜ, Archaic Chinese Quotation, 1963. Oil on canvas, 90 x 55 cm. © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ.

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Fig. 4-7. Chinese inscription by ZdenČk SklenáĜ written on the back of his Archaic Chinese Quotation (1963). © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ.

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Fig. 4-8. ZdenČk SklenáĜ, Archaic Chinese Character, 1962. Oil on canvas, 53 x 37 cm. © East Bohemian Gallery of Fine Arts, Pardubice.

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Fig. 4-9. ZdenČk SklenáĜ, The Tao of Berta Krebsová, 1978-9. Oil on canvas, 66 x 51 cm. © Gallery ZdenČk SklenáĜ.

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Fig. 4-10. The calligram “TAO” by ZdenČk SklenáĜ, as it appears on the front cover of the Czech translation of Daodejing (Prague: Odeon, 1970). Photograph by Lucie Olivová.

PART II: ENVISIONING CHINESE LANDSCAPE ART

CHAPTER FIVE BINYON AND NASH: BRITISH MODERNISTS’ CONCEPTION OF CHINESE LANDSCAPE PAINTING* MICHELLE YING-LING HUANG

The period between the 1880s and the 1910s was not only a flourishing time for the development of modern art movements in Europe, but also a burgeoning time for the collecting activity and historical study of Chinese painting in the West. The pictorial design and aesthetic ideas of traditional Chinese painting inspired British avant-garde artists with imaginative and spiritual ideas. Early in 1912, the young landscape painter Paul Nash (1889-1946), who studied at the Slade School of Fine Art and settled himself in a bed-sitting room in Paultons Square, Chelsea near Embankment, expressed the Chinese sentiment in his vision of London: It fascinated me as a place far more than for what I could get out of it. There were certain aspects of it which were so joyous, native and tender in their beauty of grey, white and blue and that miraculous soot-black on Portland stone […] It has such mystery in its winter days when suns were pale red discs floating over the deep blue gulfs of the empty parks and flights of duck went whistling overhead. It seemed as remote and unfamiliar as a Chinese landscape. Yet it was all London, the thousand facets and incalculable moods of which I was only just beginning to discover (Nash 1949, 134).

Being deeply inspired by the environments and atmosphere of his home town, Nash’s association of London’s winter scene and “Chinese landscape” was unlikely evoked by his personal experience of seeing Chinese paintings in museums. By the 1910s, Chinese landscape painting had very little place in national collections in Britain, nor was it adequately displayed in public exhibitions. Nash’s early knowledge of Chinese art was mainly acquired

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from the publications by pioneer Orientalists such as Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), who played an important role in disseminating historical knowledge of Asian painting to students in Britain and abroad. For Binyon, Nash and their contemporaries in Britain, their impression of “Chinese landscape” would usually refer to the landscape painting of the Song dynasty (960-1279 AD) which manifested Chinese painters’ liberation of imagination and feelings, as well as their comprehension of art, life and nature. Such artistic expression and intellectual characters corresponded with some aesthetic ideas of British modernism, while the pictorial design of Song landscape inspired modern European artists with new subject matter and compositional arrangements. Taking account of Binyon’s connections with British artists, this chapter investigates his early study and interpretation of Chinese landscape painting, with examples drawn from public museums in Britain and America, in order to show the Occidental taste in the Song landscape art. I will also illuminate how Nash shared a common interest in Chinese painting and revealed his vision of Song landscapes in his later works.

Binyon’s Early Encounters with Chinese Landscape Painting When Binyon began his study of Chinese painting in 1903, there were no Song landscape paintings in national collections in Britain. By 1920 a few Song paintings which depicted domestic scenes, dragons, birds and flowers can be found in national museums in England but not in Scotland. Although the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh holds the largest collection of Chinese paintings among institutional museums in Scotland, its early collections only include a thirteenth-century ink painting of a three-clawed dragon which was acquired from Kenneth Sanderson in 1925.1

* Earlier versions of this chapter were presented at the Association of Art Historians 36th Annual Conference at the University of Glasgow on 15-17 April 2010, and the Fine Arts Research Seminar at the University of Hong Kong on 12 April 2011. Special thanks go to Prof. Michael Sullivan who provided valuable advice on this paper. I would also like to thank Jan Stuart, Clarissa von Spee, Joseph Chang and David Hogge for granting me permission to view Chinese paintings and consult registers and manuscripts at the British Museum and the Freer Gallery of Art/Arthur M. Sackler Gallery. Parts of the research of this work are funded by the Catherine and Alfred Forrest Trust and the Burnwynd History and Art Limited. 1 This Daoist painting was painted on silk and mounted on double-leafed card. It might be produced in either the late Song or early Yuan (1271-1368 AD) dynasties.

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Another Song painting was an album of flowers which was purchased from A. E. Anderson, per Messrs Spink and Son Ltd. from Surrey, in 1934.2 By the 1930s Song landscape painting can be found in national museums in London. The Chinese collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A) contained a few paintings which were previously attributed to the Song dynasty, but now are considered either fake or copies after the period. For example, two handscrolls painted in ink and colours on silk were acquired in 1909: one was claimed to be by Li Di (ca.1100-after 1197) and depicted a winter scene with a series of groups of birds, rabbits, berries and roses;3 the other delineated a paradisical landscape with figures of travellers and deer, bearing a signature of Zhao Boju ␐ ỗ楺 (1120-82). 4 Two landscape scrolls, including one with figures, horses and houses by Liu Songnian ∱㜦 ⸜ (ca. 1150-after 1225) and the other with buffaloes and a piping herd boy by Li Tang 㛶Ⓒ (ca. 1050-after 1130), were added to the V&A collection in 1922 and 1935, respectively. 5 In 1939, Mrs Edward Lawrence Cockell presented a hanging scroll of Laozi by Su Shi 喯 度 (1036-1101), in accordance with the wishes of her late husband, to the V&A. Similar to the aforementioned handscrolls, this ink painting is also a fake produced after the Song dynasty.6 To trace the earliest acquisition of Song paintings in Britain, we can look at the William Anderson collection in the British Museum acquired in 1881. Dr William Anderson (1842-1900) formed his collection of 3,040 Japanese paintings and 114 Chinese paintings between 1873 and 1880, See the Registers of Chinese painting in the National Museum of Scotland, vol. 14, accession number A.1925.754. 2 Painted in ink and colours on silk, two species of flower sprays demonstrated the gongbi style: the contours of flowers and leaves were executed in meticulous detail, while the graduation of tone was adopted in colouring. However, the fragile condition of the album makes it difficult to judge the authorship and the authenticity of the seal. See the Registers of Chinese painting in the National Museum of Scotland, vol. 16, accession number A.1934.628. I acknowledge Kevin McLoughlin for providing the images of two flower sprays for my reference. 3 See the V&A Catalogue of Chinese Drawing (hereafter V&A-CCD), museum number E.4200-1909. 4 See V&A-CCD, museum number E.4212-1909. 5 The handscroll attributed to Li Tang was formerly owned by the British collector of Chinese, Korean and Near Eastern art, George Eumorfopoulos (1863-1939). A black and white reproduction of the painting can be found in the collector’s catalogue. See V&A-CCD, museum numbers E.1467-1922 and E.31-1935; Binyon 1928, 16-7, Plate XVIII. 6 See V&A-CCD, museum number E.558-1939.

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during his residence in Japan as medical officer to the British Legation.7 With his stronger interest in Japanese art, a small collection of Chinese paintings was merely added to demonstrate the close relationship between the arts of Japan and China. Although Anderson thought that he had collected Chinese paintings by great masters in different periods, such as two eagle paintings by Emperor Huizong (1082-1135; r. 1101-25) and Muqi (act. mid- to late 13th century) of the Song dynasty, many Chinese paintings in his collection are now regarded as copies mainly produced in the Ming (1368-1644 AD) and Qing (1644-1911 AD) dynasties. According to Anderson’s Descriptive and Historical Catalogue of a Collection of Japanese and Chinese Paintings in the British Museum (1886), his collection contained about nine paintings from the eleventh century to the thirteenth, including one genre picture depicting a crowd, bridge over river, with boats and buildings, based on Zhang Zeduan’s ⻝㑯䪗 (1085-1145) Along the River during the Qingming Festival (Qingming shanghe tu 㶭㖶 ᶲ㱛⚾). However, this painting came with a forged certificate and was a copy produced anonymously in the Qing dynasty. When reliable examples of Song paintings were unavailable in British museums in the beginning of the twentieth century, the Japanese-English illustrated monthly journal The Kokka ⚳厗 (National Flower), which contained superb reproductions of inaccessible paintings and sculptures in private collections or temples in Japan, was Binyon’s major pictorial reference for Japanese and Chinese landscape art. In his review of The Kokka, Binyon (1904, 110) remarked that Landscape plays a great part, especially in the great time of the Chinese renaissance in the fifteenth century. But Japanese landscape is liberating vision, in which the foreground is nothing, but the eye travels out into vast spaces where far-off torrents plunge among towering peaks, and wild geese sail over mists that veil the marshes. The idea, so long prevalent in Europe, that the grandeur and solitude of nature are to be shunned, has never been known in China or Japan. They have never talked of “horrid crags.” In passion for intimate nature the Far East has anticipated Europe by many centuries.

In fact, mature Chinese landscape painting reached its peak in the Song dynasty, a few centuries earlier than Binyon thought. What he considered 7

For the background of Anderson, see “Obituary” for William Anderson” 1900; for the acquisition of Anderson’s extensive collection of Japanese and Chinese paintings, books, carvings on wood and ivory, metal work and other objects, see Princess Akiko of Mikasa ⼔⫸⤛䌳 2007, 123-32; Huang 2010, 279-81.

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the great works of Chinese and Japanese landscape in the fifteenth century were probably those by Chinese painters of the Zhe school in the Ming dynasty and by Japanese painters like Sesshnj Tǀyǀ 暒凇䫱㎂ (1420-ca. 1506) in the Muromachi period (1336-1573 AD), in which some painters drew from the modes of the Southern Song (1127-1279 AD) painting in furthering their individual styles. Here, as in his other writings done in subsequent years, Binyon’s way of seeing Oriental painting was Eurocentric as demonstrated in his analogy of fifteenth-century Chinese art with the Renaissance period of European art.8 Joining the Department of Prints and Drawings as the Second Class Assistant in 1895,9 Binyon became involved in cataloguing and publication projects of European prints and drawings, in particular those of the British school.10 In the beginning of the 1900s, he also developed an interest in the study of Oriental art, especially Japanese and Chinese painting and print, and enriched the Museum’s collection with fine specimens from the original countries. Hence, the job nature of cross-cultural art was a factor to motivate Binyon to compare the historical development and artistic ideas of European and Oriental painting. In 1905 and 1917, Binyon assisted in selecting illustrations for the first and second editions of Herbert Giles’s (1845-1935) An Introduction to the History of Chinese Pictorial Art (1905; rev. edn 1918) which provided 8

James Elkins (2010, 117) criticises the way Binyon compared the Chinese tradition to a hypothetical West. He argues that the idea of foisting the European Renaissance on China is incoherent. He also finds it difficult to “imagine the Renaissance as a portable event that can be mentally subtracted or added to different cultures.” However, I think Binyon did not intend to “foist” or “add” the Western tradition on Chinese art. Through a cross-cultural comparison, his primary concern was to explore the different historical developments of Western and Chinese painting in order to seek for inspiring ideas to revitalise the spirit of modern European art. 9 On 8 September 1893, Binyon was initially appointed as the Second Class Assistant in the Department of Printed Books. About two years later, Sir Sidney Colvin (1845-1927), Keeper of the Department of Prints and Drawings, allowed Binyon to fill the position vacated by the retirement of Lionel Cust (1859-1929). Thus, Binyon could work where he had first wanted. See Minutes of the Meeting of Trustees’ Standing Committees, the British Museum Central Archive, London (hereafter MMTSC-BMCA), Box C13, vol. 46, 14 October 1893, 19285-6; vol. 47, 6 April and 12 July 1895, 19658-9, 19733. 10 For example, the revised second volume of the Index of Artists Represented in the Department of Prints and Drawings in the British Museum (1896) and the four-volume Catalogue of Drawings by British Artists and Artists of Foreign Origin working in Great Britain, preserved in the Department of Prints and Drawings (1898-1907).

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biographical details of Chinese artists in different periods, with reference to authoritative treatises on Chinese painting, such as The Painting Catalogue of the Xuanhe Era (Xuanhe huapu ⭋␴䔓嬄) (1120) and Mi Fu’s 䰛剦 (1051-1107) The History of Painting (Hua shi 䔓⎚) (ca. 1080-4). In his illuminating note on a reproduction of A Landscape by Zhao Lingrang 嵁Ẍ 䨘 (act. 1070-1100) from The Kokka, Binyon (1905; 1918) assimilated this Northern Song (960-1127 AD) landscape painting with the nineteenth-century European art: The Sung age was one of the few ages of the world which have had the intellectual character we call ‘modern.’ This is most marked in its conception of landscape. Not till the 19th century in Europe do we find anything like the landscape art of China in the Sung period,—a disinterested love of beauty in nature for its own sake, regardless of associations imposed by the struggles of existence […] It is the imaginative picturing of what is most elemental and most august in nature […] This reproduction is from a painting chosen because showing with its pensive feeling a delicate naturalism […]

Binyon admired Song artists’ passion and reverence for nature because their landscape paintings reflected the liberation of individual imagination and inner expression. This kind of “intellectual character” of Song landscape and the intimacy between man and nature were later continued by fifteenth-century Japanese painters and nineteenth-century European artists such as Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot (1796-1875), the leading landscape painter of the Barbizon School (See ibid.). In 1910, Binyon’s knowledge of Chinese landscape painting was further enhanced by the English writings of Taki Seiichi (1873-1945) who was the editor of The Kokka and Professor of Art History from the Tokyo Imperial University (now University of Tokyo). Taki’s essays in The Kokka and Three Essays on Oriental Painting (1910) introduced Binyon to the teachings of Laozi and of Zhuangzi 匲⫸ (369-286 BC) which “most faithfully reflect the deeply-rooted taste of the Chinese for nature” (Taki 1910, 33). Binyon found Taki’s essays “full of most interesting quotations from the sayings of Chinese artists”, especially those from Guo Xi’s 悕䅁 (ca. 1020-ca. 1090) Noble Features of the Forest and Stream (Linquan gaozhi 㜿㱱檀农). 11 Nevertheless, Taki’s brief survey of representative styles and landscape painters focused more on the periods between the Six Dynasties (ca. 222-589 AD) and the Song dynasty. His accounts of Chinese 11 Selected essays from Guo Xi’s Linquan gaozhi were translated into English by Shio Sakanishi in 1935. See Binyon 1911a, 14; Kuo 1935.

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landscape painting from the Yuan to the Qing dynasties were incomprehensive and incomplete.12 In addition, Giles’s An Introduction to the History of Chinese Pictorial Art and The Kokka, such as No. 244 in September 1910, were other early references for Binyon’s understanding of the theories of Song landscape painting and the biographical details of Chinese painters. Guo Xi’s “Advice on Landscape”(Shanshui xun Ⱉ㯜妻), which told the secret of bringing alive the inner spirit of landscapes, was persistently referred to in Binyon’s Painting in the Far East (1908; rev. edns 1913, 1923, 1934), The Flight of the Dragon (1911) and The Spirit of Man in Asian Art (1935).13 Also in 1910, the British Museum purchased the Olga-Julia Wegener collection of 145 Chinese paintings, including three landscapes attributed to the Song dynasty. 14 Now Binyon could make a close study of Zhao Lingrang’s Landscape (Fig. 5-1) which depicted a harmonious village life in the spring time as suggested by the peach blossoms and willows. The relaxing atmosphere also reflected in the daily activities of villagers and the broad and remote surrounding of mountains and lakes. Groves and huts were painted in meticulous detail, while the use of blue-and-green for mountain shapes and layers was typical of the Tang landscape. The Arthur Morrison collection which was bequeathed to the British Museum in 1913 also contained a painting, Landscape in Snow (Fig. 5-2), attributed to Zhao Lingrang.15 It depicted a herd boy riding an ox in snow, carrying a dead pheasant. The vivid brushstrokes and subtle graduation of tone in trees, rocks, as well as the figure and ox, bring alive the solitude and contrast to the vast empty space on the top-half of the scroll. The misty and snowy background suggests a poetic feeling in the void of nature and encourages the viewer’s imagination. Its composition also inspired the “One-Corner” style of the Southern Song court painter Ma Yuan (act. 12 Binyon criticised Taki for not elucidating clearly the mystery of “Northern” and “Southern” schools of the Song landscape painting. On the one hand, Taki illuminated the different styles of the two schools according to the topographical features in northern and southern China. On the other hand, he paradoxically claimed that the long-standing dividing line of the two schools was absurd and contradictory. Taki also failed to illuminate the original meaning of Dong Qichang’s 吋℞㖴 (1555-1636) theory of Northern and Southern schools of the Ming dynasty, and the influence of Zen thought in the development of Chinese landscape painting. See Binyon 1911b, 108; Taki 1910, 49-53. 13 See Binyon [1923] 1959, 142-4; 1911a, 29, 63, 83, 85 and 96; 1935a, 91 and 104. 14 For the acquisition of the Wegener collection of Chinese paintings, see Huang 2013a. 15 For the acquisition of the Morrison collection, see Huang 2013b, 158-65.

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1190-1224). Nevertheless, the less refined brushstroke and the heavy use of shading in Morrison’s painting show that this hanging scroll was probably a copy produced in the Qing dynasty. Strikingly, unreliable specimens in the Wegener and Morrison collections would have misled Binyon’s understanding of the Song landscape art. For instance, the Wegener collection contains a hanging scroll of Dog Barking in Snow outside House Gate (Fig. 5-3), formerly attributed to Fan Kuan 劫⮔ (act. 990-1026) of the Northern Song dynasty. This painting included a signature of Fan Kuan and an imperial seal of Xuanhe reign (r. 1119-25). However, the awkward and stiff postures of trees, the clear division of ink tone in branches and mountain layers, as well as the emphasis on foreground details raise doubts as to its authenticity. It could hardly compare with Fan Kuan’s masterpieces, like the Travellers amid Mountains and Streams (Xishan xinglü tu 寧 Ⱉ 埴 㕭 ⚾ ) in the National Palace Museum, Taipei ⎘⊿, which shows his typical central majestic mountain in monumental scale, the awesome power of nature, as well as well-defined texture strokes and washes. Thus, the British Museum’s painting which bore a forged signature of Fan Kuan was a copy produced anonymously in the Qing dynasty. The deferred-dating assumption could also apply to A Waterfall (Fig. 5-4) in the Wegener collection. This painting was formerly attributed to the Southern Song painter Xia Gui (act. 1180-ca.1230) and bore eleven collectors’ seals, including those of the Emperor Qianlong and Emperor Jiaqing ▱ㄞ (r. 1796-1820). The gradation of ink and clashing details in the painting of the waterfall might enhance the atmospheric effect of the mountain and give the impression of moving water, yet the symmetrical composition and the meticulous detail in bubbles are not typical of Xia Gui’s “Half Composition” style. In the Guide to an Exhibition of Chinese and Japanese Paintings at the British Museum (1910), Binyon regarded it (No. 102) as a seventeenth-century painting (The British Museum 1910, 30). Interestingly, no geniue works of Song landscapes were exhibited in the three exhibitions of Japanese and Chinese paintings at the British Museum in 1888, 1910 and 1914. This implies that those Song landscape paintings in the early collections of the British Museum did not attract its curators’ attention. It also makes clear that Paul Nash’s impression of “Chinese landscape” and his knowledge of Chinese art in the early 1910s had no direct relationship to relevant specimens in the British Museum, but was very likely acquired from early publications on the subject such as Binyon’s Painting in the Far East and The Flight of the Dragon.

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The Fantasy of the “Ma Yuan Landscape Roll” While the early British collections only contained very few reliable specimens of Chinese landscape painting, Binyon studied more examples of high artistic quality through his visit to Charles Lang Freer’s (1854-1919) house. During his two-week stay in Detroit in November 1912, Binyon studied the splendid collection of Chinese painting which was boosted dramatically by over 430 pieces of scroll and album paintings after Freer’s second Asian trip in 1909-11.16 Unlike the British Museum’s collections which included relatively more paintings of immortal figures, birds and flowers but very few landscapes, the Freer collection provided several specimens for Binyon’s understanding of the style and design of Chinese landscape painting. Among Freer’s new acquisitions of Chinese painting made in China in 1910-11, there was a so-called “Ma Yuan landscape roll”, now known as Grand View of Rivers and Mountains (Fig. 5-5). It was purchased from a private owner through Riu Cheng Chai, Peking for $1,800. This handscroll was painted in ink and colours on an unusual long silk; its length of over 42-foot suggests that this picture was produced in the imperial palace. It depicted a grand view of mountains and rivers, with many waterways, boats, bridges, dwellings, temples, pavilions, inhabitants and travellers. At the end of the scroll, there were three colophons by Ming and Qing officials dated in 1421, 1428 and 1871, respectively. They recorded the occasions of seeing this picture in the imperial court and the story of the painting’s acquisition. 17 Although the inscription at the right end of the painting claimed that it was done, in accordance with the imperial order, by Ma Yuan in 1192, its signature was forged. 16 Freer first travelled to Asia in 1894-5 and revisited China and Japan in 1906-7. Apart from his visit to West Asia in 1908, Freer made two more visits to Asia, including China and Japan, in 1909 and 1910-11. See Lawton and Merrill 1993, 59-97. 17 In 1380, a former imperial eunuch of the preceding Yuan dynasty presented this landscape scroll to the young prince of Yan, Zhu Di 㛙㢋 (1360-1424) who took up his fiefdom in Peking. Considering the subject of rivers and mountains as a symbol of the empire as a whole, the prince’s followers construed the landscape scroll as an auspicious omen of ascending the imperial throne in the future. The prediction came to pass in 1402 when Zhu Di became the Emperor Yongle 㯠㦪 (r. 1403-24). He then had the story of the painting’s acquisition announced in a feast for the court. See the inventory records of the painting, Freer Gallery of Art/Arthur M. Sackler Gallery Archives, Smithsonian Institute, Washington D.C., Smithsonian 66, F1911.169.

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To announce his new acquisition of a valuable Chinese landscape painting from the imperial collection, in 1913, Freer invited a well-known photographer from Boston to photograph the “Ma Yuan landscape roll” and asked the Detroit Photographing Company to produce ten copies.18 Freer intended to present them to European and American museums and wanted the photograph to be accompanied by Binyon’s essay.19 The photographic copy of the scroll reached Binyon in late December 1915. Binyon and his friends who had seen the scroll were enthusiastic about the beauty of the painting. 20 On 18 April 1916, Freer received Binyon’s essay, with translations of inscriptions done by Arthur Waley (1889-1966) and S. C. Cheng (dates unknown) (Binyon 1916, 4). He found it most interesting and of lasting value to many students of Ma Yuan’s paintings, and sent Binyon £100 as an honorarium.21 In his essay Ma Yüan’s Landscape Roll (1916), Binyon uncritically accepted the authenticity of the “Ma Yuan scroll”, yet his attribution was simply based upon the inscription on the painting. Binyon (1916, 21) overestimated the painting’s formal qualities and overlooked its material history: If anyone [has] doubts of the authenticity of such a painting as this […] let him note how his imagination will let him enter the picture and roam this country that it discloses; he will find everywhere his feet on firm ground, he will know where it rises and where it slopes away, he will not confuse the near and the distant or have the sensation of one who misses a step on a dark staircase. But the copyist, and the painter who is not a master, will not 18

Freer to Binyon, 30 June 1913, Archive of Laurence Binyon, British Library, London, Loan 103 (hereafter ALB-BL), vol. 4. 19 Freer to Binyon, 2 November 1915, Charles Lang Freer Papers, Freer Gallery of Art/Arthur M. Sackler Gallery Archives (hereafter CLFP-FGA), Box 3, Folder 19. 20 Binyon received the copy a few days before 30 December when he was writing on Japanese prints. See Freer’s Secretary to Binyon, 24 November 1915, CLFP-FGA, Box 3, Folder 19; Binyon to Freer, 30 December 1915 and 27 April 1917, ALB-BL, vol. 73. 21 250 copies of the Monograph on Ma Yuan, Ma Yüan’s Landscape Roll (1916), were printed by the DeVinne Press to cope with the rapidly growing interest in Chinese art in New York City. Ten copies were sent to Binyon, while about four dozen copies went distributed to several leading museums and private collectors in America. The Monograph on Ma Yuan and the reproduction of the painting attracted lots of attention in America. Freer was pleased to receive expressions of appreciation from the recipients. Meanwhile, Binyon helped advertise the “Ma Yuan scroll” in England and proposed to publish a notice on it in The Burlington Magazine. See Freer to Binyon, 13 May, 17 August and 19 September 1916, CLFP-FGA, Box 3, Folder 20; Binyon to Freer, 31 August 1916, ALB, vol. 3.

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Two years later, Binyon added the illustration of the “Ma Yuan scroll” to Herbert Giles’s revised edition of An Introduction to the History of Chinese Pictorial Art (1918) and continued to recognise its faithful quality: Certainly no extant work of the painter rivals this glorious landscape, in which one motive after another is taken up and composed into a superb whole. Loftiness of emotional mood, mastery of plane and structure, personal energy of brushwork, are here combined in a masterpiece typical of the classic landscape of Sung (Binyon 1918, 144).

He once again affirmed the rhythmical composition and the poetic expression of the “Ma Yuan scroll” in the Freer collection. Ironically, Binyon did not actually have a clear understanding of Ma Yuan’s unique compositional design as he puzzled: All the paintings of Ma Yüan, except this one, are of limited dimensions; and because of this he was called ‘One-horn Ma.’ [Binyon remarked in footnote 1:] “Ma” means horse. Why a horse should be credited with horns is not clear (Binyon 1916, 4).

Binyon simply deciphered the artist’s surname “Ma” as “horse” and the compositional design of “One-corner” as “horn”. His misinterpretation of Ma Yuan’s nickname partly resulted from the inaccurate translation by Waley and Cheng, but also from Binyon’s limited knowledge of Chinese language as well as the signature style and compositional design of Ma Yuan’s landscape painting.22 In fact, Ma Yuan and his contemporary Xia Gui were influential landscape painters of the Southern Song dynasty. They departed from the monumental style of Northern Song landscape and created two unique compositional designs, known as “One-corner Ma”—focusing on the bottom corner of the painting—and “Half-composition Xia”—emphasising the bottom half of the painting. A large proportion of empty space was used to evoke imagination, while the use of soft tone in mist and remote landscape generated atmospheric effect. Thus, Ma-Xia’s works suggested the loftiness of emotion and grandeur of conception. The different attribution of later experts also shows that Binyon was confused with the styles of Ma Yuan and Xia Gui. The “Ma Yuan landscape roll” in the Freer collection is now regarded as a work done in the Song 22

In August 1916, Binyon told Freer that “I am trying to learn a little Chinese, but I fear I shan’t get at all far.” Binyon to Freer, 31 August 1916, CLFP-FGA, Box 3, Folder 20.

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tradition during the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries. This Ming copy was likely based on the compositional design of another handscroll by Xia Gui, Pure and Remote Mountains and Streams (Xishan qingyuan tu 㹒 Ⱉ㶭怈⚾), which is now in the National Palace Museum, Taipei.23 Xia Gui’s 30-foot-long monochrome painting is much shorter than the “Ma Yuan landscape roll” which used both ink and colours. Although both handscrolls depicted the misty and romantic landscape of Jiangnan 㰇⋿ with a harmonious structure of near, middle and far distance, Xia Gui’s Pure and Remote Mountains and Streams demonstrated a nuanced depiction of rocks and foliage and a better control of ink and brushstrokes. It rendered the textures of mountains and rocks with ax-cut brushstrokes which were inherited from the style of the Northern Song landscape painter Li Tang. In contrast to the Ming copy of Freer’s “Ma Yuan landscape roll”, wet ink and colours almost washed the textures of mountains and rocks. Ax-cut brushstrokes were occasionally applied, but were not executed in a refined manner. The artist also emphasised the contours of layered mountains from the empty air and the activities of inhabitants and travellers along the river. According to Yu Hui ἁ廅, Western museums were accustomed to attributing Ming paintings of the Zhe school to the ink paintings of the Southern Song dynasty, and did not revise the dates and authorship until the 1960s when too many Chinese paintings in Western collections were claimed to be products of the Song dynasty (Li 2007). While the development of Chinese art in the Ming dynasty was generally perceived as “decadence” and decline by pioneer collectors of Japanese and Chinese art like William Anderson,24 Binyon, Freer and other collectors in Europe and America did not actually grasp a complete understanding of the Ming art or the Zhe school and its predominant influence of the Southern Song style. Binyon seems to have been overwhelmed by the romantic mood and intellectual character of Freer’s “Ma Yuan landscape roll”, but failed to recognise the different compositional design of the Ma-Xia School and the different brushwork of Song and Ming painters. Binyon’s interpretation of Chinese painting was profound, not in a technical sense, but in a strong poetic feeling and human comprehension. 23

See Lawton and Merrill 1993, 82; Hatcher 1995, 181-2. Anderson (1886, 490-2) thought that Chinese painting became decadent during the mid-Ming period (c. 1540-1638), partly due to “the spread of a facile and mannered way of work”. At that time the fifteenth-century Japanese painting which drew inspiration from Chinese painting in earlier ages revealed a more powerful energy and fertility in skills and invention. Also see The British Museum 1888, 9. 24

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He found the philosophy of life and the love of nature embodied in Chinese landscape painting very fascinating. In his essay “Ideas of Design in East and West”, Binyon (1913, 650) praised Song landscape painting as “a kind of symbol of nature’s infinite growing life ever reaching out beyond the limit of our senses and only to be apprehended by our imagination.” Dwelling on Laozi’s idea of emptiness, he advised: We should make ourselves empty that the great soul of the universe may fill us with its breath. So too in the Chinese picture there is the empty space, that our imagination may enter into and there find its freedom. Never to be stagnant, never to let the dust of the world settle on the wings of the soul, to be spiritually fluid and free—that is the ideal of Laotzǎ. For so we join the great stream of the cosmic life that permeates all things.25

Binyon (1935a, 98) recognised that the spacing in Chinese landscape painting “is not a final peace, but itself an activity flowing out from the picture into our minds, and drawing us up into a rarer atmosphere.” It also evoked aesthetic feeling and drew the spectators’ imagination “to the outer air, to the all-enclosing space of the universe” (Ibid., 79). Binyon (1911, 75-7) found the empty space of Southern Song landscapes, especially those by the Ma-Xia School, most stimulating. When he looked at the “Ma Yuan landscape roll” in the Freer collection, Binyon found himself deeply immersed in the purest expression of Chinese landscape: there is no more grandly designed landscape in the world. At the first opening of the roll we are taken straight into the heart of the mountains; we breathe keen mountain air. It is a picture in which one can wander all day long […] The themes melt into each other, or are vigorously contrasted; the whole makes up a tremendous full-toned harmony.26

He was enchanted with the poetic and religious feeling in the Southern Song landscape because this kind of painting was quite modern in outlook and appealed to him. Binyon ([1923] 1959, 154-5) admitted that We may say of these [Song] painters, as Walter Pater [(1839-94)] said of [William] Wordsworth [(1770-1850)], “They raise physical nature to the level of human thought, giving it thereby a mystic power and expression; they subdue man to the level of nature, but give him therewith a certain 25

For Binyon’s aesthetic experience of studying Song landscape paintings, see Binyon 1913, 651; 1935b, 672. 26 Binyon also praised the loftiness and simplicity of Ma-Xia’s landscapes in his third edition of Painting in the Far East. See Binyon 1935a, 99; [1923] 1959, 151-3.

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breadth and vastness and solemnity.” To many spirits of the nineteenth century in Europe the Sung painting would have seemed, had they known it, the very expression of their own minds: that is why it is of such living interest to us now.

On the contrary, in the tradition of European art, landscape had been ranked less important than figure painting and was considered less significant for humanity. Prior to the eighteenth century, Western artists were generally accustomed to regarding landscape as an artistic convention rather than the expression of Nature herself. Thus, the relation of man to the rest of creation was imperfectly understood.27 By learning the lofty ideal of Song landscape painters, Binyon believed that European artists could learn to recover the lost harmony between man and nature, and could transform nature into their “spiritual home” where they could freely liberate their mind and energies (See Binyon 1943, 50-1; [1923] 1959, 21). Paul Nash’s mystic landscape paintings were apt examples revealing the Chinese sentiment and a mental attitude towards man and nature.

Nash’s Vision of Song Landscape Painting Paul Nash who met Binyon through mutual friends such as Sir William Rothenstein (1872-1945) and Roger Fry (1866-1934) also encountered Chinese art in the early 1910s. He visited the Print Room of the British Museum and would have met Binyon there when he was a student at the Slade School of Art in 1910-11. 28 Remaining uninfluenced by the two Post-Impressionist exhibitions organised by Fry in 1910 and 1912, Nash had original vision and poetic sentiment in producing landscape painting. He realised that “[i]t was better to think or to absorb first, before beginning to interpret” (Nash 1949, 123). With his sincere love and reverence for trees, like Wyndham Lewis (1882-1957) who regarded Ma Yuan “as the creator of the first tree” and “the best artist, who has painted the best tree” (Quoted in Michel and Fox 1969, 153, 251), Nash admired Chinese masters who empathically painted the trees as human beings. 27

Binyon did not entirely deny the conception of man and nature in the tradition of European art, but he looked for a kind of landscape art which merged the topography in the cosmic. For his analysis of the different style of landscape art in Europe and China, see Binyon 1911a, 38-41 and 53-4; 1935a, 80-1; [1923] 1959, 11-27, 145-6 and 150-3. 28 For instance, Nash visited the Print Room on 20 September 1911 and 13 June 1914 when Binyon and Waley were on duty, respectively. See Beal 1999, 19; Visitors Books of the Print Room, the British Museum, vols 21 and 23.

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In his review of Nash’s The Ypres Salient at Night (1917), Binyon appreciated the “brooding vision, with a sense of hurt in the landscape” and the war artist’s pure pleasure and intense imagination. 29 On 16 August 1917, he wrote to Nash: I was much impressed by the drawings of yours which I saw at the Goupil Gallery […] I feel that your drawings are remarkable—among the many published by a variety of good artists, for their truth, not merely to the superficial aspect, but to the atmosphere—mental as much as material—in which the war is carried on. They showed a sensitiveness of imagination such as few drawings of the war have betrayed: at least that is my feeling.30

Nash was glad that Binyon saw his drawings “always with [sympathetic] understanding beyond any one who has written of [his] work.”31 The two men exchanged ideas on art, and Nash recognised Binyon as the authority on Chinese art.32 As mentioned in the beginning of this chapter, Paul Nash’s interest in Chinese landscape painting can be discerned as early as 1912. Mary Beal informs us that Nash acquired his knowledge of Chinese art from Binyon’s Painting in the Far East and The Flight of the Dragon, as well as The Burlington Magazine Monograph Chinese Art (1925). Chinese Art not only included Binyon’s discussion of the glories of Song landscape art, but also an introductory essay by Fry who investigated the different creative methods and imaginative habits of European and Chinese artists, as well as the plasticity and rhythm in their art.33 These early writings on Chinese art 29

In February 1917, Nash was posted to the 15th Battalion Hampshire Regiment for service in Ypres Salient. Four months later, he was invalided home, due to an accident there, and held an exhibition of Ypres Salient at Goupil Gallery in London. Nash’s wife Margaret (née Odeh) (1887?-1960) noted that her husband “was affected by the horrible desolation of the landscape in the Salient, and of its reaction upon the minds and spirits of the men who fought in the trenches.” See Binyon 1917, 304; Nash 1949, 20, 178, 180-207. 30 Binyon to Nash, 16 August 1917, Tate Archives, London, TGA 8313/2/2/12. 31 Nash to Binyon, 1 September 1917 and 6 December 1922, ALB-BL, vol. 8. 32 In his letter of 1918, Nash received a book from Binyon: “I can only tell you how much I appreciate this and what great delight I have had from the book’s contents. [Edward] Calvert [(1799-1883)] was a marvel and the spirit of this work moves me more than any other artist of the past; what deep feeling for nature and what never he reveals in these truly pictures” [sic]. In another letter of 1920, Nash advised his friend to seek advice from Binyon on things Chinese. See letters from Nash to Binyon, 22 August 1918 and 5 October 1920, ALB-BL, vol. 8. 33 Mary Beal remarks that Margaret Nash quoted Binyon’s The Flight of the Dragon in her unpublished foreword to the collection of photographs of her husband’s

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inspired Nash’s exploration of Chinese artistic expression and plastic forms in his imaginative painting. For instance, Beal thinks that the composition of Nash’s Landscape at Iden (1929) reflected many of Binyon’s ideas, including the poetic expression and the use of suggestion in the twelfth-century Chinese painting, in Painting in the Far East and The Flight of the Dragon.34 Nash’s landscape painting manifested his imagination, his sensitiveness to life, as well as his ambivalent relationship with the urban and nature. As David Peters Corbett informs us, Nash’s work of the 1920s and early 1930s explores the problematic of the perception of modernity under the new post-war conditions. Nash constructed his landscape paintings, including Landscape at Iden, with the dominant symbols of modernity rather than the presences of the natural world. Thus, Nature is somehow displaced by its representation through the found objects, geometrical and architectural shapes and spaces.35 The use of symbols also plays an important part in Nash’s imaginative painting such as Event on the Downs (1934). The melancholic tone of the grey sky and the decayed tree trunk symbolise Nash’s illness of asthma and possible death, while the tennis ball seems to suggest the optimistic feeling about his new life and revived spirit at Whitecliff Farm on Ballard Down, near Swanage in Dorset, where he and Margaret stayed between October 1934 and February 1935. Mary Beal suggests that the black and white shading of the tennis ball could be read as the Chinese yin-yang symbol: the black half of the symbol which represented the active and masculine soul—yang—corresponds to the cloud in the sky, while the white half which denoted the passive and feminine soul—yin—corresponds to the tree trunk on the ground.36 The composition of Event on the Downs not only painting. Margaret also paraphrased sections from the same book on several occasions when describing Nash’s work. See Beal, 1989, 748, 752, 754; Fry et al. 1925, 1-12. 34 Beal (1999, 20-3) states that both Nash and Binyon were deeply interested in the English poetic heritage and the biblical Creation story such as John Milton’s (1608-74) Paradise Lost (1667). In his Painting in the Far East, Binyon compared Milton’s poetry to early Chinese painting. He also set Jean-François Millet’s (1814-75) Angelus (1857-9) in the context of Muqi’s The Evening Bell from a Distant Temple (ca. 12th century) as a model for European artists to follow. 35 David Peters Corbett remarks that the First World War changed the understanding of modernity and its representation in Britain. Nash’s difficulty with confronting modernity in the 1920s led him to assume a discourse of nature. Nash also questioned the romantic nature of the English inheritance and re-imported the urban and the technological, i.e. the modernity, through which the natural world can be understood. See Corbett 1992, 470-1 and 473. 36 The symbols in Nash’s painting have generally been discussed in relation to Carl

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reveals Nash’s interest in Chinese art and symbolism, but by using the right association, he also linked natural forms and compositional elements into a mysterious relationship. On the other hand, Nash’s watercolours of English landscapes in the 1940s, such as Sunset over the Malverns (1944) (Fig. 5-6), also suggested the feeling of Song landscape. Anthony Bertram (1897-1978) pointed out that the fluid technique, the power of omission, as well as the invisible relationship between stated forms and spaces were some of the compositional elements Nash learned from the plates of Osvald Sirén’s (1879-1966) Early Chinese Paintings from A. W. Bahr Collection (1938). In the second half of 1944, Nash read this catalogue which included twenty-five specimens from Abel William Bahr’s (1919-57) rich collection of Chinese paintings. He admired its marvellous colour plates which showed him a thing he had been searching for and a treatment he had been groping after.37 Perhaps Nash was attracted to the brooding vision, the vast empty space and the atmospheric effect of Chinese landscape paintings in the Bahr collection, such as the handscroll Spring Morning at the Palace of the Han Emperors (Plate XI) by Zhao Boju, as well as the album leaves Misty River in the Autumn (Plate XVA) and The Mountain Pine (Plate XVB) attributed to Ma Lin 楔湇 (ca. 1180-after 1256) of the Southern Song dynasty.38 Gustav Jung (1875-1961) who contributed a commentary on Richard Wilhelm’s The Secret of the Golden Flower: A Chinese Book of Life (1931) and was the author of Psychology and Religion (1938) and Psychology and Alchemy (1953). Having consulted George Digby’s Meaning and Symbol in Three Modern Painters (1955), Mary Beal also used Wilhelm’s book, which included English translations of Daoist treatises, Taiyi jinhua zongzhi ⣒ḁ慹厗⬿㖐 and Huiming jing ㄏ␥䴻, as a source of information for the yin-yang symbol in Nash’s work. According to Andrew Causey, Margaret Nash said that “Nash was not in the least interested in any writings of Jung’s or indeed any psychologist.” Causey suggests that much of the imagery which Nash derived from Romanticism and Symbolism was ultimately inherited from Neoplatonism, alchemy, and heterodox religions, which were derived from Jung’s research. See Beal 1989, 752-4; Causey 1980, 155, note n; Digby 1955, 144-6, 177. 37 The plates were prepared under Bahr’s supervision by the most expert colour-printers in England. See Nash’s letter to Richard Seddon in Bertram 1955, 283-4; Sirén 1938, 5. 38 In 1947, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City acquired the A. W. Bahr collection of Chinese paintings. The blue-and-green landscape scroll Spring Morning at the Palace of the Han Emperors which was formerly attributed to Zhao Boju is now considered a Ming or Qing copy. A new title Landscape with Great Pine is added to Ma Lin’s The Mountain Pine in the Museum collection database.

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In fact, Nash not only found interest in traditional Chinese painting but also the work by modern painters. On 22 February 1946, he received an invitation to see an exhibition of modern Chinese watercolours which was on view in the boardroom of the British Council at 43 Portland Place, London. The exhibition displayed about forty works of birds and flowers, female portraitures, with some landscapes and a few religious paintings. Renowned modern Chinese painters included, among others, Xu Beihong (1895-1953), Zhang Daqian ⻝⣏⋫ (1899-1983) and Huang Junbi 湫⏃⡩ (1898-1991). Major Alfred A. Longden (1875-1954), Director of the Fine Arts Department, considered that Nash would find these works of “great interest”.39 Interestingly, Binyon found in Paul Nash’s dreamy and mystic landscapes, especially his handling of trees and birds, a shared sentiment and spirit of “Twelfth Century” Chinese painting but not a mood of modern Chinese art.40 Binyon referred the “Twelfth Century” to the Song dynasty, in which landscape art embodied a deep personal feeling and reverence for nature. Nash’s resemblance to the Song painter lay in their common feeling and mental attitude to nature, their use of suggestion, empty space and rhythmic movement rather than the pictorial likeness of their landscape paintings. George Digby remarks that Nash’s mode of thought, as well as his play of reciprocal balance and the reconciliation of opposing principles in dealing with the seasonal landscapes, such as the solstice and equinox in his dream-like Landscape of the Vernal Equinox (1944),41 shared a similar On the other hand, Bahr’s catalogue of early Chinese paintings also contained two poetic landscapes River Valley in Mist (Plate XXII) and Fishing Boats on the River (Plate XVI) which were executed in a manner of the Zhe school of the Ming dynasty and bore forged signatures of Tang and Song masters, Wang Mo 䌳⡐ (d. ca. 805) and Xia Gui, respectively. See Sirén 1938, 51-2, 67, 71, 75 and 99. 39 Richard Walker to Nash, 22 February 1946, Tate Archives, Nash TGA 7050.205. Also see the photographs of the 1946 Contemporary Chinese Watercolours Exhibition, Tate Archives, British Council TGA 9712/2/15. 40 James Laver (1951, 15-6) points out that “Binyon once said to Nash, ‘You’re very Twelfth Century, aren’t you?’ Nash was surprised but agreed”. 41 It depicts Wittenham Clumps which was an ancient British camp in Berkshire. There were two dome-like hills with a thick clump of trees on top. Nash thought that the clumps “had a curiously symmetrical sculptured form” and “eclipsed the impression of all the early landscapes [he] knew.” In his drawings of the Clumps, Nash intended to “convey the strange character of the place”, while each image “would contain the individual spirit.” Here the vernal (or spring) equinox, with the sun and moon depicted simultaneously in the sky, were intended as poetic metaphors, referring to the mystery and magic of the perpetual cycles of nature. See Nash 1949, 121-3.

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attitude and orientation of understanding which the Chinese expounded in the classic Book of Changes (Yi jin 㖻䴻) and in Laozi’s teaching of Dao 忻 (Way). Nash’s later landscape paintings were not only charged with philosophical connotations through Chinese conventional symbolism which had been discussed in Binyon’s The Spirit of Man in Asian Art (1935), but also reflected the rhythm and inner life of things, the hidden mysteries of nature, and the harmonious relationship of suggestive contents (See Digby 1955, 127 and 139-43).

Conclusion It is evident that Binyon and Nash were interested in exploring the philosophical ideas and pictorial design of the Song landscape painting which shared some common ideas prevailing in the early twentieth-century British modernism. To borrow Wilhelm Worringer’s (1881-1965) words in his Abstraction and Empathy (1907), the study of Song landscape painting fulfilled the psychic and psychological needs of British modernists, as explained by a poetic, romantic and philosophical “artistic volition”. 42 Binyon realised that the “psychic state” and “artistic volition”, constituted in Song paintings, manifested the spirit of Zen, but owed much to Daoism or the imaginative side of the Chinese genius which Laozi and his followers expressed.43 He recognised that Daoism not only inclined toward the truths of organic life, but also inspired the painter through the eternal spirit of the universe, in its wholeness and its freedom, which become his spiritual home. Although the Song landscape paintings in the early collections of the British Museum and the Freer Gallery of Art were not genuine works, forgeries and inaccurate attributions were common problems in Chinese art connoisseurship in Binyon’s time. When little written and visual references 42 Wilhelm Worringer (1953, 9) explained in his book Aloise Riegl’s theory of “absolute artistic volition” which concerns the “latent inner demand [that] exists per se, entirely independent of the object and of the mode of creation, and behaves as will to form. It is the primary factor in all artistic creation and, in its innermost essence, every work of art is simply an objectification of this a priori existent absolute artistic volition.” 43 The ethos in the Southern Song was favourable for the growth of Zen Buddhism which flourished in the mid-Tang period. Given the coalescence of Daoism with Zen Buddhism in the Tang dynasty, Binyon thought that Zen which assimilated the ideas of Daoism had given new life to the original teaching of Laozi. However, he affirmed that the art of Southern Song “really owed most to Daoism”. See Binyon, 1935a, 88-96; 1936, 16-21.

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on Oriental art were available in the West in the early twentieth century, Binyon worked to turn Chinese pictorial art into an independent and serious study. He had also assiduously educated the British public in the greatest achievements and important aesthetic ideas of Chinese painting through his numerous writings and lectures for almost forty years. While Binyon explored what and how Western artists could learn from Chinese painters and philosophers in the early times, Nash found in the Song landscape art an alternative mode of thinking and expression that inspired them to renew the life of British avant-garde art and to revitalise the spirit of modern European artists with non-scientific conceptions. With the bestowal of pure pleasure and metaphysical ideals the Song landscape gave to Binyon, Freer and Nash, the aesthetic beauty and the significant value of Chinese landscape painting was affirmed in early twentieth-century Britain and America.

Works Cited Primary Sources Anderson, William. 1886. Descriptive and Historical Catalogue of a Collection of Japanese and Chinese Paintings in the British Museum. London: Longmans. Archive of Laurence Binyon, British Library, London, Loan 103, vols 3, 4, 8 and 73. Binyon, Laurence. 1904. “A Japanese Magazine of Art.” Times Literary Supplement, April 8: 110. —. 1905. “A Landscape, by Chao Ling-jang (Chao Ta-nien).” In An Introduction to the History of Chinese Pictorial Art, by Herbert Giles, 113. Shanghai: Keloy & Walsh. —. 1918. “A Landscape, by Chao Ling-jang (Chao Ta-nien).” In An Introduction to the History of Chinese Pictorial Art, by Herbert Giles, 128. 2nd rev. edition, London: Bernard Quaritch. —. 1911a. The Flight of the Dragon: An Essay on the Theory and Practice of Art in China and Japan, Based on Original Sources. London: John Murray. —. 1911b. Review of “Three Essays on Oriental Painting by Sei-Ichi Taki.” The Burlington Magazine 19 (May): 107-8. —. 1913. “Ideas of Design in East and West.” Atlantic Monthly (November): 643-54. —. 1916. Ma Yüan’s Landscape Roll. New York: DeVinne Press. —. 1917. “Three Artists.” New Statesman, June 30: 304. —. 1918. “A Landscape, by Chao Ling-jang (Chao Ta-nien)” and

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“Mountain Landscape. By Ma Yüan.” In An Introduction to the History of Chinese Pictorial Art, by Herbert Giles, 128 and 144. 2nd rev. edition, London: Bernard Quaritch. —. 1928. The George Eumorfopoulos Collection: Catalogue of the Chinese, Corean and Siamese Paintings. London: Ernest Benn. —. 1936. Chinese Art and Buddhism. London: Humphrey Milford. —. (1923) 1959. Painting in the Far East: An Introduction to the History of Pictorial Art in Asia, especially China and Japan. London: Edward Arnold. Reprint of the 3rd edition, New York: Dover Publications. —. 1935a. The Spirit of Man in Asian Art: Being the Charles Eliot Norton Lectures delivered in Harvard University, 1933-1934. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. —. 1935b. “Chinese Painting.” Asia 35 (November): 666-72. —. 1943. “Approach to Chinese Art.” L. S. P. Record 20 (2) (April): 49-51. The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings. 1888. Guide to the Exhibition of Chinese and Japanese Paintings in the Print and Drawing Gallery. London: British Museum. —. 1910. Guide to An Exhibition of Chinese and Japanese Paintings (Fourth to Nineteenth Century A.D.) in the Print and Drawing Gallery. London: British Museum. Catalogue of Chinese Drawing, the Victoria & Albert Museum, London. Charles Lang Freer Papers, Freer Gallery of Art/Arthur M. Sackler Gallery Archives, Smithsonian Institute, Washington D.C., Box 3, Folders 19-20. Fry, Roger, Laurence Binyon, Osvald Sirén, Bernard Rackham, A. F. Kendrick, and W. W. Winkworth. 1925. Chinese Art: An Introductory Review of Painting, Ceramics, Textiles, Bronzes, Sculpture, Jade, etc. London: Batsford. Giles, Herbert. (1905) 1918. An Introduction to the History of Chinese Pictorial Art. Shanghai: Keloy & Walsh; 2nd rev. edition, London: Bernard Quaritch. Inventory Records of Chinese Painting, Freer Gallery of Art/Arthur M. Sackler Gallery Archives, Smithsonian Institute, Washington D.C., Smithsonian 66, F1911.169. Minutes of the Meeting of Trustees’ Standing Committees, the British Museum Central Archive, London, vols 46-7. Nash, Paul. 1949. Outline: An Autobiography and Other Writings. London: Faber & Faber. “Obituary” for William Anderson. 1900. The Times, October 31: 4. Registers of Chinese Painting, the National Museum of Scotland, vol. 14. Sirén, Osvald. 1938. Early Chinese Paintings from A. W. Bahr Collection.

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London: Chiswick Press. Taki Sei-Ichi. 1910. Three Essays on Oriental Painting. London: Bernard Quaritch. Tate Archives, London, TGA 8313/2/2/12; British Council TGA 9712/2/15; Nash TGA 7050.205. Visitors Books of the Print Room, the British Museum, London, vols 21 and 23.

Secondary Sources Beal, Mary. 1989. “Paul Nash’s ‘Event on the Downs’ Reconsidered.” The Burlington Magazine 131 (November): 748-54. —. 1999. “‘For the Fallen’: Paul Nash’s ‘Landscape at Iden’.” The Burlington Magazine 141 (January): 19-23. Bertram, Andrew. 1955. Paul Nash: The Portrait of an Artist. London: Faber & Faber. Causey, Andrew. 1980. Paul Nash. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Corbett, David Peters. 1992. “‘The Third Factor’: Modernity and the Absent City in the Work of Paul Nash, 1919-36.” Art Bulletin 74 (3) (September): 457-74. Digby, George W. 1955. Meaning and Symbol in Three Modern Artists: Edvard Munch, Henry Moore, Paul Nash. London: Faber & Faber. Elkins, James. 2010. Chinese Landscape Painting as Western Art History. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Hatcher, John. 1995. Laurence Binyon: Poet, Scholar of East and West. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Huang, Michelle Ying-Ling. 2010. “British Interest in Chinese Painting, 1881-1910: The Anderson and Wegener Collections of Chinese Painting in the British Museum.” Journal of the History of Collections 22 (2) (November): 279-87. —. 2013a. “The Acquisition of the Wegener Collection of Chinese Paintings by the British Museum.” The Burlington Magazine 155 (1324) (July): 463-70. —. 2013b. “The Olga-Julia Wegener and Arthur Morrison Collections of Chinese Paintings in the British Museum.” In Collecting East & West, edited by Susan Bracken, Andrea M. Gáldy and Adriana Turpin, 149-168. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Kuo Hsi. 1935. An Essay on Landscape Painting. Translated by Shio Sakanishi. London: John Murray. Laver, James. 1951. Introduction to Fertile Image by Paul Nash, edited by Margaret Nash, 9-19. London: Faber & Faber.

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Lawton, Thomas, and Linda Merrill. 1993. Freer: A Legacy of Art. Washington D. C. and New York: Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution in association with H.N. Abrams. Li Jianya 㛶‍Ṃ. 2007. “Yu Hui: Xunzhao Gugong yu Da Ying de duijie ἁ弱烉⮣㈦㓭⭓ᶶ⣏劙䘬⮡㍍.” Xinjing bao 㕘Ṕ㉍ [The Beijing News], July 2. Accessed March 28, 2010. http://news.artron.net/20120723/n30361.html. Michel, Walter, and C. J. Fox, eds. 1969. Wyndham Lewis on Art: Collected Writings 1913-1956. London: Thames and Hudson. Princess Akiko of Mikasa. 2007. “The William Anderson Collection Saiko” ͛͞΢͚Θί͚Ϋ͸ΰ͵ΫίͫΤͧͼΟΫℵ侫 [“Re-examining the William Anderson Collection”]. Annual Bulletin of the Center for Comparative Japanese Studies 㭼庫㖍㛔⬎䞼䨞ͳΫͷΰ䞼䨞⸜⟙ 4 (July): 123-32. Worringer, Wilhelm. 1953. Abstraction and Empathy: A Contribution to the Psychology of Style. Translated by Michael Bullock. New York: International Universities Press.

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Fig. 5-1. Attributed to Zhao Lingrang, detail of Landscape, 18th-19th century copy after Zhao Lingrang. Ink and colours on silk, 35 x 225.5 cm. © Trustees of the British Museum.

Fig. 5-2. Attributed to Zhao Lingrang, Landscape in Snow, 19th century copy after Zhao Lingrang. Ink and colours on silk, 107.2 x 49.8 cm. © Trustees of the British Museum.

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Fig. 5-3. Formerly attributed to Fan Kuan, Dog Barking in Snow outside House Gate, probably 18th-19th century. Ink and colours on silk, 154.6 x 83 cm. © Trustees of the British Museum.

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Fig. 5-4. Formerly attributed to Xia Gui, A Waterfall, 18th-19th century copy after Xia Gui. Ink and colors on silk, 223.5 x 69.4 cm. © Trustees of the British Museum.

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Fig. 5-5. Formerly attributed to Ma Yuan, detail of Grand View of Rivers and Mountains, late 14th-15th century copy after Xia Gui. Ink and colours on paper, 64.2 x 1276.4 cm. Photograph by Michelle Huang. © Freer Gallery of Art.

Fig. 5-6. Sunset over the Malverns, 1944, Paul Nash (1889-1946). Watercolour on paper, 29 x 57 cm. The Royal College of Art collection © Tate, London 2013.

CHAPTER SIX IN SEARCH OF PARADISE LOST: OSVALD SIRÉN’S SCHOLARSHIP ON GARDEN ART MINNA TÖRMÄ

The Finnish-Swedish art historian Osvald Sirén (1879-1966) left his mark on several areas of Chinese art studies: architecture, sculpture, painting and garden art. Sirén had embarked on his career around 1900 as a historian of Swedish eighteenth-century art and had quickly moved on to the field of Italian art. However, from mid-1910s onwards Chinese art came to occupy more and more of his fascination and energy, becoming in the end his sole vocation. 1 Though Sirén’s publications, such as Den Gyllene Paviljongen (“The Golden Pavilion” 1919), Imperial Palaces of Peking (1926) and vol. 4 “Architecture” of A History of Early Chinese Art (1930), contained photographs he had taken during his sojourns in Chinese and Japanese gardens, it was not until in the 1940s that he ventured into writing a book on Chinese gardens wholeheartedly. This chapter will examine the motivations behind his Gardens of China (1949) and its companion volume China and Gardens of Europe of the Eighteenth Century (1950).2

Garden as Refuge Sirén’s latest visit to China had been in 1935 and he had since then published more works on Chinese painting. At the end of 1930s, he was writing a general history on Chinese art in Swedish entitled, Kinas konst under tre årtusenden (3000 Years of Chinese Art, 2 vols, 1942-3). This was 1 2

Sirén’s biography is discussed in Törmä 2006-7; 2007. These volumes were published simultaneously in Swedish editions.

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his main activity during the early years of the Second World War (1939-45). Sweden was able to maintain a policy of neutrality throughout the war years, but connections to the outside world, particularly within Europe, were strenuous to sustain and Sirén felt isolated. Sirén was not, in general, very interested in politics. Thus, when “the Far Eastern trouble” (Sirén’s expression) began, he was rather annoyed and complained that political problems “occupy far too much of people’s thought and time.” 3 He had managed to create for himself an Oriental enclave just outside Stockholm on an island called Lidingö, where he had had a house built and moved in 1930. The basic plan and appearance of the house did not differ significantly from what was a fairly common type of wooden house in Sweden at the time: it had a tiled mansard-style roof and was three-storey high.4 However, small details such as the construction of the veranda signalled that its owner dreamt of faraway lands; in fact, the veranda was playfully called “The Summer Palace”. Its roof was slightly sloping in a way a roof of a Chinese building did, ending in a slight upward turn at the eaves and the corners were topped by animal figures. The lattice work on the balustrade was reminiscent of those seen in the gardens of Suzhou 喯ⶆ, for example. Painted dragons decorated the horisontal beams below the roof and two stone lions flanked the steps leading to the veranda. Inside the house, there was one more reference to those gardens in the form of a moon door which connected two areas of the living room (Fig. 6-1). The coffered ceiling in the living room had also drawn its inspiration from China: squares filled with painted roundels of phoenixes. An amalgam of European and Chinese furniture dotted the space and artworks from the East and West were scattered on the tables, hung on the walls and placed in a large vitrine. Selection of chairs was a mixture of the Renaissance, the Empire and Ming-style. Statue of Buddha was placed on a Ming-style side table by a wall and below a European landscape painting; ceramic wares and terracotta figurines in the vitrine. Similar mélange of East and West was found in Sirén’s working quarters: his study and library. A stone Buddha head and ceramic roof tile figurines topped the mantelpiece of the fireplace, a large Ming-style yokeback chair was squeezed in the corner by a window and a Ming-style cabinet with carved decorations provided additional

3

Osvald Sirén to Esson M. Gale, 23 May 1938, Sirén Archive, Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities (MFEA), Stockholm. 4 The house still exists, but the garden has been destroyed. Source for the descriptions in this article is a photograph album in the Department of Art History at the University of Helsinki. Photographs of the house and garden can be found as well in the Sirén Archive, MFEA, Stockholm.

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storage space. This area was the “headquarters” where Sirén’s books were researched and written from 1930 onwards. Work on the garden was in full swing already when the house had been built. In the late 1930s, Sirén wrote to his good friend Jean Buhot (1885-1952) that the garden was “becoming to me more and more a pet child” and that he was “endeavouring to bring it into harmony with Eastern ideals.”5 Sirén was experimenting as a garden designer drawing from his knowledge of Chinese and Japanese gardens, though he maintained that the garden had grown gradually, with no overall plan when he started. The plot where the house stands is a rocky one and therefore a dry place (Fig. 6-2).6 Sirén emphasised that when setting out to design a garden, one ought to know the conditions and the character of the piece of land designated for it: the winds, the flow of water and the plants and trees which belong to it naturally. His landscape was barren rocky hill with twisted pines and an abundance of rocks. For him, it was reminiscent of Japan, but he also drew from his experiences in Chinese gardens, particularly in Suzhou. The rocks provided the mountains for the landscape; however, water was not so easily come by. Fortunately, when they had begun to dig in front of the house, two spacious basins on the rock base had been discovered and these had not demanded too substantial an effort to be turned into ponds. It was more difficult to introduce the element of flowing water to a place which did not have a natural source of water, such as a spring. Cascading or streaming water is, after all, an important element in an East Asian garden. After some experimentation with artificial constructions, Sirén had decided that a better way was to resort to fantasy, to create an impression of water currents by using available features in the landscape. Thus, part of the rocky ground was cleared and cleaned, exposing the striated surface of the rock, which had been formed when the Ice Age glided over these shores: an image of swirl of water was petrified there forever. Trees were mainly evergreens, pines, junipers and dwarfed spruces, but apple trees provided the spring feast of white and pinkish blossoms—similar effect would be bestowed by plum or cherry trees in East Asia. Flowering plants were found in abundance and some of the plants had originated in East Asian countries, 5

Osvald Sirén to Jean Buhot, 2 May 1938, Sirén Archive, MFEA, Stockholm. Buhot was the editor of Revue des Arts Asiatiques and closely associated with Musée Guimet; he translated Sirén’s works and they became close friends. 6 Sirén has described his own garden and ideas concerning gardens in three articles published in the newspaper Svenska Dagbladet: Sirén 1940; 1941; 1958. My commentary on the garden is based on these articles and the photographs which survive in Sirén Archive, MFEA and Department of Art History, University of Helsinki.

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but by the early twentieth century had become an integral part of the common repertoire in Nordic gardens. The garden was embellished by a Japanese stone lantern, a torii 沍⯭ (Japanese-style gate) in the woods assembled together from pine trunks: two straight on the sides and a curving one topping them. The lantern had been acquired with the help of Nomura Yozo (1870-1965) from Japan and he would also design a garden gate made of bamboo.7 Sirén had been creating an auspicious environment for work and for leisure. Here in the midst of the war ravaging in Europe he found solace in memories: he rediscovered his photographs of Chinese and Japanese gardens taken during his four voyages to East Asia in 1918, 1921-3, 1929-30 and 1935. Majority of the pictures of Japanese gardens were photographed in 1918 when Japan was a major attraction of his journey and a considerable amount on the Chinese gardens in Beijing, Hangzhou and Suzhou in 1922. On one hand, the photographs were proof that happier times had existed, and he had wandered in these spaces. It may have been that this certainty was condoling. On the other hand, writing the book on Chinese gardens can be seen as a journey for Sirèn, an escapist journey made in the company of memories—a journey to the interior of the mind. Roland Barthes ([1980] 2000, 82-4) emphasises the certainty aspect of photographs, he sees nothing Proustian in them; in the sense that for Barthes they do not restore time and events that no longer exist. Instead, all they can point to is that what was photographed really existed once. Evidently, Sirén was looking at his own photographs from that perspective, more as documents. However, I would argue that a sense of nostalgia is present as well. In the preface for Gardens of China, Sirén emphasises that the book is not a result of a systematic study. Thus, he conveys the impression that when he photographed particularly private gardens in Beijing, Suzhou and elsewhere, he did not yet have an idea in his mind of a book on Chinese gardens. Nonetheless, since the pictures of imperial gardens and parks taken in Beijing in 1922 and its environs were published soon after in Imperial Palaces of Peking, as mentioned in the beginning of this chapter, they were taken with this specific publication in mind. Sirén had from the 1910s onwards embraced photography as an important medium for both documentation and expression. The photographs present documentary clarity in cases of architectural structures, but a large portion of garden images emphasise atmospheric effects and picturesque angles. 7

Nomura Yozo to Osvald Sirén, September 17, 1937, Sirén Archive, MFEA, Stockholm. Nomura was a Japanese dealer based in Kyoto.

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One can recognise the nostalgia when reading the text. As Sirén looked back to those days when he had wandered in them, he is particularly sentimental of the former pleasure parks west of the Forbidden City, the so-called Sea Palaces—Nanhai ⋿㴟, Zhonghai ᷕ㴟 and Beihai⊿㴟. Sirén (1950, 107) had photographed there when the area was still closed to the outer world, before Beihai was turned into a public park: One felt there a stillness and a solitude that made one’s mind susceptible to the whisperings of memories long past, and opened one’s ears to silent poetry that broke out in flowering chords when the trees budded in the spring. It was like strolling over empty stages, where exquisite decorations had been allowed to remain, though the actors had long since vanished and their festive merriment been replaced by complete silence.

For some of the images he had found “actors” (Fig. 6-3) to serve as staffage, like in the picture taken in Nanhai at Yingxunting 彶啘ṕ, where silhouttes of two attendants are against the watery expanse of the middle ground. The tranquillity of the composition—the rhythm of horizontal and vertical lines, clear demarcations of front, middle and back areas, and coherence of recession—accentuate an impression that time has stood still. This is stressed even further in the caption which refers to silent spaces of dreams. Is there a difference between looking at photographs one has taken himself and images by someone else? A photograph is proof that the places have existed; it confirms what the place looked like at the time the photographs was taken. When I browse through Sirén’s images taken in 1922, for example, of Gongwangfu 〕 䌳 ⹄ (Prince Gong’s Mansion, Beijing) (Fig. 6-4), which is a garden I have visited before and most recently in the summer of 2011, I set them against my personal experience and make comparisons (Sirén 1949, plates 132-7). I notice the differences, the change from a decaying private garden to a shiny tourist site. However, I will not “see” the thoughts and memories these images conjured up in Sirén’s mind. Although I try to imagine Sirén setting up his camera in order to photograph Prince Pu Ru 㹍₺ (1896-1963) with his parrot, I have no idea what went on behind the scenes (Ibid., plate 137). Did Sirén and Prince Pu Ru walk leisurely around the crumbling garden discussing its glorious history and prince’s artistic pursuits? Feelings of nostalgia may well creep in when wading through photographs taken by oneself. In preparation for Gardens of China, Sirén complemented his photographic journey by re-reading Chinese poetry and looking old Chinese paintings depicting gardens. This was not the first time, Sirén turned to Chinese poetry for solace. He had always found that his sojourns in China were cut short too abruptly by the duties awaiting him in Stockholm. Upon

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his return from China in 1930, he had written to his good friend, Florence Ayscough (1878-1942): But why should I complain; I have no[w] plenty of beautiful memories and interesting material from my last journey. And I must try to find time and quietness for work, thinking and writing, I must try to forget the discordant notes, the unfavourable aspects of the situation and attune myself to the spirit of T’ang [Tang] poetry and Sung [Song] painting.8

In his book, Sirén stresses the close bond between garden art and painting, which operate according to similar structural principles. He searches in poetry descriptions of old gardens, but poetical descriptions are rarely of use in imagining the physical aspects of a garden. Yet, poetry mediates the attitude towards Nature, the ideals of Daoist philosophy, as well as Buddhism. Besides, poetry like painting can be a way of contemplation. The idea that painted images could serve as aids for imaginary journeys has a long history in China. One of the earliest surviving texts expounding on this is Zong Bing’s ⬿䁛 (375-433) essay “Introduction to Painting Landscape” (Hua shanshui xu 䔓Ⱉ㯜⸷) which discusses woyou, literally “travelling while lying down.” Zong Bing felt old age approaching and could not roam among mountains and streams to his heart’s content anymore, so he painted the landscapes familiar to him on the walls of his abode and revisited the places in his mind. Zong Bing’s faith in the power of the mind in this respect was firm: If truths that were lost before the period of middle antiquity may be sought by the imagination a thousand years later, and if meaning that is subtler than the images of speech can be grasped by the mind in books and records, what then of that where the body has strolled and the eyes rested repeatedly when it is described form for form and color for color (Bush and Shih 1985, 145).

Similarly, Sirén was resorting to “armchair travelling” as he was not lying down but sitting at the desk, while looking at his photographs and returning to saunter the paths that took him around the gardens in Suzhou, Hangzhou and Beijing.

8

Osvald Sirén to Florence Ayscough, June 29, 1930, file A: 3/280, Sirén Archive, MFEA, Stockholm. Ayscough was well known for her translations of Chinese poetry and writings on Chinese culture. She and Sirén met in Shanghai in 1922 and became close friends.

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Revisiting the Past Sirén had begun his path as an art historian with a doctoral thesis on Swedish eighteenth-century genre painter Pehr Hilleström Older (1732-1816). The choice was not his own idea, but suggested to him by Oscar Levertin (1862-1906), Professor of Literary History at the University of Stockholm. Levertin was not only literary historian, but wrote on Swedish eighteenth-century painting as well. Sirén continued his path as a budding art historian with two monographs on another contemporary of Hilleström, portrait painter Carl Gustaf Pilo (1711/14-93). In addition to the tutelage of Levertin, one should remember that Sirén’s first patron, Finnish industrialist Paul Sinebrychoff (1859-1917), collected portraits by Swedish eighteenth-century artists, Pilo among them. As a young scholar, Sirén was thoroughly fascinated with rococo and wrote dreamingly in a notebook: Rococo! Is not there already in the tone of this amusing, slightly pretentious word something playful? It is like a sound of a fanfare to one those graceful minuets, danced by gentlemen in powdered wigs and ladies wearing gowns à la Pompadour.9

Italian art, however, captured soon his interest to the extent that he did not write about eighteenth-century art except passingly an article on Venetian art of the period (Sirén 1915). One could argue that it was quite logical for Sirén after a book on Chinese gardens to continue and write a companion volume on the impact of Chinese ideas on European gardens. However, it can also be seen as a return to his early career, to themes which had fascinated him at the beginning. After all, rococo art was an important topic in Swedish art history because of the close relationship between Sweden and France during the eighteenth century, and Chinoiserie played a significant role in the culture of the Swedish court and upper class. One of the important contributions of this second volume was that Sirén made available materials in Swedish, concerning the application of ideas of the so-called jardin anglo-chinois. William Chambers (1723-96), who was to play such a pivotal role in propagating Chinoiserie and other exotic elements in garden culture in England, was originally Swedish. In addition, the drawings of a 9 Sirén, “Fransk rococo, fransk måleri, div. om svenska konstnärer,” H II A, Archive, Nationalmuseum, Stockholm. Translation mine from Swedish: “Rococo! Ligger där icke redan i klangen af detta lustiga, smått afekterade ord någonting lekfullt? Det ljuder som fanfaren till en af dessa sirliga menuetter, som dansades af herrer i puderperuk ock damer i rok à la Pompadour.”

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Swedish garden architect, Frederick Magnus Piper (1746-1824), from his 1770s travels in England provided valuable information on the state of the gardens during the eighteenth century. Sirén travelled on several separate occasions in England and France soon after the Second World War in 1946-8 and photographed the gardens; thus, these pictures were taken with a particular function and agenda in mind. First references to his plans to travel again in Europe appear in two letters to old friends written in 1945: one to Buhot with an inquiry on images of Yuanmingyuan ⚻ 㖶 ⚺ (Old Summer Palace, Beijing) reproductions at the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris; the other to Edward Hutton (1875-1969) on his ongoing research on Chinese gardens and their impact in Europe.10 In the latter, Sirén reflects the uncertainty of the future: To think of the world and to think of what it will be tomorrow is to me like a dark blank. We do not know anything about it except that we will not find what we expect, and if we have any human feelings left, we have probably to devote all our energy and time to help all those who are destitute and who have lost even their faculty of working during these terrible years.11

Whereas the archival material gives hardly any indication as to when Sirén travelled in France and who else with the exception of Buhot assisted him there, somewhat clearer picture emerges of his visits to England. Sirén had been invited to lecture at the Oriental Ceramic Society in London and the visit took place in October 1946. 12 Explorations of Stourhead, Stowe, Painshill, Dropmore, Blenheim and Rousham took place on this occasion.13 Two years later, in 1948 (again in October) Sirén was in London in order to lecture at the Courtauld Institute of Art on “Chinese Influences of European Gardens of the 18th Century” (series of three lectures).14 More garden visits were added to the itinerary and Sirén had specified his interest in Leasowes,

10

Osvald Sirén to Jean Buhot, 20 October 1945; Osvald Sirén to Edward Hutton, 3 February 1945, Sirén Archive, MFEA, Stockholm. Hutton was a writer, writing mostly travel books and on Italian culture; love of Italy had brought Hutton and Sirén together. 11 Osvald Sirén to Edward Hutton, 3 February 1945, Sirén Archive, MFEA, Stockholm. 12 Osvald Sirén to Basil Gray, 22 March 1946, Sirén Archive, MFEA, Stockholm. 13 Basil Gray to Osvald Sirén, 3 April 1946; Osvald Sirén to Basil Gray, 20 April 1946; R. Davies to Osvald Sirén, 24 May 1946, Sirén Archive, MFEA, Stockholm. 14 John Henderson to Osvald Sirén, 24 June 1948; Osvald Sirén to John Henderson, 30 August 1948, Sirén Archive, MFEA, Stockholm.

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Woburn Farm and Hagley Park.15 Additional information may, however, be gleaned from the published photographs; some of which were taken in Ermenonville and Méréville in 1947 and in Rambouillet in 1948. In addition to the sites in France, Chiswick was photographed in 1947 (Sirén 1950, plates 93, 118, 119 and 129). Thus the pictures in France and England were taken over a period of three years in 1946-8. Europe was in ruins and that is visible in the images, for example, at the Désert de Retz (Fig. 6-5), where foreign soldiers had been camping (Ibid., plate 118). La Maison Chinoise appears to be on the brink of collapse, vegetation was taking over and creeping into buildings from the broken windows and ruins whether intended or not were the dominant theme in the landscape. At least one critic felt compelled to voice her misgivings of the choice of illustrations, which for her were an indication that there had been “a great deal of ugly and inappropriate ornamentation in these gardens” and that instead of recent photographs by Sirén, one should have presented images of carefully tended lawns, shrubberies and trees (Fox 1950). The nostalgic and unkempt quality of the images may have been enhanced by the fact that they were taken in the autumn, when trees were beginning to be bare and landscape was past its summer bloom. Among the ruins, Sirén is inclined to see parallel developments rather than differences between the garden tradition of China and cultured life of eighteenth-century Europe. He recognised the importance of painting and poetry for the ideas related to gardens in both areas. Besides, he does not see China as a decisive factor in bringing about the “revolution” in garden art in Europe during the eighteenth century (Sirén 1950, 10-2). In a way it was a matter of timing, of coincidences. Tidings from China were reaching Europe in increasing variety and the ideas were falling into receptive ground. Sirén (1959, 10) argues that a rediscovery of Nature was taking place in Europe: Nature became “a source of wonder and delight”, it ceased to be something outside, to be looked from a distance; instead, it converted into a source of inspiration. Chinese romantic nature philosophy in the guise of Daoism and Buddhism corresponded with European romantic pantheism. As Craig Clunas (2000, 153-5) has shown, the idea that Nature would have something to do with Chinese garden art was not recognised by early writers on Chinese gardens; instead, for them it was clear that it was an artificial construct. By the time Sirén was writing in the late 1940s, references to Nature had become an essential part of the exposition on Chinese gardens and he would write: 15 Osvald Sirén to H. J. Clark, 16 September 1948, Sirén Archive, MFEA, Stockholm.

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Chinese intimacy with nature was manifested not only in the gardens, but more importantly in painting and poetry as well—nature poets and landscape painters played a pivotal role in garden design. In Sirén’s perception of Chinese culture, intimacy with Nature permeates every aspect of art. This point of view manifests itself already in his first text, discussing Chinese culture and painting titled Rytm och form (“Rhythm and Form”).17 It becomes one of the guiding themes for Sirén on Chinese art. In addition, Nature comes to be something soothing, a place or a state of mind for escape from the grim materiality of the everyday world. In the twentieth century, both China and eighteenth-century Europe were foreign and exotic. When Sirén travelled in England and France in 1946-8 and photographed estates, gardens and parks for his book, even without the decay of the war years, it would have been impossible to capture the state of the original idea. Besides, what would “original” mean in the context of garden history? Gardens are living entities in constant flux. At the time of the conception and planting, one gets only a dim idea what the designer has in mind and by the time plants have grown, it may well be that fashions have changed again and alterations have been made in order to take the design into some other direction. As mentioned before, it was the correspondence between traditional Chinese and European eighteenth-century garden art that interested Sirén. One concrete example is found in his discussion of the plans for Petit Trianon, specially designed for Queen Marie Antoinette (1755-93) within the grounds of Versailles. Sirén (1950, 112-4) emphasises the Roussaeusque characteristics of the plans and their realisation and finds points of similarity in the park of Yuanmingyuan, where scenes of everyday life were created for the emperor: The intention in both places was to create a certain similarity with the conditions of everyday life that royalty, bound by court ceremony, could not other wise get to know: a sense of make-believe and liking for pretty play and ephemeral enjoyment which characterize much of the artistic culture of the eighteenth century, both in Europe and in the Far East.

16

Sirén 1949, 3; italics added. See also Sirén 1949, 71. Sirén 1917; published in part in English as Essentials in Art (London: John Lane, 1920). 17

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When he is writing about France, his old love for rococo comes through: one can see in the mind’s eye ladies in their dresses à la Pompadour swirling around.

Conclusion In the book on European gardens, Siren is revisiting his own past, his early years as a scholar, and eighteenth-century Europe, which may have in the aftermath of the Second World War constituted a kind of “escape”, similar to the one provided by his photographs of Chinese gardens during the war. Did he see the ruins and decay metaphorically? In the sense that as the gaiety and playfulness of the rococo had disappeared long ago, so had the Europe and the world he had known. In both books, Sirén presents us a wealth of material, translations of various texts and treatises, sketches and plans, photographs taken during the first half of the twentieth century—all this is laid in front of the reader. However, his discussion remains descriptive and leaves a lot for the reader to discover by himself, to make connections between gardens and ideas. He has a firm belief that images can speak for themselves, that they do not need explanations. This is an aspect he has stressed throughout his career, in those publications which have featured a substantial amount of photographs taken by him, such as Imperial Palaces of Peking. China and the Gardens of Europe was reprinted by Dumbarton Oaks in 1990 and can be seen as a sign that Sirén’s garden books still arouse interest, if for nothing else but for the photographs.18

Works Cited Primary Sources Archive, Nationalmuseum, Stockholm. Osvald Sirén photoalbum, Department of Art History, University of Helsinki. Sirén Archive, Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities (MFEA), Stockholm. Sirén, Osvald. 1915. Venetiansk 1700-talskonst i Sverige. Konsthistoriska sällskapets publikation. —. 1917. Rytm och Form. Stockholm: Bröderna Lagerström. —. 1940. “Om en trädgård.” Svenska Dagbladet, June 2. 18 The reprint has an introduction by Hugh Honour; however, the biographical details contain some mistaken information.

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—. 1941. “Juninatt i trädgården.” Svenska Dagbladet, June 28. —. 1949. Gardens of China. New York: Ronald Press Co. —. 1950. China and the Gardens of Europe of the Eighteenth Century. New York: Ronald Press Co. —. 1958. “Lägga sten och leka vatten.” Svenska Dagbladet, August 24.

Secondary Sources Barthes, Roland. (1980) 2000. Camera Lucida. London: Vintage. Bush, Susan, and Shih Hsio-yen 㗪⬠柷, eds. 1985. Early Chinese Texts on Painting. Cambridge MA and London: Harvard University Press. Clunas, Craig. 2000. “Nature and Ideology in Western Descriptions of the Chinese Gardens.” Extrême-Orient, Extrême-Occident 22: 153-66. Fox, Helen M. 1950. “Chinese Influence on European Gardens.” Journal of the New York Botanical Garden 51 (October): 256. Törmä, Minna. 2006-7. “Osvald Sirén: Tracing his Path in Art History.” In Zurich Studies in the History of Art: Georges Bloch Annual, vol. 13/14, edited by Wolfgang Kersten and Daniel Schneiter, 333-9. Zürich: Univeristy of Zürich, Institute of Art History. —. 2007. “The 1920s: A Decade of Change in the Life of Osvald Sirén.” In The Shaping of Art History in Finland, edited by Renja Suominen-Kokkonen, 157-68. Helsinki: Society of Art History.

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Fig. 6-1. The living room in the house on Lidingö, photograph by Osvald Sirén, 1931-2. Osvald Sirén photoalbum, Department of Art History, University of Helsinki.

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Fig. 6-2. The garden pond on Lidingö, photograph by Osvald Sirén, 1938. Osvald Sirén photoalbum, Department of Art History, University of Helsinki.

Fig. 6-3. Nanhai, Yingxunting, photograph by Osvald Sirén, 1922. Reproduced from Sirén’s Gardens of China (1949), plates 148-9.

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Fig. 6-4. Gongwangfu, Beijing, photograph by Osvald Sirén. Reproduced from Sirén’s Gardens of China (1949), plate 134.

Fig. 6-5. La Maison Chinoise, Désert de Monville, photograph by Osvald Sirén. Reproduced from Sirén’s China and the Gardens of Europe of the Eighteenth Century (1950), plate 88.

CHAPTER SEVEN THE RETURN OF THE SILENT TRAVELLER MARK HAYWOOD

Since the turn of the millennium, rising Western interest in contemporary Chinese art has been well evidenced in the United Kingdom in a variety of ways. In addition to large group exhibitions such as Tate Liverpool’s survey, The Real Thing: Contemporary Art from China (2007) and more recently the Hayward Gallery’s Art of Change: New Directions from China (2012) there have been officially sponsored individual artist exchanges, most notably the British Council’s Artist Links (2002-6). We have also seen the emergence of specialist galleries like London’s Red Mansion and Manchester’s Chinese Art Centre. Lastly, there have been high profile solo exhibitions by leading Chinese artists. By far the best known and most popular of these was Ai Weiwei’s 刦㛒㛒 (b. 1957) sublime installation of a hundred million hand-painted porcelain sunflower seeds in the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern (2010-11).1 Inevitably, all these ventures have foregrounded art made in China, yet despite many British artists having travelled east to make art in China, comparatively few contemporary Chinese artists have made the reverse journey to make art in and about the UK. One notable exception was the project Return of the Silent Traveller by Weng Fen (b. 1961). This took the form of an artist’s residency in the English Lake District initiated by the Centre for Landscape and Environmental Arts Research (CLEAR) of the Cumbria Institute of the

1

Unfortunately, only three days after it opened, a Health & Safety controversy over the ceramic dust generated by thousands of visitors walking on the seeds, led to the installation being roped off and spectators restricted to viewing from an overhead bridge, rather than experiencing it as the artist had intended.

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Arts.2 The intention was to commission a Chinese artist to mark the 70th anniversary of the publication of The Silent Traveller: A Chinese Artist in Lakeland, the illustrated journal of painter-poet, Chiang Yee’s (1903-77) visit to the region in 1936. Whereas Chiang Yee had been a traditional practitioner of Chinese arts, the CLEAR residency targeted contemporary artists based in mainland China who worked in lens-based media. This was because in addition to its commemorative dimension, the commission aimed to generate innovative contemporary art that offered new perspectives on landscapes that had become stale for English art audiences, and which were now largely the preserve of amateurs. Lens-based media was stipulated on the grounds of practicality for an artist operating out of doors in a foreign country. However, the commission’s requirement of new media also lessened any likelihood of pastiche: it was essential that the resultant art should embody the outsider’s fresh perspective on overly familiar subject matter that had made Chiang Yee’s art of such enduring appeal to the English. Our account provides contextual detail and local readings of work by two Chinese artists from differing times and circumstances, who explored the same foreign landscape. By considering similarities and differences between the artists’ responses to their subject, as well as Western audiences’ responses to their work, we hope to make a small, but not uninteresting addition to understandings of Chinese art and its reception in the West.

Chiang Yee’s Depiction of the Lake District Chiang Yee had trained as a chemist, but rapidly rose to become magistrate of his native province, Jiujiang. However, he became disillusioned with the level of political corruption in China and in 1933 left to study politics at the University of London (Zheng 2004, xii). Two years later, he began teaching Chinese at the University’s School of Oriental Studies (now the School of Oriental and African Studies) and in 1938 used his chemist’s background to begin running the Chinese section of the Wellcome Historical Medical Museum (Chiang 1970, xii). During these years, Chiang Yee also began to establish a reputation as an authority on Chinese art. His first book, The Chinese Eye: An Interpretation of Chinese Painting (1935) had been written to explain traditional Chinese painting and aesthetics to the British. There had been 2

In 2007, Cumbria Institute of the Arts became part of the new University of Cumbria.

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previous works in English on the subject, but this was the first to offer an authoritative Chinese perspective. Anna Wu (2012), curator of the Victoria & Albert Museum’s 2012 Chiang Yee exhibition, describes The Chinese Eye as fulfilling “a vital role in demystifying Chinese art as a practice and a subject for study.” Chiang Yee’s book was published in November 1935 to coincide with the International Exhibition of Chinese Art at the Royal Academy of Arts: it was extremely well received and reprinted a couple of months later, with a further reprint in 1937. 3 The work drew particular praise from Herbert Read (1893-1968), a leading art critic of the day, who was also a much published poet and literary critic. Read later contributed a preface to the first edition of The Silent Traveller, in which he wrote that its author was “a master of landscape painting” who had previously “explained the conception of Chinese art so clearly and enabled us to appreciate its qualities” (Read [1937] in Chiang 2004, xxv). Chiang Yee’s second book, The Silent Traveller: A Chinese Artist in Lakeland (1937)4 was also instantly reprinted. It was the first of twelve illustrated travelogues he wrote over the next thirty-five years that have been described as “his most significant commercial and artistic success” (Wu 2012). The first of these was a very personal account of his phenomenological exploration and experience of a historic English landscape. It demonstrated that the author’s knowledge of Chinese art history was not simply theoretical, but informed by a technical mastery of Chinese painting, calligraphy and poetry. In the preface, Herbert Read ([1937] in Chiang 2004, xxv-xxvi) praised Chiang Yee’s art for “not being bound by geographical limits” and for how it demonstrated, “no less clearly than Wordsworth, the universality of all true modes and thinking.” 5 Nevertheless, much of the book’s enduring appeal to English readers is how the paintings, poems and text re-present beautiful, but often over-familiar 3

It was also published in New York and has since been reprinted several times on both sides of the Atlantic. 4 Chiang Yee had wanted his book to be titled “The Silent Traveller in Lakeland”, but its publisher, the very conservative Country Life found his nom de plume “sinister”. This suspicion typified prevailing English racist stereotypes of the Oriental and Chiang’s proposed title was not used until the 2004 Mercat edition (Zheng 2004, xiv-xv). 5 Read’s praise was of the very highest order, as the Romantic poet William Wordsworth (1770-1850) who lived in the Lake District for most of his life, was not simply its best known chronicler, but one of the most highly regarded figures in the entire history of English poetry. Read was an authority on Romanticism, and obviously much impressed by Chiang Yee’s art and writings, for the following year he also wrote the foreword to the painter-poet’s Chinese Calligraphy: An Introduction to Its Aesthetic and Technique (1938).

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scenes from a new, very unfamiliar perspective. Wu (2012) describes these depictions as having “breathed new life into these familiar British landscapes.” It was this quality, more than any other that we aimed to retain when embarking on the project, Return of the Silent Traveller. Read’s comments about the universality of Chiang Yee’s approach to landscape should not belie the fact that the artist was working within two very long-established, uniquely Chinese traditions. The earlier of these was that of the scholar-poet, which had originated in the latter part of the Han dynasty (206BC-220AD). The second was the slightly later Daoist landscape painting tradition that had emerged during the fourth century AD. In the West, by contrast, it was not until the second half of the eighteenth century that “wild” landscapes, such as those of the Lake District became a fitting subject for artistic interest and aesthetic appreciation. This process had been initiated by aesthetic manuals on “ideal” elements within the landscape and was then enhanced by aesthetic tourists of the Picturesque, who were drawn to the sites of these ideals. Picturesque artists’ rather formulaic representations of landscape were informed by theatrical conventions of stage scenery, with views being framed by trees or bushes which acted as coulisses (side-screens) and the planar recession of the mountains having origins in stage “flats”. Ironically, this highly artificial aesthetic wherein Nature was compared to art, paved the way for the full blown Romanticism of nineteenth-century poetry and painting, which imaginatively invested these landscapes with spiritual qualities not dissimilar to those of Daoism.6 What we find most interesting is that within the space of a few decades, landscapes that earlier travellers such as Daniel Defoe (1726) had described as the “wildest, most barren and frightful of any that I have passed over” (Richetti 2005, 335) 7 were aesthetically re-appraised and subsequently re-classified, firstly as picturesque and then sublime. It would therefore appear that far from being “universal”, aesthetic appreciation of wilderness, or non-utile landscapes can only emerge when a culture has evolved to an extent where its artists and their audiences can see themselves as being 6

Despite their many similarities, it is important to remember that European Romanticism had a monotheistic Christian foundation, whereas as Chiang Yee (1960, 30) noted, “religion has never been a natural instinct with us as seems to have been with most other nations of the world.” 7 It is ironic that present-day perceptions of Defoe’s opinion as a bizarre anomaly have made it one of the most oft cited descriptions of the region. However, there is now a strong suspicion that his account was actually a second-hand one, and that the writer never actually visited the southern half of present-day Cumbria formerly called Westmorland.

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separate, or disconnected from “unspoilt” Nature, and begin to experience a need to reconnect themselves with what lay before, or beyond civilisation. In the West, reaction to this sense of alienation began as a late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-centuries Northern European phenomenon that was exported to North America and prompted a variety of responses, including the literary and philosophical movement of Transcendentalism,8 the creation of the National Parks, and art movements such as the Canadian Group of Seven. In North America, as in the Commonwealth countries of the Southern hemisphere, the Romantic aesthetic experience was transformed into what is now regarded as a trope of the colonial gaze that misrepresented these landscapes as terra nullis, and whereby indigenous inhabitants were omitted from Western painters’ topographic depictions of “empty wildernesses” ripe for colonisation. Chiang Yee’s depictions of foreign landscapes differed greatly from the above, but not because he was an exile, rather than a colonist. Despite the implied uncommunicativeness of his nom de plume and his predominantly depicting unpopulated scenes, his journal records daily interactions with natives. Furthermore, his journal’s intended audience was his English hosts, not his own people. For these reasons Chiang Yee’s account also differs significantly from the travel journals of those many Westerners, particularly the Orientalists who, from the eighteenth century onwards, recorded their encounters with the exotic for the benefit of domestic audiences. Zheng Da’s foreword (2004, xiv) to The Silent Traveller in Lakeland usefully reveals how Chiang Yee’s perspective originated as a conscious riposte to the many foreigners’ accounts of China he had come across in the library at the School of Oriental Studies. For all these reasons, I believe Herbert Read’s ascription of “universality” to Chiang Yee’s vision is perhaps best interpreted as describing an exile’s search for the familiar in the unfamiliar (but neither exotic, nor alien) landscapes of the Lake District. The Chinese painter-poet’s visit to the Lakes had been undertaken in the hope of lifting a depression that had developed since his going into exile in 1933. By mid-1936, Chiang Yee’s mood had darkened further through anxiety for his family left behind in China, as the country came under increasing threat of invasion from Japan (Ibid., xii-xiii). At various points in the first Silent Traveller book, its author briefly shifts from contemplation of timeless Nature, or noting the idiosyncrasies of the English, to making slightly oblique references to the external world of international news and events. Sadly, in the months following Chiang Yee’s visit to the Lakes, 8

In addition to European Romanticism and mystical Western movements such as Neoplatonism and Swedenborgism, American Transcendentalism also drew on ancient Chinese and Indian scriptures.

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these anxieties became reality and July the following year saw the start of what has since become known as the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937-45). The Silent Traveller in Lakeland describes an absence of preparation that seems foolhardy to a present-day Western reader, as Chiang Yee lacked walking clothes, suitable footwear and apparently even maps.9 However, this may have been because many popular walks in China are well marked paths, whose steeper sections often have steps. Certainly, Chiang Yee appeared largely untroubled by his lack of equipment, often (though not invariably) welcoming the inevitable rain that frequently soaked him to the skin. Nevertheless, despite being seemingly at one with Nature and correctly naming many local features, Chiang Yee appears to have been spatially disorientated as he frequently appeared unaware of these places’ connectivity. A further consequence of lacking suitable clothing and footwear was that Chiang Yee’s walks (and therefore his viewpoints) were largely restricted to the lake shores and lower slopes of the fells. His vantage points differed little from the “viewing stations” that were so popular with the Lake District’s eighteenth-century picturesque artists. This coincidence can usefully remind us that many visual tropes of the picturesque such as irregularity 10 and the treatment of trees were derived from Chinoiserie. Nevertheless, despite these similarities Chiang’s spirit and vision align him far more closely with the values of nineteenth-century Romantic poets, who swapped the valleys for the solitude of the mountain peaks.11 During his walks, Chiang Yee would often stop to contemplate the landscape and frequently wrote poems on the spot. Later back at his lodgings, he would “weave” 12 these “inscriptions” 13 into brush and ink paintings composed from memories of the place he had visited that day 9

However, Chiang Yee’s frequent naming of places and features might belie this. Whereas seventeenth-century writers had denigrated Chinese gardens for their “defiance of Renaissance ideals of symmetry and balance” (Templeton 1685 quoted in Chang 2010, 28), by the following century these values were seen as a fascinating alternative to Classical order and regularity. 11 Maps and the spatial mastery they can impart have been important elements of Lake District tourism since its earliest days, and it is no coincidence that the first detailed maps of the region were produced in the context of the picturesque. However, we can also read Chiang’s rejection of such aids as part of a search for understandings of the kind that accrue through chance and fluidity, rather than the rigidity of Western maps or formal itineraries. See Haywood 2012a, 23-32. 12 Chiang Yee (1961, 109) described such poetry as being “woven into the design of a Chinese painting” rather than being “written upon it”. 13 An entire chapter of The Chinese Eye (1935) is devoted to what the author translated as “inscriptions” (Ibid.). 10

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(Fig. 7-1). In his journal, these woven representations of the landscape were usually prefixed by one or two page descriptions of the scene in prose. Thus, at the end of each day there was a triple distillation of its accumulated memories into painting, poetry and prose. Each of these representations though self-sufficient, accrued extra resonance from juxtaposition and interrelationship with the other depictions. Even today Chinese art retains its strong historical association between word and image. Xu Bing ᚎ෦ (b. 1955), Vice-President of the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing, recently observes that there is a unique quality to Chinese culture, art and writing: a murky barrier that exists between pictographic characters and visual art. It has significantly influenced the way Chinese people think, Chinese aesthetics, and even artistic methods (“27 Questions for Artist Xu Bing” 2011).

Michael Sullivan (1916-2013) listed the six essential principles of Song dynasty landscape painting as “spirit, rhythm, thought, scenery, brush and ink” (Quoted in Tanaka 2007, 255): a thousand years later we can detect a similar creative sequence being followed by Chiang Yee in his synthesis of reflective walking, writing, poeticising and painting. Traditional Chinese landscape art placed great value on the different forms of water such as streams, waterfalls, lakes, mists and clouds. The Lake District with its constantly changing weather (and the highest rainfall in England) was therefore an ideal location for a Chinese artist to explore this element in painting, poetry and prose. It was obviously a happy marriage and it is no great surprise that every painting in Chiang Yee’s book depicts one or more of these aspects of water. Many times in his account, the artist makes reference to being reminded of his native mountains, while politely pointing out that English mountains were “charming miniatures” in comparison to their Chinese counterparts (Chiang Yee [1937] 2004, 74). He employed a version of traditional Chinese tripartite perspective in many paintings of English mountains, presumably to convey a stronger sense of height. The painter Guo Xi (c. 1020-c. 1090) described tripartite perspective as consisting of the “High Aspect” (from the bottom of the mountain to its peak), the “Deep Aspect” (from the front of the mountain to its peak) and “Level Aspect” (looking over the top of a near mountain towards a far one) (Tanaka 2007, 256). However, Chiang Yee’s unsuitable footwear meant he was seldom able to view the “Level Aspect” and this too made his depictions resemble those of eighteenth-century picturesque painters. We have previously noted traditional Chinese painting’s historical and coincidental resemblances to the picturesque, but consider it safe to assume Chiang Yee was unaware that

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combining different level viewpoints to convey the height of a mountain more vividly than through conventional single point perspective had previously been employed in eighteenth-century depictions of the same scenes by artists such as John “Warwick” Smith (1749-1831).14 A reviewer of Chiang Yee’s first UK solo exhibition praised him “as one of the most distinguished contemporary Chinese painters” (Hugh Gordon Porteus [1936] quoted in Zheng 2010, 68). Perhaps a more realistic recent appraisal is that of Anna Wu (2012), who recently wrote that Chaing Yee’s paintings, “though undeniably valuable have never been ranked alongside those of the modern masters of Chinese painting such as Liu [Haisu (1896-1994)] and Xu [Beihong (1895-1953)].” Instead, the creative work of Chiang Yee that has best stood the test of time are his travelogues, where he elegantly deployed his talents as painter and poet to his self-assigned role as a cultural intermediary between China and the West. Throughout The Silent Traveller in Lakeland, one is conscious of an exile’s yearning for the mountains and rivers of his homeland. Fortunately, the author could not know it would be over forty years before he was to return, and to spend the final two years of his life there. However, one also might imagine he would have been consoled had he known his final resting place would be in his home province on the slopes of Lu Shan ⺔Ⱉ, a famous mountain with spectacular views over the Yangtse River 攟㰇.

Why Weng Fen? A new edition of The Silent Traveller in Lakeland was published in 2004 and its appearance gave rise to the CLEAR project, Return of the Silent Traveller. As mentioned previously, the intention was to mark the seventieth anniversary of Chiang Yee’s visit to the Lakes by bringing a contemporary Chinese artist to the region in the hope that once again overly familiar, much depicted landscapes could be re-presented to a domestic audience in an unfamiliar and illuminating manner. In 2005, having secured funding from Arts Council England, CLEAR took the project forward with the invaluable assistance of the British Council in Shanghai. We were advised that the immense size of the contemporary Chinese art scene meant any public advertising of the project would lead to an unmanageable volume of responses (each requiring translation). To avoid this, the Council 14

Smith usually combined a sketch of the foreground, looking on down the scene from a slightly elevated position, with a study of the mountains made looking up at them from the lake shore. See Haywood 2008, ix-xxix; 2012a, 23-32.

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identified a number of suitable artists who were sent a package of briefing documents about the project and invited to respond. The chosen artist, Weng Fen, had already begun to attract international interest; like many contemporary Chinese artists, he has simultaneously worked in several widely differing media areas, including video and performance. In addition, he had made a number of large installations constructed entirely from eggs, most notably Building with Eggs (2005) which is a stylised model of Shanghai. However, when viewed from above, the model city turns into a fifty yuan banknote (See Haywood 2012b, 13-9). The title and medium seemed to imply his anxiety about the current Chinese economic boom as they refer to an ancient Chinese phrase, “as precarious as a pile of eggs” which describes a “potentially dangerous situation” (Redskyart Space 2010). Despite the undoubted quality of these works, Weng Fen was becoming even better known for an ongoing series of stunning large format photographs begun some years earlier, and it was these which made him seem best suited for the Return of the Silent Traveller project. Like many of his contemporaries, Weng Fen had begun to address the local burgeoning of industrial modernity, which to people in China is most dramatically evidenced through the mushrooming of new cities. It is interesting that the artist’s large-scale photographs and installations reflected this phenomenon in differing ways: while the installations are undoubtedly spectacular, the content of the photographs has become increasing rich and seems to offer more complex readings. When we first encountered Weng Fen, he had already made four related series of these photo works—On the Wall, Bird’s Eye View, Staring at the Sea and Staring at the Lake. Although seemingly more naturalistic than his stiffly posed works of the previous decade, in fact these images remained extremely constructed, with very precise attention still being given to pose, right down to the most minor of details. In each series, we are watching either a single viewer or a group as they gaze upon what are rapidly changing urban scenes. These series are contrasted with more “natural” rural and marine views that can evoke a sense of constancy in the face of change (alternatively they may be under threat of eradication). The artist continued to use members of his family, but these later Staring series are subtler, allowing for the construction of richer and more open readings. The press release for Weng Fen’s exhibition at London’s Red Mansion Gallery (2006) described the series as a lamentation for the loss of regional cultural identity as the differences between north and south are gradually erased by the crazy tides of duplicated cultural spaces infested with homogeneous skyscrapers.

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Much of Weng Fen’s subject matter can be explained by him being from Hainan Island 㴟⋿Ⲟ, the main island of Hainan province, which consists of a group of islands off the coast of southeast China. In just a few decades, he has seen its capital, Haikou City 㴟⎋ⶪ, growing from a small port to a large city. Although Hainan is the smallest province in China and only created in 1988, over the course of the artist’s adult life it has evolved from a peripheral agricultural region into the largest of the country’s five Special Economic Zones. Perhaps nowhere else in China has changed so markedly as in this province, where the government has encouraged foreign investment and allowed the economy to flourish through exposure to free market forces. Many major property developers who subsequently made much larger fortunes in Beijing and Shanghai began their careers in the Hainan construction boom of the mid-1980s. Since then Hainan’s boom has continued, and in the 2000s alone, the population of Haikou City has grown by a third. Weng Fen had originally left his home region to study at the Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts. He graduated in 1985 and subsequently returned home to teach photography at Hainan University. When his career as a professional artist began to develop, he undertook increasing amounts of business travel to other cities in the economic hothouse that was burgeoning in south-east China. Consequently, throughout his artistic career, he has in various ways been a first-hand witness to the enormous changes in this part of the country. The experience served to inspire the series, Sitting on the Wall and Bird’s Eye View, which he commenced in 2001 and 2002, respectively (Kwok 2007). The Sitting on the Wall series was begun in Haikou, then took in Guangzhou and the Special Economic Zone of Shenzhen 㶙⛛, just north of Hong Kong. In these large (100 x 80 cm) photographs, Weng Fen’s daughter, Yi Ren, sits alone or with a school friend astride a wall, looking out and upwards towards a cityscape of new skyscrapers. The foreground on the viewer’s side of the wall is usually a quiet, comparatively undeveloped space that seems to separate the viewer from the contrast of the city that rises beyond the wall. One normally thinks of a photograph as capturing a very narrow slice of time, but these images seem to be representations of China’s past and future: with the divide on which schoolgirl sits, the present. Weng Fen’s next body of work, Bird’s Eye View, again featured the schoolgirl viewers, though this time some, instead of sitting on walls looking up from ground level, are looking down from the tops of high-rise buildings. Nevertheless, the foreground, which now consists of the building’s roof, still remains a separate space, distinct from the sprawling cityscape beyond. In these photographs, the girls are

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completely within the foreground rather than straddling two zones and now stand with their backs to the viewer, so that their gaze, though hidden from the spectator, is obviously directed into the cityscape beyond. I believe that being unable to see the young protagonists’ facial expressions obliges the viewer to use a greater degree of imagination and makes these images stronger than the previous series’ profiled faces. The West’s recognition of the increasing international importance of China and its art during the first decade of the new millennium is indicated by photographs from both the above series being in the permanent collection of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. In addition, Bird’s Eye View: Haikou V (2002) featured in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s 2010 exhibition, Between Here and There. The exhibition press release described the work as depicting “a young generation poised at a transitional moment between China’s traditional rural society and a quickly burgeoning urbanism” (Metropolitan Museum of Art 2010). However, it then went on to describe the photograph’s female subject as “a woman—perhaps an outsider, or a new arrival to the city” (Ibid.). While this may seem a reasonable observation in the context of an exhibition exploring “themes of dislocation and displacement” (Ibid.), by describing the schoolgirl as a “woman”, it thwarts the more resonant possibilities set out in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s current account of the work (which is now in its permanent collection). Here a parallel is drawn between the adolescent subject “on the threshold of personal transition looking out onto a landscape and a culture at a similarly transformational moment” (Ibid.). This reading is remarkably similar to Dave Ortiz’s review (2010) of Between Here and There in which he opined: Weng Fen[’s …] gorgeous color photographs comment on China in the throes of physical, social and political change. In Bird’s Eye View: Haikou V (2002) an adolescent girl on the verge of personal and physical transition sits upon an old wall, her back to the camera, facing a new China undergoing a similar change.

Nevertheless, and notwithstanding the undoubted resonance of this photograph, surely for Western viewers the most striking image from the series must be Bird’s Eye View Shanghai I (Fig. 7-2). Here the two girls look out from atop a very tall skyscraper, which appears to have a rounded or circular cross-section. The perimeter of their viewing area is defined by a low parapet, whose curve evokes the circular viewing platform at the centre of a nineteenth-century panorama. As in the panorama, the view from the skyscraper appears to plausibly blend reality and the unreal.

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Unlike in American cities, where the peaked skyscraper cluster of the Central Business District (CBD) soon falls away into low-rise urban sprawl, here in Shanghai the skyscrapers disappear beyond the curve of the horizon. In the viewer’s imagination, this scene may extend to cover the entire planet. The scene is the very embodiment of what Edmund Burke (1729-97) ([1757] 1990, 68) described as “artificial infinity” in his account of the evocation of the sublime. Adam Phillips (1990, xv) in his introduction to Burke’s A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful (1757) suggests that for the author “the Sublime was that which ruptured the continuity of experience and tradition”: Burke’s account was written against the backdrop of the English Industrial Revolution and Phillips’s observation seems a very apt description of contemporary China’s experience of the metropolitan sublime. In all these works, but most notably in the view of Shanghai, the sky above the city seems equally unreal, though it is not a consequence of magnitude, but on account of its highly saturated, unnatural blueness. It seems an ideal, cerulean realm whose eternal serenity is in contrast to the sprawling metropolis below. We see a similar device in the series, Gazing at the Sea, where the sky as site of constancy, or ideal realm is replaced by strikingly blue water. Of course, the colour of the sea is determined by the sky it reflects, but this blue colour field has a metaphysical quality which calls to mind the assertion from Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s (1749-1832) ([1810] 1970, 78) Farbenlehre (Colour Theory) “blue draws us after it into the distance.” Western viewers might experience an evocation of nineteenth-century European Romantics’ use of that colour to imply a condition of unachievable yearning or a memory of something that has passed and cannot be regained (See Pastoureau 2001; Haywood 2005). However, if viewed in the context of communist China’s recent adoption of market driven capitalism, one might instead opt for the painter-film-maker Derek Jarman’s observation (1995, 36), “Red is a moment in time. Blue constant”. For all the above reasons, Weng Fen seemed an excellent choice to follow Chiang Yee to the omphalos of English Romanticism. He was previously unfamiliar with both, but it was felt this lack of foreknowledge could actually be an advantage as he was more likely to approach the project in a very open-minded manner. As part of the application and orientation, Weng had been provided with an account of the Lake District’s contribution to Western landscape history and given a copy of Chiang Yee’s book, but the latter was in English, and so he could only look at the illustrations and read the Chinese inscriptions. However, we felt that he merely regarded Chiang Yee’s book as Chinese art from another time and it certainly was not

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going to colour or shape his own approach to dealing with these much recorded landscapes.

Re-presenting the Lake District In June 2006, Weng Fen and his assistant, Yi Liang, arrived in the English Lake District and spent their first few weeks reconnoitring locations and viewpoints, taking hundreds of digital photographs of possible locations, and making notes about lighting conditions at differing times of day. Then they were joined by the artist’s wife, Wu Yuxia and their daughter, Yi Ren. The team commenced a second round of visits to view potential sites at the most suitable times of day. Because Weng Fen now had his full complement of “actors”, he was able to experiment with possible poses, and one became very aware of the thoroughness and minute attention to detail of his working process. For the purpose of establishing the pose, Yi Liang would stand in for Weng, while the artist directed his cast through the viewfinder, adjusting their poses and gestures down to the tiniest details, such as the precise angle of his daughter’s little finger. Later back at base, Weng would manipulate the figures further in Photoshop, cutting them out and moving them around like sprites (two-dimensional overlays used in computer animation) and exploring other aspects such as colour saturation effects. Finally, when the composition was firmly established, the team would return to the location with the heavy equipment, which included a 5 x 4 inches plate camera, a 3-meter-high tripod and a stepladder of similar height. The last item attracted many curious glances from people we encountered on mountain footpaths. To many informed Western viewers, the highly constructed nature of Weng Fen’s photographs places them within the recent fine art continuum of employing cinematic devices in still-photography. A number of critics have made this observation, for instance the press release for the exhibition Here and There stated: since the 1980s […] the more conventional practice of creating a carefully executed, singular photograph has regained prominence in contemporary art (Metropolitan Museum of Art 2010).

The Canadian artist Jeff Wall (b. 1946), who was also represented in the exhibition, is perhaps the best known pioneer of incorporating elements of cinematic production into still-photography. Wall was a pioneer of large-scale colour photography. It is therefore not too surprisingly that various parallels have been drawn between these aspects of his work and the photographs of Weng Fen. While one need not wholly disagree with these,

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an important distinction is that Wall favours a cinematic or journalistic naturalism, whereas Weng Fen’s images are often intentionally highly formal and tend to depict some form of ideal in a manner that can be ironic, or sincere depending on context. Despite having witnessed many of above processes first-hand, when the prints were first unpacked in Liverpool’s International Gallery in November 2006, we were stunned by their quality and spectacular scale. In the years since these works have been exhibited around the world, and many comparisons have been made between these Chinese viewers and Caspar David Friedrich’s (1774-1840) Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer (usually known in English as “The Traveller Gazing over the Sea of Mist”) (1818). While to draw such parallels is understandable, I believe the important similarities are comparatively few, and instead it is the differences that are significant. Certainly, the viewers in both artists’ works might be read as engaged in a form of metaphysical quest either for enlightenment, or for a utopia. However, Friedrich’s solitary male Wanderer implies a sense of command, or mastery over the scene through the exercise of what Alfred Boime (1991) termed the “magisterial gaze”. By contrast, in Weng Fen’s Lake District work, we usually have a young girl or a family group as in Fig. 7-3, gazing at foreign landscapes from which they are not physically excluded and which they may find beautiful, but which nevertheless remains largely incomprehensible to them.15 They are both out of place and may be described as perceiving “space” rather than “place”. Whilst both sets of viewers may seem inappropriately dressed for their location, it was not until half a century after the Wanderer was painted that specialised Alpine clothing began to be worn on such ascents, so its protagonist is in fact normally attired for that time and place. By contrast, Weng Fen’s family clothing, even though very Western, is highly incongruous in these locations and serves to heighten the impression of otherness. Similarly, whilst Weng’s viewers are set within the landscape as in many of his preceding works, they usually stand in narrow, limited foreground space, which is separated from the vista upon which they are gazing. Whereas in their home country, this device served to comfortably ground the viewers in differing temporal, or metaphysical spaces which are their history or future, in the Lake District the same viewers seem ill at ease, and the spatial separation instead serves to reinforce the aforementioned sense of alienation and otherness. 15

This reading is a result of conversations with Weng Fen during the Return of the Silent Traveller project. The artist was unaware that Chiang Yee on his first morning in the Lake District, Chiang ([1937] 2004, 12) had written, “Alas I realised sharply that I did not belong in this countryside.”

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A reading that can exist in parallel to the above is that in both Weng Fen’s Chinese and English photographs the foreground viewers are silent witnesses similar to those whom Jonathan Bordo (2002, 297) has suggested (in the context of nineteenth-century colonial paintings of “wilderness”) function as supporting “witness figures”. Such figures represent to the viewer the artist’s witnessing of the scene, yet do so from within it and thereby testify to its “authenticity” by asserting “we were there” (Ibid.). The inclusion of witnesses distinguishes Weng Fen’s work from the countless professional landscape photographers who every year publish volumes of photographs of the Lake District. Their technical quality is invariably very high and a lay viewer would, in all likelihood remain unaware of the often considerable level of digital manipulation in such images. By contrast, Weng Fen, as in his previous output, frequently pushes colour saturation clearly beyond the “natural” by intensifying the colours of the landscape into shades that Western landscape photographers would consider lurid and artificial. In the huge diptych, Staring at the Lake 4 (2006) (Fig. 7-4), the artist’s daughter stands on a rocky outcrop in the right-hand corner of the scene; the rest of the foreground is filled with unnaturally green bracken. Its intense colour might remind one of the sort of green fluorescent lighting once common in Chinese restaurants in the UK, which imparted unearthly, seemingly radioactive hues to the leaves of artificial plants. However, Weng Fen heightened the saturation because he found English landscapes intensely green compared to those of China: he wanted to make the foliage as green as possible and lacked any concern for (or even awareness of) Western notions of what is “natural”. We have earlier discussed the characteristically heavily saturated blues of Weng Fen’s skies, and in his Lake District photographs, the skies seem even more intensely and impossibly blue. For those who know the region, this effect is further compounded as its characteristic skies are cloudscapes whose frequent combinations of sun and showers cause the light to change dramatically from one minute to the next. Weng Fen’s skies are usually cloudless, and to English viewers seem so impossibly rare as to constitute another form of idealisation. 16 Whereas in actuality shooting was often interrupted or suspended due to rain, with all the final photographs being compressed into the few days when the weather was perfect. Many were also shot quite late on mid-summer evenings when, in this comparatively high latitude, the colour of the sky can assume an incredible intensity. 16

When this work was exhibited at Madrid’s Moriarty Gallery in February 2007, the artist published a small book entitled, Weng Peijun’s Heaven (2007), whose cover was just a simple block of colour similar to the International Klein Blue of Yves Klein.

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Superficial comparisons between Chiang Yee’s and Weng Fen’s images might suggest the two artists saw two very different sets of Lake District scenes, but like many other aspects of the latter’s work the weather was also carefully edited to depict an ideal rather than a reality. A further apparent difference is that seventy years ago Chiang Yee bemoaned the Lake District being changed for the worse by unthinking, commercial tourism. By contrast, Weng Fen’s present-day perception of the region is as a small, but stable utopian stronghold, whose survival is a striking contrast to his homeland’s present era of unimaginably immense social change and upheaval. However, one can argue that these contrasting depictions do not necessarily contradict one another, as both artists’ perceptions contain more than a grain of truth. Over the past two and a half centuries, many aspects of the English Lake District have changed dramatically through the growth of tourism. As early as 1844, William Wordsworth (1770-1850) had unsuccessfully written a sonnet and lengthy letters of complaint to local newspapers, expressing his opposition to the extension of the railway into the region. On the other hand, Weng Fen was very impressed by what he believed to be a landscape that had been preserved in a way that did not seem possible in present-day China. In an interview with Achiamar Lee-Rivera (2011) prior to his exhibition at California State University, the artist explained how in the Lake District he had discovered “disparities existing between Chinese and British attitudes towards nature”. Despite the long history of Daoism “a problematic contradiction now existed in the Chinese mind-set on nature” [sic] (Ibid.). However, this statement is followed by Lee-Rivera citing a 2010 Chinese interview with Gu Zhenqing 栏㋗㶭 (b. 1964) when Weng Fen asked, Can we find an effective and balanced way in those concepts and traditional wisdom to guide the harmonic relationship between the economic boom and the urbanization of today? (Ibid.)

One might therefore wonder if the artist was choosing his words with greater circumspection than had he been speaking outside China. I am uncertain, but think it likely that Weng Fen is actually unable to visualise a realistic alternative to the way China is being changed. This view seems to be supported by the Californian article concluding with his American interviewer, telling us “ultimately, Weng asked himself, ‘How should we do it if we don’t approach [it] like this?’” (Ibid.) Perhaps the harshest critic of such a fatalistic standpoint is the dissident artist Ai Weiwei (2012), who lambasted the Hayward Gallery’s 2012 survey Art of Change: New Directions from China, arguing that

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However, it is possible for Westerners to agree with Ai Weiwei without being overly critical of most Chinese artists’ seemingly limited ability to effectively critique their system from within. In support of this, one can cite Anselm Kiefer (b.1945) who, when asked by interviewer Melvyn Bragg whether he was “a Nazi or an anti-Nazi?”, replied he was neither because having been born in the final months of the Second World War to describe himself as “anti-Nazi” would be an insult to Germans who had actually opposed Hitler’s regime. Kiefer then wisely observed that he could never know what he might have been had he been born earlier (The South Bank Show 1990). Chiang Yee opted for self-imposed political exile, where he became an ambassador who through his art and writings helped Western audiences to better understand traditional Chinese culture. Wu (2012) describes him as having “played an active role in establishing a new era of cultural exchange between Britain and China.” By contrast, Weng Fen has remained in China and in his early career made many photo and video works that parodied stereotypes of the Communist authority. However, to a British viewer these seem over-literal and two-dimensional compared to his On the Wall series. The latter have an intriguing ambiguity which has drawn diametrically opposite readings from Western critics, who have seen them as celebrating, reflecting, or condemning China’s current wave of urbanisation. Varied readings of his Lake District work may in part be due to it now having been seen by a wide variety of international audiences, some of whom, particularly in the United States, seem scantily informed of its original context.17 In addition, some of the images have been widely reproduced on websites from Russia to South America, often without any commentary. However, unlike the Wall series, Return of the Silent Traveller has accrued a variety of readings whose emphases may differ, but are not mutually exclusive. Furthermore, the artist’s statements over the years since the project suggest an ongoing reflection on the project experience that has eventually enabled him to intellectually incorporate this foreign landscape work into his larger critique of present-day China.

17

To the best of our knowledge, since 2007 Weng Fen has only exhibited his Return of the Silent Traveller series alongside works made in China. This may be a further reason why some of its innovative aspects discussed above have eluded critics.

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Western reviews of contemporary Chinese art often attribute much of its appeal to artists depicting a world and values that are unfamiliar or incomprehensible. By contrast, neither Chiang Yee’s nor Weng Fen’s Lake District work could ever be described as opaque; instead both re-presented the familiar in unfamiliar ways. Of course, this is a two-sided process, while an artist tries to direct an audience’s reading, he or she can never control it. Therefore, how Western audiences have perceived these two bodies of work may not always have been wholly in line with the artists’ intentions. Despite the striking freshness of their respective depictions of the Lake District, both artists only made fleeting visits to the region and were less familiar with its landscapes and the history of their representation than many of their audiences. Much of the enduring popularity of The Silent Traveller in Lakeland with English audiences lies in its lively re-presentation of the familiar. However, the low viewpoints, grisaille brushwork, small dimensions and journal format also invite formal comparison with eighteenth-century picturesque etchings that illustrated early tourist guides to the Lake District. As we have previously noted, juxtaposing the two is a useful reminder of these English artists’ appropriation of devices from traditional Chinese painting. We have a curious situation where a reciprocal relationship with later work from a much older tradition can enhance our understanding of the picturesque. When one adds the similarities between Daoism and nineteenth-century Romanticism, a complex three-way set of interrelationships is established that expands our understanding of this important period in Western landscape aesthetics. Chiang Yee’s painting and writings, whilst serving to promote traditional Chinese art in the West, were also the work of an Occidentalist who has helped us to better understand our own culture. The strength and appeal of Weng Fen’s Lake District work lies in its difference to what has gone before. We have considered its superficial similarities and significant differences to traditional masculine tropes of Romantic and colonial landscape art. The family group in alien surroundings occurs in some forms of colonial art such as South African Trekboer paintings, but the implication is that they will triumph by colonising the wilderness and turning the unfamiliar into the homely. Whereas the viewing stations of Weng Fen’s family are separate from, rather than “within” the landscape and, though we cannot see their faces, there is a tacit sense of these figures being uncomprehending outsiders, whose presence is only temporary. Despite working in very dissimilar periods of art and Chinese history, both artists used their cultural identity and sense of otherness to make

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innovative representations of the English Lake District that have been well received by local audiences. Being unfamiliar with the region, but familiar with a much older, yet not wholly dissimilar tradition of landscape appreciation, they have given the British two very different, but equally innovative representations of otherwise overly familiar landscapes. The Chinese artists were largely ignorant of the Lake District and its role in Western aesthetic history, but what might have been a handicap became creative freedom from the encumbrance of local tradition.

Works Cited Primary Sources Boime, Alfred. 1991. The Magisterial Gaze: Manifest Destiny and American Landscape Painting, c.1830-1865. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. Burke, Edmund. (1757) 1990. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, edited by Alan Philips. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chang, Elizabeth Hope. 2010. Britain’s Chinese Eye: Literature, Empire, and Aesthetics in Nineteenth-Century Britain. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Chiang Yee. (1935) 1961. The Chinese Eye: An Interpretation of Chinese Painting. London: Methuen. —. (1946) 1970. “Art.” In China, edited by MacNair and Harley Farnsworth, 348-62. Berkeley: University of California Press. —. (1937) 2004. The Silent Traveller in Lakeland. Edinburgh: Mercat Press. —. 2010. Chiang Yee: The Silent Traveller from the East. New Brunswick, New Jersey, and London: Rutgers University Press. Erzan, Jale N. ed. 2008. XVII Congress of Aesthetics: Aesthetics Bridging Cultures. Congress Book 1. Ankara: SANART. Goethe, Wolfgang Johannes von. (1810) 1970. Goethe’s Colour Theory. With a Complete Facsimile Reproduction of Charles Eastlake’s 1820 Translation of the “Didactic Part” of the Colour Theory, edited by Rupprecht Matthaei. London: Studio Vista. Haywood, Mark. 2005. The Wide Blue Wonder: Essays on Cyanophilia. Carlisle: Unipress. —. 2008. “Shifting the Scenery.” In Thomas West [1778], A Guide to the Lakes in Cumberland, Westmorland and Lancashire, edited by Gerard M-F Hill, ix-xxix. Carlisle: Unipress. —. 2012a. “Viewing the Emergence of Scenery from the Lakes.” In Making Sense of Place: Multi-disciplinary Perspectives, edited by Ian Convery,

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Gerard Corsane and Peter Davis, 23-32. Rochester, NY: Boydell & Brewer. —. 2012b. “Three Artists, Three Cities, Three Continents: Weng Fen, Hema Upadhyay and Bodys Isek Kingelez.” In Contemp Art ’12: International Conference on Contemporary Art, Istanbul, April 12-14, 2012, 13-19. Istanbul: DAKAM & Mimar Sinan Fine Arts University. Jarman, Derek. 1995. Chroma: A Book of Colour—June ’93. London: Vintage. Peng Feng. 2007. “The Beautiful in the Presence: A Phenomenological Interpretation of Traditional Chinese Aesthetics.” In XVII Congress of Aesthetics: Aesthetics Bridging Cultures, edited by Jale N. Erzan, 125-30. Ankara: SANART. Richetti, John J. 2005. The Life of Daniel Defoe: A Critical Biography. Oxford: Blackwell. Tanaka Hidemichi. 2007. “The Theories of the Space of the Landscape in the East and the West.” In XVII Congress of Aesthetics: Aesthetics Bridging Cultures, edited by Jale N. Erzan, 255-61. Ankara: SANART. The South Bank Show: Anselm Kiefer. 1990. ITV documentary, London. Weng Fen. 2007. Weng Peijun’s Heaven: Return of the Silent Traveller Lake District Project. Madrid: Galeria Moriarty.

Secondary Sources Haywood, Mark. 2005. The Wide Blue Wonder: Essays on Cyanophilia Carlisle: Unipress. Pastoureau, Michel. 2001. Blue: the History of a Colour. Princeton, NJ.: Princeton University Press. Vine, Richard. 2008. New China, New Art. New York: Prestel. Zheng Da. 2004. Foreword to The Silent Traveller in Lakeland, by Chiang Yee, xi-xxiii. Edinburgh: Mercat Press. —. 2010. Chiang Yee: The Silent Traveller from the East. New Brunswick, New Jersey, and London: Rutgers University Press.

Internet Sources “27 Questions for Artist Xu Bing.” 2011. Artinfo, September 30. Accessed September 29, 2012. http://www.artinfo.com/news/story/38754/ 27-questions-for-artist-xu-bing Ai Weiwei. 2012. “Ai Weiwei: China’s Art World does not Exist.” The Guardian, September 10. Accessed September 28, 2012. http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2012/sep/10/ai-weiwei-chinaart-world

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Chen, Louise. 2010. “Visions of Utopia: A Q&A with Photographer Weng Fen.” Artinfo, August 2. Accessed October 1, 2011. http://www.artinfo.com/news/story/35337/visions-of-utopia-a-qa-withphotographer-weng-fen. Gu Zhenqing. 2010. “Weng Peijun’s Beautiful New World—On His Installation Building with Eggs.” Accessed September 29, 2012. http://www.artlinkart.com/en/artist/exh_yr/18bauvr/f0caxwro He Yunchang Touring Projects. 2009. Accessed October 7, 2011. http://www.eastlinkgallery.cn/ReviewDetail.aspx?id=57&lan=zh Kwok Yenni 悕䅽⥖. 2007. “The Art of Seeing.” Prestige Hong Kong (March). Accessed February 27, 2014. http://www.yennikwok.com/arts/wengfen.pdf Lee-Rivera, Achiamar. 2011. “Reflecting on the Past in Times of Modernity: The Art of Weng Fen.” In Tales of Our Time: Two Contemporary Artists from China. Northridge: California State University. Accessed May 7, 2012. http://www.csun.edu/~mwang/exhibition/essays.html#rf. Metropolitan Museum of Art. 2010. “Contemporary Photography and Video Featured in Between Here and There at Metropolitan Museum.” Accessed May 7, 2012. http://www.metmuseum.org/en/exhibitions/listings/2010/between-here -and-there Ortiz, Dave. 2010. “Between Here and There: Dislocation and Displacement in Contemporary Photography.” The New York Photo Review. Accessed May 7, 2012. http://www.nyphotoreview.com/NYPR_REVS/NYPR_REV551.html Red Mansion. 2006. “Weng Fen.” Accessed May 30, 2012. http://www.redmansion.co.uk/exhibitions/wengfen.htm. Wu, Anna. 2012. “The Silent Traveller: Chiang Yee in Britain 1933-55.” V&A Online Journal 4 (Summer). Accessed September 29, 2012. http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/journals/research-journal/issue-no.-4-su mmer-2012/the-silent-traveller-chiang-yee-in-britain-1933-55/

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Fig. 7-1. Chiang Yee, The Charm and Gentleness of Derwentwater, 1936. Ink on paper. Courtesy of the artist’s estate.

Fig. 7-2. Weng Fen, Bird’s Eye View—Shanghai I, 2004. C-print, 60 x 105 cm. Courtesy of the artist.

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Fig. 7-3. Weng Fen, Staring at the Lake 5, 2006. C-print, 160 x 200 cm. Courtesy of the artist.

Fig. 7-4. Weng Fen, Staring at the Lake 4, 2006. C-print, overall dimensions 160 x 400 cm. Courtesy of the artist.

PART III: CONCEPTUALISING CHINESE ART THROUGH DISPLAY

CHAPTER EIGHT AESTHETICS AND EXCLUSION: CHINESE OBJECTS IN NINETEENTH-CENTURY AMERICAN VISUAL CULTURE LENORE METRICK-CHEN

This chapter explores an absence, or more accurately, an erasure.1 It is an attempt to understand why Chinese objects disappeared from American art discourse in the 1870s, despite their presence in American life and art collections. And it examines the changes that this lack of recognition occasioned in the American definition of art. My intention is to rectify this erasure as much as possible by contextualising it within the late nineteenth-century culture that gave rise to the Chinese Exclusion Laws. American exclusion of Chinese people may seem unrelated to appreciation of imported Chinese objects; indeed, the trajectories of Chinese exclusion and Chinese objects are generally researched separately. Bringing them together uncovers the political agenda underlying the American reception of Chinese art. Increasing anxiety regarding Chinese immigration effected American perception of everything from China. The framework of Chinese exclusion became the overarching environment for reception of Chinese import objects, reaching all the way into art museums, and necessitating a change in the paradigm of art to comprehend Chinese things. My study finds that the ideology supporting exclusion of Chinese people from the United States spilled over into perception of Chinese objects, creating reluctance toward acknowledging the Chinese origins of objects. Fortuitously, the “opening” of Japan in 1854 allowed Americans the happy solution of subsuming the origin of Chinese things into a more acceptable 1

This chapter isolates and focuses several issues raised in my book, Collecting Objects/Excluding People: Chinese Subjects and American Visual Culture 1830-1900 (2012).

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classification: they often were referred to as Japanese. Despite the re-emergence of Chinese objects in the art discourse of the 1890s, that almost twenty-year silence shaped subsequent discussion concerning American art of that time. Even today, this error is perpetuated in most contemporary art historical narratives. Not aware of the presence, even omni-presence, of Chinese objects in American life, many historians interpret the excitement over Japanese objects as an immediate—and unmediated—appreciation of Japanese aesthetics. Japanese art is celebrated as a sudden revelation of aesthetic possibilities. On the contrary, however, Japanese manufacturers frequently modelled their export objects on successful Chinese exports. Yet even these Chinese exports excited no comparable response. However, the lack of acknowledgement of Chinese objects does not denote their lack of agency in nineteenth-century American culture. Through their silence, the Chinese objects displayed in American museums altered American visual culture. They participated in dislodging the American definition of art from its basis in morality to one predicated more upon formal qualities; or more precisely, they repudiated John Ruskin (1819-1900), while constructing the new visual system of Aestheticism.2 In the 1840s, Ruskin’s moral way of interpreting art had appealed to Americans, accessible in its basis in nature. But this relationship became seen as simplistic; Ruskin’s paradigm of art as a representation of moral harmony between nature and culture was inadequate to account for the complexities of modern life and culture. Before the end of the century it was challenged by Aestheticism’s emphasis on the autonomy of art experience, disengaged from any utilitarian or didactic moral agenda. Through its reinforcement of narrative silence and autonomy, Chinese aesthetics participated in this paradigm shift. Art historical narrative reflects a culture’s official memory, and our continued lack of any reference to Chinese objects in America’s celebration of what has come to be called “the Japanese craze,” demonstrates our unwillingness to acknowledge the continuing effects of Chinese Exclusion. Understanding the reception of Chinese objects in America requires opening the context of art history beyond aesthetic considerations, into the realm of immigration and its attendant political agendas. Only by acknowledging America’s negation of Chinese people can we begin to correct our inherited transcript of American art history and theory. 2

It is no surprise that in 1917 when Marcel Duchamp (1887-1968) defied established art paradigms and submitted a “readymade” object to an art exhibition, he picked a porcelain! Using a pseudonym, Duchamp submitted a urinal, reoriented ninety degrees, to an unjuried art exhibition. It was rejected.

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The first section of this chapter investigates exclusion, moving from American regard for China at the end of the eighteenth century to the political demonisation of Chinese immigrants at the end of the nineteenth century. The second section compares American reception of Japanese people and objects to that of the Chinese. In the third section, I discuss how Americans’ admiration of Chinese things as commodities led to an unexpected affiliation in American museums between Chinese objects and plaster casts of European sculptures. The final section examines American inarticulateness in regard to Chinese objects. Their complex relationships within American culture contributed to the changing art paradigm, one in which Chinese objects acquired voice.

People and Objects, Inclusion and Exclusion The late nineteenth century saw dramatic changes in how Americans regarded both Chinese people and Chinese objects. Chinese people were present in the United States from its inception but even by 1880, they numbered only 105,465 that is .002% of the entire population (Choy, Dong, and Hom 1994, 19). Yet, in 1882, Congress passed the Chinese Exclusion Act, barring almost all Chinese people from immigrating to the United States and denying naturalisation to those who already lived here, and de-naturalising the Chinese who already were citizens: effectively revoking all legal rights of this immigrant group. The Act stated, in part: Whereas, in the opinion of the Government of the United States the coming of Chinese laborers to this country endangers the good order of certain localities within the territory thereof: Therefore, Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled, That from and after the expiration of ninety days next after the passage of this act, and until the expiration of ten years next after the passage of this act, the coming of Chinese laborers to the United States be, and the same is hereby, suspended [...]

The exclusion of Chinese people predated immigration restriction of “idiots,” “polygamists,” and “anarchists” by thirty-five years (The Politics of Immigration 2012). American animosity towards Chinese people was relatively new. The predominant regard of China in eighteenth-century America was respectful, even laudatory. The little information Americans had about China served them better than a tabula rasa in providing a mythic ideal of a democracy. And, more pragmatically, America, with its agricultural economy, admired China’s agronomic management, capable of sustaining a population of

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awesome proportions. A description found in the New Haven Gazette on 21 June 1787 is representative of that positive attitude. The author synopsises or, more accurately, plagiarises a French author: Turn your eyes, to the eastern extremity of the Asiatic continent inhabited by the Chinese, and there you will conceive a ravishing idea of the happiness the world might enjoy, were the laws of this empire the model of other countries (Aldridge 1993, 155).

This optimism continued as America gained its independence and began to view China as a vast potential market. Individual fortune, as well as validation of America’s newly autonomous nationhood, resulted from the American-China trade. When still a British colony, American speculators rankled at the monopoly of the East India Company prohibiting their trade with China, believing that they were being thwarted from a pathway towards enormous wealth. In 1784, just five days after signing the treaty with England granting independence, Americans had launched its first ship, the Empress of China, to trade raw goods for manufactured ware in Canton (Jacobson 1993, 206). Due in part to special governmental tariffs and duties favouring China traders, by 1800 Salem, Massachusetts, the port city for the China trade, enjoyed the highest per capita income in the country (Lahikainen 1999, 32). As a consequence of this trade, a version of Chinese aesthetics entered American homes through purchase of a wide array of objects: from small personal items to painted screens and wallpaper; tea, textiles and lacquered ware; cassia, ivory, tortoiseshell, and of course porcelain, were all imported from China (Mudge 1981, 43). The ready availability of these goods for consumption by households of even moderate income is borne out by broadsides and newspapers announcing the presence of Chinese merchants and merchandise. On 8 December 1854, an advertisement for a China store in the New York Times announced: I, TSUNG ZEQUAY, issue my proclamation to the inhabitants of the city of Brooklyn, situated on the beautiful bay of New York, on whose waters sail the great ships bringing the produce of far off lands, that I, TSUNG ZE-QUAY having left my kindred and my nation, and having been led to your goodly land, proclaim my design of offering for sale the products of the Celestial Empire. I have with me much Tea, Coffee, Cocoa, Chocolate, &c. of the choicest gatherings which I will give you for your smallest pieces of gold and silver; and may health, joy and length of day attend you. All you who want the finest, choicest flavored Teas, come to me, and you shall have the purest that China can produce. Also, a beautiful assortment of Lacquer-ware work tables, Lacquer-ware centre tables, Lacquer-ware work

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But over the course of the nineteenth century the same traders who brought back coveted Chinese manufactures and exotic tales began to castigate the Chinese people. We now recognise that antagonism was expressed first and voiced loudest by American traders who covertly trafficked in opium (Miller 1963, 58).3 America’s involvement began with one small shipment of opium in 1805, which proved so lucrative that American dealing rapidly increased, by 1820 becoming one of its most important trades (Graham 1988, 55). Several preeminent American families derived their fortunes from smuggling opium: Samuel Russell’s company was founded in 1824 primarily to obtain opium for illegal trade in China and merged with the Perkins company in 1830 to form the primary American opium syndicate. A modified clipper ship became known as an “opium clipper;” its increased speed allowed it to complete three round-trips in one year, greatly increasing profits (Ahmad 2011, 21). By the mid-1830s the opium trade had become “the largest commerce of its time in any single commodity, anywhere in the world” (Beeching 1977, 39). According to David Kales (2004, 89), Opium smuggling didn’t just make money. At times, opium was money. Opium built empires and had a hand in financing much of the world’s infrastructure.

This all occurred illegally: the opium trade was prohibited by the Chinese Government. Cognisant of American disapproval, American merchants disguised their complicity. Besides professing guiltlessness, American traders shifted blame for the opium trade onto the Chinese, contending that China was at fault for tolerating a trade which Britain, less guilty, merely supplied (Graham 1988, 64-5). Americans retaining a favourable view of China were now considered traditionalists, while the inflammatory anti-Chinese 3

Foster Rhea Dulles (1978, 148) alleged that almost all the American merchants participated in trading opium. He listed the Perkinses, the Peabodys, the Russells, the Lowes and the Forbeses. Only Olyphant’s company remained apart.

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rhetoric gained greater credibility, especially through appearing more frequently in print. Newspapers such as the Democratic Review and The National Intelligencer disseminated vicious accounts: bigoted, intolerant, incommunicative, and selfish, the Chinese have kept apart from the people of the world, have resisted the power of civilization spreading itself so effectively through all other nations (Graham 1988, 72).

A far cry from the admiration quoted earlier. It will be no surprise that the same people disparaging the Chinese also disparaged their art. We can hear what became the archetypal complaint about Chinese art in the words of Robert Waln, Jr., supercargo on an American trading ship to China. “The Chinese are excellent copyists,” he wrote, “but possess little or no inventive faculties” (Aldridge 1993, 118). Waln itemised the faults of Chinese art: Chinese painters offend against every rule of perspective, which, with the effects produced by the proper disposition of light and shade, they affect to consider unnatural. Always taking a horizontal view of their subject, they place themselves alternately in front of the objects, whatever may be their position or extent; thus, in their paintings, houses are placed one on top of another, and the method which they have imagined to express objects at a distance, is to represent clouds intersecting tress, buildings and men. They absurdly contend that it is proper to represent the objects in the back, of the same size as those in the fore ground, because they are so in nature (Ibid., 216).

His opinion rested America’s highly Eurocentric definition of art. He, as many Americans, chauvinistically (albeit ludicrously) believed in American design’s superiority over Chinese artistry. True enough, Americans bought their dinnerware from China—but they directed the Chinese artisans to design it with Western motifs.4 Consul General Samuel Shaw (1754-94) was typical in his commission of a large set of commemorative porcelain. The Chinese were instructed to make the porcelain set and decorate it according to his specifications. Sharing the American partiality to allegory, he designed a scene incorporating the insignia of Cincinnati as the central motif for his set. 5 This motif was quite popular: apparently George 4

We see this in Emerson, Chen and Gates 2000, 252. Emerson, Chen and Gates (2000, 256) state that “The English were especially fond of armorial porcelain; statistics have shown that armorial services destined for England accounted for almost half the total of such services sent to the European market.” 5

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Washington (1732-99) purchased 302 pieces of the set (Aldridge 1993, 118)! Shaw stipulated: [an] American Cincinnatus, under the conduct of Minerva, regarding Fame, who, having received from them the emblem of the order, was proclaiming it to the world (Ibid., 117).

To familiarise the Chinese artist with this iconography, Shaw provided him with two engravings of the Roman goddess Minerva, a representation of the Count d’Estaing to represent the military, and the medal of the order of Cincinnatus, instructing the artist to duplicate them as an ensemble! Shaw discovered to his dismay that the artist “was unable to combine the figures with the least propriety; though there was not one of them which singly he could not copy with greatest exactness” (Ibid.). Shaw’s statement earlier in the same article became the standard view of the Chinese artistic inability: “It is a general remark, that the Chinese, though they can imitate most of the fine arts, do not possess any large portion of original genius” (Ibid.). Yet not every American trader subscribed to this negative depiction of Chinese people and culture. Tellingly, Americans not dealing in opium tended towards a more favourable view. To counter the alarming negativity, they saw gaining prominence. Two Americans separately established museums of Chinese objects, showcasing the quality of Chinese culture, invention and design. The Philadelphia merchant Nathan Dunn (1782-1844), who resided in China for over twelve years, established the first such museum. It proved immensely popular, attracting 100,000 visitors in three years (Pagani 1998, 37). The accompanying catalogue titled Ten Thousand Chinese Things: A Descriptive Catalogue of the Chinese Collection in Philadelphia… (1842) (Fig. 8-1), sold over 65,000 copies. The catalogue states from the onset that “Most Americans who trade to China are more or less engaged in the opium traffic, which is contrary to the laws of the Empire,” and assures the reader that “Mr. Dunn was never interested to the amount of a dollar in that illicit commerce” (Wines 1839, 10). The museum was not intended as a display of art as much as a display of Chinese culture overall. According to the catalogue, the museum housed, among other displays, a silk draper’s shop and a Chinese street “nearly filled up by a palanquin and its bearers” (Ibid., 12). The writer lists: Figures, of the size of life, in full costume, representing Chinese men and women, all of them being real likenesses; implements of various kinds; paintings; specimens of japan and porcelain ware; models of boats and

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summer houses; […] birds, minerals, shells, fishes, reptiles, insects etc.; models of pagodas (Ibid.).

The author met the challenge of the defamatory assessment of Chinese art head on, commenting on a Chinese painting: A glance at this production will correct a prevalent error respecting the inability of Chinese painters to produce perspective. Though light and shade are certainly a good deal neglected here, and the perspective is not perfect, yet the picture is by no means deficient in this regard; and the drawings of individual objects are extremely accurate (Wines 1839, 78).

John R. Peters (dates unknown) also established a Chinese Museum during this period. Peters had served with the Cushing mission responsible for negotiating the first official agreement between China and the United States, the Treaty of Wang-hsia, in 1844. The following year he organised a museum of Chinese objects in Boston, which travelled to Philadelphia in 1847. The museum included two complete Chinese homes, accompanied by two Chinese attendants. Each case illustrated one facet of Chinese life; a particular employment, status, or daily activity (Hirayama 1989, 59-60) (Fig. 8-2).6 Like Dunn’s, Peters’ catalogue framed Chinese art within the context of politics. Peters makes a strong case for understanding increased Chinese distrust and animosity towards Westerners: Is it strange when they see the greatest European nation […] clandestinely flood their shores with a drug which destroys thousands, and is known to be prohibited by their laws, that they should look upon them as barbarians! Is it strange, when they formerly saw the governments and merchants of foreign nations […] perpetually quarrelling for the sake of gain, that they should look upon them all with suspicion and contempt, and call them ‘Fan-qui’s,’ ‘foreign devils’ (Peters 1845, 201)!

Underlying both Chinese museums was their founders’ desire to challenge the negative perception of China gaining ascendancy in America. In creating their museums, Dunn and Peters hoped that awareness of the remarkable diversity and skill in Chinese culture would persuade Americans of its worth. Their efforts resulted in elevating the status of Chinese artistry. But, while the museums received great praise, exemplified by a comment from a visitor, exclaiming “I had no idea that the Chinese 6 See IPTV 2012, an episode of PBS Antiques Roadshow which examines objects from this museum.

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were so luxurious and refined,” still, for all Dunn’s and Peters’ efforts, the Chinese collections could not counteract Americans’ increasing arrogance towards Chinese culture. The art proved an ineffective means of political persuasion (Cohen 1980, 10-4). As the century proceeded, American attitudes towards Chinese art seesawed. Complaints still persisted that the Chinese artists had no idea of fore-shortening, modelling or perspective; in short, Chinese art was seen as failing for not according with Western standards. But, the attractions of Chinese art began to be acknowledged. The vacillation appears in an article in Harper’s Weekly, A Journal of Civilization which begins with high praise for Chinese art, in both object and style: The works of art of the Chinese are well known for their great beauty of color, and the extraordinary fineness as well as originality in design in carvings of wood and ivory; while the bronze objects which represent the antique art of China are often most remarkable for the skill and fancy with which the forms of natural objects, plants, and animals have been treated in composing the ornament (“Chinese Art” 1870).

Reading further however, we see the author’s initial complement degraded to the old complaint, saying that the Chinese succeed in painting birds, flowers, fruit, animals, and figures of men and women in the brightest and finest colors, but without any idea of very correct drawing or placing the object in perspective (Ibid.).

Nevertheless, the article ends with a twist: a comparison to Japanese art: “In this respect they are behind the Japanese, who show a much more artistic feeling for natural beauty and picturesque arrangement” (Ibid.). Chinese art now had a new rival to contend with. At the moment Americans were poised to embrace an Asian-based aesthetic and hesitated before accepting Chinese art. Ultimately, they not only judged it inferior to European art, but now found it fell short of Japanese art. But why was there a comparison to Japanese at this juncture? Understanding this involves looking beyond aesthetics into cultural politics.

Enter Japan In 1853, consonant with America’s sense of entitlement in Western expansion, Commodore Matthew Perry (1794-1858) sailed with several gunboats to secure Japanese ports for American trade. Previously, Japan had resisted most Western attempts at commerce, but seeing the steamships

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and their guns, it understood the message: if it did not open willingly, it would be opened by force. Thrilled with their successful diplomacy as a new world power, Americans became enchanted with Japan; idealising it as a fairyland, they celebrated all it produced. The Japanese visiting the United States throughout the 1870s were Samurai, and they were addressed with the title of Prince. Their aristocratic status delighted the American public. Laidlaw describes the excitement when the first Japanese embassy arrived in the United States in 1860. After three weeks of feting in Washington, they visited New York, where they paraded up Broadway escorted by 7,000 troops, cheered by a crowd in the hundreds of thousands. The New York Times described the party as “all very young and intelligent looking” (“More Japanese” 1871). And few Japanese people desired to immigrate to the United States. In contrast, Chinese people had a much more controversial presence in the United States. They arrived in larger numbers not as diplomats and princes of aristocracy, but as working class sojourners and immigrants. Many young Chinese men were enticed by the advertisements of American merchants, seductively portraying America as a land of gold and employment. Peter Parker (1804-88), the U.S. consul in Canton, wrote that between 1 January 1851 and 1 January 1852, 14,000 Chinese arrived in California. The following year the number reached 20,025, and throughout the next decade approximated an average of 4,000 immigrants per year (Lee 1999, 21). The 1870 census was the first to include a category for Chinese. Most lived on the West Coast: 49,277 Chinese inhabitants in California’s total population of 560,247, with only nineteen Chinese people living in New York City and Brooklyn (Rosenwaike 1972, 78). By 1880, the number of Chinese people in California had risen only to 73,132, in a total population of 864,894: 8.7% of California’s population (The Chinese Experience in America 2011). And in 1890, the combined New York City—Brooklyn Chinese population had reached only 2,948. A decade later, the population rose to 6,321 (Rosenwaike 1972, 78). Nevertheless, the arrival of Chinese immigrants became a national fascination. In a large cartoon, Thomas Nast captures the mixture of awe and trepidation occasioned by the arrival of the first group of Chinese workers hired by a Massachusetts employer in 1870. Titled “The New Comet—A Phenomenon Now Visible in all Parts of the United States,” Nast coupled the emotion involved in witnessing a comet streaking across the night sky—here the comet is depicted with a queue—with the controversy of Chinese people entering the country (Fig. 8-3). Yet the decision to immigrate was not entered into easily. The three-month voyage between China and America was arduous, even deadly.

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The Chinese were confined to the hold below decks, crammed in as cargo, dependent on their own supplies for food and sometimes even for water. The death toll for the Chinese on American ships often averaged over 350 persons per voyage, and as many as 600 persons (Hall 1998, 14-5). Only dire circumstances could prompt so many thousands to leave their homeland for an uncertain future. The Opium Wars had devastated China, producing chaos and famine: food shortages and disease resulted in 20 to 60 million deaths. By 1860 China had become so debilitated that it could not prevent England from burning the Forbidden City, destroying the structures they had so recently marvelled at and replicated as Chinoiserie. America’s initial response to Chinese immigration was favourable. But by the late 1860s, they began to be viewed as competition for menial jobs, especially among Irish immigrants who were fighting for social acceptance. Denis Kearney (1847-1907), head of the Workingman’s Party in California, realised that demonising the Chinese could empower his group and he spearheaded an anti-Chinese movement. An advertising trade card for a laundry product depicts Kearny using the product which makes Chinese laundrymen obsolete—they are shown tearfully being exiled back to China (Fig. 8-4). Over the decade of the 1870s, anti-Chinese violence in western states proliferated: what began as small incidents dismissed as hooliganism, (adults encouraging children to throw stones at Chinese people, or pull their queues) erupted as more organised mass violence: in 1871, twenty-two Chinese men were murdered in Los Angeles, and in 1887, thirty-one Chinese miners were murdered in a raid (Hall 1998, 25). Legal violence also was employed. In the 1860s the anti-Chinese factions in California attained political power and succeeded in denying Chinese men work of any kind, first through exorbitant taxes on Chinese enterprises, then by refusing licenses to any Chinese-owned business. In the 1870s, an amendment to California’s constitution stipulated that no corporation could hire Chinese workers. Chinese immigrants were accused of spreading leprosy and bubonic plague. In 1882, the Chinese Exclusion Bill was passed and Chinese in the US were denied naturalisation. Since they could not become citizens, they could not vote. Since they could not vote, politicians ignored them (Hall 1998, 23). All these atrocities were tolerated and indeed endorsed by the rest of the country because California’s electoral votes were pivotal in national elections. Courting the California vote, the two political parties vied with each other in courting the state, vowing to carry out its wishes and exclude Chinese people. While the popular press derisively referred to the Chinese immigrants as “plodding, and viewless” and as “benighted heathens,” it repeatedly

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declared the Japanese to be “intelligent,” “refined,” “clean.”7 It spoke of China as backwards, Japan as progressive. Japan served as a foil, a counterbalance to American’s increasingly negative view of China. By the time Japanese objects became available in America, Americans were more open to a departure from post-Renaissance perspectival aesthetics. Through writings of John Ruskin, a taste had been cultivated for “primitive,” pre-Renaissance style art that seemed simpler and appeared to foster a simpler, more moral ethic. The connection with characteristics found in Japanese art—flatness, patterns of decorative colour—was seen as early as 1862. Impressed by the Japanese display at the London International Exhibition, a visitor stated, “To realize the real Middle Ages [one] must visit the Japanese Court” (Johnson 1986, 149). William Hosley (1990, 48-9) elaborated on the appeal of Japanese art to advocates of Ruskin’s idea of art, a moral antidote to America’s increasing industrialisation: Western critics believed Japanese art was the product of a moral economy characterized by small family shops and labor practices that validated the dignity of the individual worker. It was an ethic that opposed specialization and the division of labor. The unity of art and artisanry, variation in ornament, and the use of traditional tools and technologies became positively charged. The Japan idea developed into a kind of shorthand for the affirmation of tradition […]

The 1870s saw the emergence of the “Japanese style,” promoted to American homemakers through numerous magazine articles and how—to books. Such articles and books purported to instruct the reader in the creation not merely of an aesthetic but also a moral environment.8 While discussions about Japanese items crop up throughout the chapters, Chinese objects, although comparable in cost and availability and, especially, appearance, receive no mention. By the end of the 1870s, Japanese culture and goods were praised, celebrated, imitated. Chinese things, on the other hand, were rarely mentioned; indeed, were often subsumed in the phrase “Japanese-style” (Laidlaw 1996, 185-6). Yet the bulk of imported Japanese and Chinese objects were so similar that most Americans could not distinguish them. Hina Hirayama (1989) testifies to the lack of distinction between the newly arriving Japanese objects and the long available Chinese ones, stating unequivocally that: “American merchants were exporting from Japan goods 7

See, for instance, “Landing of the Entire Embassy at San Francisco” 1872; “A Heathen Festival” 1872. 8 See, for instance, “Home Decoration” in Mack et al. 1883, 358.

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that were similar to those from China, rather than items specific to Japan.”9 The shared aesthetic in the imports from the two Asian nations owed as much to Victorian taste as to either Asian culture. In 1876, the manager of the Household-Art Company in Boston, Charles Elliott (1817-83), attempted to articulate several key differences between Chinese and Japanese ceramics. In an article “The Porcelain of Japan,” after he determined that Chinese porcelain showed more invention and variety, while Japanese often had a better glaze, Elliot confessed the difficulty of correctly attributing the works to their country of origin. He inadvertently proved his point, crediting Japanese manufacture to a teapot which another “expert” claimed to be Chinese (Laidlaw 1996, 182). Many such errors in attribution, results of Japanomania, survive today (Denker 1985, 43). In popular culture, although China and Japan exported similar objects and many Chinese objects became misidentified and incorporated into the “Japanese” aesthetic, the category of “Chinese” was morally quite distinct from that of “Japanese.” To Americans, Japanese objects characterised a people as delightful as they were virtuous. Contrastingly, Chinese objects could not be imagined within a moral paradigm, because that would have required respect for China and its people, which, during the years immediate to Chinese Exclusion, many Americans were not willing to consider.

Commodities and Copies: The Merchandise of Museums Art museums were a consequence not only of art but of commerce and politics. In the latter part of the nineteenth century, America had an extreme imbalance of wealth: by 1892 an estimated 9 % of the nation owned 71 % of the wealth. Anger over economic inequity irrupted in the violence of the Haymarket Riot in the 1880s, the Homestead Strike in the 1890s and the Panic of 1893, to name only three (Baltzell 1964, 110, 114). Against this backdrop of financial and social disparity, the wealthy class hoped that by 9 Laidlaw (1996, 341-2) confirms this in her citations of comments on Chinese and even more, on Japanese bronzes. Apparently these were discussed more than any other type of object, receiving rave reviews for their variety, skill and patience, one critic comparing them to “the fantasy of a dream.” Indeed, the technology of the bronze astonished Americans at least as much as the artistry, confounding the assumption that any non-Western nation could be more advanced than Europe and America. However, several more informed art critics found the work almost reprehensible. Raphael Pumpelly was almost grieved by the exhibit, and Charles Wyllys Elliott concluded that most of the work was “bad in form, and meaningless and unattractive in decoration.”

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creating public institutions such as art museums and educating the masses into social acquiescence, they could buffer challenges threatening their authority. Their altruistic declarations of public beneficence camouflaged motivations of class-preservation (Tomkins 1970, 16-7). Two of the earliest museums founded exclusively for exhibiting art were the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (MFA) and the Metropolitan Museum of Art (Met), both incorporated in 1870. Affluent businessmen as well as politicians served on museum boards and created the art collections. Here, now, is the heart of the matter. Museum founders and board members were not art experts. Their interest in museums served several purposes, not just the desire to share art objects with the general public. Business experience oriented the relationship to the objects (Lerman 1969, 14). Reformers and visionaries joined businessmen and capitalists as fierce proponents of a moral universe based on material consumption. Shopping had become part of American’s idealised world view, exemplified in utopian novels such as Edward Bellamay’s celebrated Looking Backward (1888) and the aptly titled work by Bradford Peck, The World a Department Store (1900). Museum boards became known for buying by quantity and conservatively, choosing what was familiar. Invited to choose ten pictures from William H. Vanderbilt’s extensive art collection, Met trustees selected Van Marcke’s Cattle (c. 1870), and Erskine Nicol’s oil painting Looking Out for a Safe Investment (1876) works that depicted familiar scenes (Tomkins 1970, 61). Similarly, trustees had a commercial relationship with Asian objects, through world’s fairs or through their own investments with China and Japan. Originally attracted to these objects as saleable commodities, they used the same criteria in collecting for museums. Kenneth Hudson (1987, 56) has bluntly commented: “The Metropolitan was, in fact, running a business”. Accordingly, Chinese ware became a substantial collection in the fledgling American art museums, the items chosen almost exclusively from exports made specifically for American taste. On the close of the 1876 Centennial Exposition, the MFA spent $2,000 dollars purchasing exhibitions of bronzes, leathers, pottery, textile and tiles from several Asian nations (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston 1876a, 2). Because of prohibitive cost, items from European exhibitions were not even considered.10 Although their regard for Chinese objects was genuine, museum collectors needed to justify their impulse to collect them. Yet, apparently at 10

Comprised largely of commodities manufactured as export ware for a Western market, by mid-twentieth century this entire collection had been piecemeal and ignominiously de-accessioned.

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a loss for words, the brief discussion of Chinese objects in the 1877 catalogue for the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston could only reiterate: “She claims for all her arts a fabulous antiquity. Indeed, the power of invention seems to have perished there before it was known to Europe” (Appleton 1877, 64-6). With the emphasis on fine art as a moral lesson, given the political climate demonising Chinese people, it was difficult to see morality in a Chinese object. But the museums found a way around this conundrum. Rather than searching for a moral lesson within the artwork, they instead asserted that Chinese objects served a moral goal: contributing to public visual education, benefiting industrial design. The Trustees’ report from the MFA (1876a, 12) presented their exotic objects in this light: Among the many desirable acquisitions brought within our reach by the Great Exhibition, will be enamels, porcelain, and pottery from China and, whose influence has been so marked upon modern industrial arts […]

A lengthy government report confirmed “the people’s interest in the application of art to industry has led to general interest in all forms of art training which promise practical results in similar productions in our own country” (Clapper 1997, 78-9). In American art museums, then, the majority of Chinese art was admitted through the back door: not as fine art but as decorative objects for aesthetic and industrial instruction (Fig.8-5). The same justification of educative purpose that admitted Chinese objects also became the driving force for the other large collection in early art museums: plaster casts. Initially desired because they inexpensively replicated coveted European art, the casts unanticipatedly deviated from the originals. While replicating a particular European object, each cast piece diverged from its model in three essential ways: through a lack of uniqueness (original vs. reproduction), material (stone vs. plaster), and time (antique vs. modern). Although the casts overtly emulated the European aesthetic, they simultaneously subverted it, presenting it as remote and in a sense unattainable, appearing only in a ghostlike afterimage. In other words, the casts’ failure to exactly replicate the original produced a new aesthetic, consequently shifting the aesthetic paradigm and covertly raising the possibility of mass produced objects as art. 11 An interesting inversion occurred: while previously Chinese artists had been denigrated as “good

11 Although this avenue was not explored in the nineteenth century, it became revived as a major theme in the twentieth.

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copiers” but not creative, now copies became an art form.12 Turning the necessity of collecting copies into an ideology, board members validated their cast collection by contrasting it with the opulent hedonism, they alleged characterised European museums. Objects collected in a democratic nation, conversely, would not be about wealth but would instruct and edify. Board members explained their purchase of casts as educative, similar to their justification for collecting Chinese objects. For example, an 1886 Museum report stated: A collection of casts will have, at a very moderate cost, and without any danger of wasting our money through mistakes of judgment, would be in some respects of more value for study than any existing collection of originals, since there is none that affords the means of comparison which the student needs (Whitehill 1970, 146-7) (my emphasis).

Framing the collection of plaster copies in this way, museums clearly made a virtue out of a necessity. True, the founders claimed they did not want to create a treasure house, but then, neither could they have one. Especially for the generation of Americans that collected them, plaster copies became seen as art in their own right. Although not consciously aware of this shift transpiring in art, lack of certainty in the definition of art also is evidenced in a question one Metropolitan Museum committee member asked another: “I want to ask you for my own information—and I’ll take your word for it—whether an original sculpture is in any way more valuable than a cast” (Ibid., 156). Despite overt differences, the plaster casts and the Asian objects posed an alternative to the traditional European objects of art and, proposing an aesthetic that differed from the European-centric one, reinforced the emergence of a new aesthetic separate from morality.13 Their exhibitions in the popular art museums created a new public visual culture, leading to transformations in the American definition of art.

12

Thanks to Prof. Joseph Schneider for calling my attention to this. He also raises the fascinating question of the relationship between Chinese views of originality and copying, especially in regard to calligraphy, and those of Americans at this time. 13 Clearly, other factors besides plaster casts and Asian art initiated and contributed to the propensities emerging in the new aesthetic theory. In 1848, a new bylaw of the Printer’s Society declared that instead of an unlimited number of copies from any plate, the number allowed would now be limited. The resulting restriction of quantity would make each print a more limited, more singular commodity, and increase the acceptable asking price.

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Transforming Aesthetic Discriminations In the last third of the nineteenth century, a major shift occurred in the perception of art. As late as 1887, the majority of millionaires still preferred moralistic and “the sentimental and sugary Salon paintings,” and museums exhibited hundreds of decorative pieces (Tomkins 1970, 71). One of the first artists to publically repudiate this view, James Abbott McNeill Whistler (1834-1903) ([1890] 1967, 31-2) made his disdain absolutely clear: Mediocrity flattered at acknowledging mediocrity, and mistaking mystification for mastery, enters the fog of dilettantism, and, […] ends its days in a bewilderment of bric-a-brac […]!

Instead of adhering to the moral paradigm, Whistler advocated a new rubric for art. Defying Victorian taboos of vulgarising art—and oneself—by acknowledging art’s commodity nature, Whistler once severed art from its previous alliance with morality and allied it with commerce. He audaciously marketed his artworks, courting notoriety through his flamboyant dress and his wit and using it to publicise his art. And in a now familiar marketing strategy, he inflated the price of his prints when he appended his signature.14 Whistler’s paintings also defied the Ruskin paradigm through their abstraction which resisted reduction to narrative description or moral sentiment. Whistler’s art practices became part of what is known as the Aesthetic Movement. Tellingly, his description of Aestheticism seems equally applicable to Chinese objects as to his own paintings. The masterpiece should appear as the flower to the painter—perfect in its bud as in its bloom—with no reason to explain its presence—no mission to fulfil […] Art should be independent of all clap-trap—should stand alone, and appeal to the artistic sense of eye or ear, without confounding this with emotions entirely foreign to it, as devotion, pity, love, patriotism, and the like. All these have no kind of concern with it; and that is why I insist on calling my works ‘arrangements’ and ‘harmonies’ (Whistler [1890] 1967, 116, 127-8).

By the 1870s, Ruskin found art far more complex than he had initially presumed, now discovering “the inadequacy of his own earlier complacent 14

Mayor (1971) describes the practice Whistler initiated in 1887: charging twice as much for signed lithographic sets than for the unsigned impressions, although the prints themselves were identical.

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equations between good painting and good men” (Dowling 1996, 37). He despaired at finding no direct correlation between nature and art. Contrastingly, by admitting mercantile currents within the art world, and by emphasising formal qualities within an art work, Aestheticism more convincingly and perceptively defined a new role for art. This can be seen in Aestheticism’s insights regarding Chinese objects. Under Ruskin’s paradigm, Chinese objects had been mute. But in their resistance to moral narrative, Chinese objects had suggested another way of viewing art. Through the resulting Aesthetic theory, and its emphasis on formal qualities, classic Chinese artwork gained a voice for American audiences. The new comprehension of Chinese art was articulated by the Boston Museum of Fine Art’s Asian art expert Ernest Fenollosa (1853-1908).15 Fenollosa’s theory elevated form over mimesis, distinguishing the image in the work from the (formal) subject of the work and, significantly, by-passing the issue of morality altogether: Representation is not art, it is literature. That a picture represents a man does not interest us […] It is a question of spacing, of how the pattern is worked out, that interest us […] not the representational element but the structural element […] not the realistic motive but the desire to find finer and finer space relations and line relations (Brooks 1962, 49).

The greater appreciation of traditional Chinese art in American museums at the end of the century was less the result of increased scholarship in Chinese aesthetics than the influence of the new Western Aesthetic theory of art. Coupled with the increased availability of Chinese antiquities, due to prolonged war and strife in China and Japan, by the 1900s the type of Asian objects in American art museums had altered completely. William Hosley (1990, 47) reflected: “It is hard to believe that it is now almost impossible to find any of the tens of thousands of Japanese art objects that remained in the United States after the Centennial.”

Conclusion This unorthodox coupling of immigration policies with visual history has provided ample recompense, demonstrating ways in which political considerations effect and at times even drive aesthetic judgment. The 15

Originally hired by the Tokyo University in 1878 to teach political economy and philosophy, Fenollosa became interested in Japanese art. He subsequently became a student of Japanese art, ultimately removing many important Asian works from Japan and China into the MFA.

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political history illuminated previously obscured facets of visual culture; namely, reasons for the change in the types of Chinese objects collected for American museums, the mercantile bent in American art museum collections, the absence of Chinese objects in the American art discourse. Social history provided a context to examine a question that has too long gone unasked: why did the mania for Japanese things occur despite the presence of similar Chinese things? In a cultural counterpart to the political exclusion, America seemed to draw a curtain over its Chinese objects. They were not overtly rejected from the emerging American definition of art and art discourse, as much as disregarded, sanctioning a blindness to their presence in daily American life and culture. To this day, Chinese objects have been denied credit for their role in American art and design and rarely enter American art historical discourses. Widening the field of vision revealed a surprising shift in American attitudes toward the copy, a shift that passed unnoticed at the time. In the early nineteenth century, Americans affected disdain for the Chinese artists who, they felt, could merely copy. Yet by the end of the century, Americans eagerly collected plaster copies of European sculptures, at times professing preference for the copy over the original. Although its divergence from the original sculpture went unacknowledged, the copy became an art form in its own right. The transforming role of the copy in nineteenth-century American art merits further study: its complexity continues to haunt the art world, emerging today in the profusion of appropriation art and the battle to contain it through a battery of copyright laws. The simultaneous display of the two collections—plaster casts and Chinese export objects—created a powerful and new visual statement. Ultimately, both collections were discarded, but not until they had succeeded in changing the terms for regarding, esteeming, and even simply enjoying art. In their dissonance with the prevailing theory of art, Chinese objects helped bring about a new visual culture and a new artistic paradigm. Aestheticism supplanted Ruskin’s now outmoded manner of valuing art formally for mimesis of nature and conceptually for moral lessons. Through the new paradigm’s attention to formal relationships, for the first time traditional Chinese art, incomprehensible under Ruskin’s art definition, now became admired in American museums. Against the ideology of Chinese Exclusion and its repercussions in American culture, Chinese objects metamorphosed from decorative commodities to artworks displayed as cultural treasures.

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Works Cited Primary Sources “A Heathen Festival.” 1872. New York Times, December 21: 6. Appleton, Thomas Gold. 1877. Boston Museum of the Fine Arts: A Companion to the Catalogue, Boston. Boston: Roberts Brothers. Bellamy, Edward. (1887) 1951. Looking Backward. Baltimore: The Modern Library. “Chinese Art.” 1870. Harper’s Weekly, A Journal of Civilization, August 6: 503. “Landing of the Entire Embassy at San Francisco. Interesting Sketch of the Principal Members…” 1872. New York Times, January 17: 5. Mack, G. W. et al. 1883. Treasures of Use and Beauty: An Epitome of the Choicest Gems of Wisdom, History, Reference and Recreation, by a Corps of Special Authors. Detroit: F. B. Dickerson & Co. “More Japanese: Arrival of a Prince and Students in San Francisco, The United States Receive the First Japanese Minister Sent Abroad.” 1871. New York Times, February 25: 1. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. 1876a. The Trustees of the Museum of Fine Arts Annual Reports. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. 1876b. Report of the Committee on the Museum, from the Proceedings at the Opening of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Whistler, James McNeill. (1890) 1967. The Gentle Art of Making Enemies. New York: Dover Publication. Wines, Enoch Cobb. 1839. A Peep at China in Mr. Dunn’s Chinese Collection: With Miscellaneous Notices ... Philadelphia: Dunn.

Secondary Sources Ahmad, Diana L. 2011. The Opium Debate and Chinese Exclusion Laws in the Nineteenth-Century American West. Nevada: University of Nevada Press. Aldridge, A. Owen. 1993. The Dragon and the Eagle: The Presence of China in the American Enlightenment. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Baltzell, E. Digby. 1964. The Protestant Establishment: Aristocracy & Caste in America. New York: Random. Beeching, Jack House. 1977. The Chinese Opium Wars. Boston: Mariner Press.

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Brooks, Van Wyck. 1962. Fenollosa and his Circle: With other Essays in Biography. Boston: E.P Dutton & Co., Inc. Choy, Philip, Lorraine Dong, and Marlon Hom. 1994. The Coming Man: 19th Century American Perceptions of the Chinese. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Clapper, Michael. 1997. “Popularizing Art in Boston 1865-1910: L. Prang and Company and the Museum of Fine Arts.” PhD diss., Northwestern University. Cohen, Warren I. 1980. America’s Response to China: An Interpretative History of Sino-American Relations. New York: John Wiley & Sons. Denker, Ellen Paul. 1985. After the Chinese Taste: China’s Influence in America, 1730-1930. Salem: Peabody Museum. Dowling, Linda. 1996. The Vulgarization of Art: The Victorians and Aesthetic Democracy. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press. Dulles, Foster Rhea.1978. The Old China Trade. New York: AMS Press. Ellen, Paul. 1985. After the Chinese Taste: China’s Influence in America. 1730-1930. Salem: Peabody Museum. Emerson, J., Chen, J., and Gates, M. G. 2000. Porcelain Stories: From China to Europe. Seattle: Seattle Art Museum. Graham, Edward D. 1988. American Ideas of a Special Relationship with China, 1784-1900. New York: Garland Publishing, Inc. Hall, Bruce Edward. 1998. Tea That Burns: A Family Memoir of Chinatown. New York: Free Press. Hirayama, Hina. 1989. “A True Japanese Taste: Construction of Knowledge about Japan in Boston, 1880-1900.” PhD diss., Amherst College. Hosley, William. 1990. The Japan Idea: Art and Life in Victorian America, Hartford: Wadsworth Athenaeum. Hudson, Kenneth. 1987. Museums of Influence. London: Cambridge University Press. Jacobson, Dawn. 1993. Chinoiserie. London: Phaidon Press. Johnson, Marilynn. 1986. “Art Furniture: Wedding the Beautiful to the Useful.” In In Pursuit of Beauty: Americans and the Aesthetic Movement, Doreen Bolger Burke et al., 142-75. New York: Rizzoli, Metropolitan Museum of Art. Kales, David. 2004. The Phantom Pirate: Tales of the Irish Mafia and the Boston Harbor Islands. Bloomington: Authorhouse. Lahikainen, Dean. 1999. World’s Revealed: The Dawn of Japanese and American Exchange. Tokyo: Edo-Tokyo Museum. Laidlaw, Christine Wallace. 1996. “The American Reaction to Japanese Art 1853-1876.” PhD diss., State University of New Jersey.

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Lee, Robert G. 1999. Orientals: Asian Americans in Popular Culture, Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Lerman, Leo. 1969. The Museum: 100 Years and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. NY: Viking Press. March, Benjamin. 1929. China and Japan in Our Museums. Concord: Rumford Press. Mayor, A. Hyatt. 1971. Prints & People: A Social History of Printed Pictures. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Miller, S.C. 1966. “The Chinese Image in the Eastern United States, 1785-1882.” PhD diss., Columbia University. Mudge, Jean McClure. (1962) 1981. Chinese Export Porcelain for the American Trade 1785-1835. Delaware: University of Delaware Press. Pagani, Catherine. 1998. “Chinese Material Culture and British Perceptions of China.” In Colonialism and the Object, edited by Tim Barringer and Tom Flynn, 28-40. London: Routledge. Rosenwaike, Ira. 1972. Population History of New York City. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press. Schlotterback, Thomas. 1972. “The Basis for Chinese Influence in American Art 1784-1850.” PhD diss., University of Iowa. Tomkins, Calvin. 1970. Merchants and Masterpieces: The Story of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. London: Longman Group Ltd. Whitehill, Walter Muir. 1970. Museum of Fine Arts Boston: A Centennial History. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Wong, Kevin Scott. 1992. “Encountering the Other: Chinese immigration and its impact on Chinese and American Worldviews, 1875-1905.” PhD diss., University of Michigan.

Internet Sources The Chinese Experience in America, Population of Chinese in the United States 1860-1940. 2011. Accessed November 14. http://teachingresources.atlas.uiuc.edu/chinese_exp/resources/resource _2_9.pdf IPTV. 2012. “Peters Museum China Trade Collection.” Accessed June 5. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/roadshow/archive/200701A09.html The Politics of Immigration. 2012. “Immigration and the Law: A Chronology.” Accessed June 14. http://thepoliticsofimmigration.org/pages/chronology.htm.

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Fig. 8-1. John Dunn’s museum catalogue: Ten Thousand Chinese Things: A Descriptive Catalogue of the Chinese Collection in Philadelphia… (1842).

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Fig. 8-2. The Chinese Museum established by John R. Peters in Philadelphia in 1853. Engraving reproduced from The Illustrated News, 4 June 1853, p. 364.

Fig. 8-3. Thomas Nast’s cartoon: “The New Comet—A Phenomenon Now Visible in All Parts of the United States”, appeared in Harper’s Weekly, August 1870, p. 505.

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Fig. 8-4. An advertising trade card depicts Denis Kearny using a laundry product that claims to be so effective it will make Chinese laundrymen obsolete. c. 1882. Collection of the author.

Fig. 8-5. Asian Galleries, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Copley Square, 1903. T. E. Marr. Photograph © 2014 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

CHAPTER NINE EXHIBITIONS OF CHINESE PAINTING IN EUROPE IN THE INTERWAR PERIOD: THE ROLE OF LIU HAISU AS ARTISTIC AMBASSADOR MICHAELA PEJýOCHOVÁ

The reception of contemporary Chinese painting on the European soil in the 1920s and 1930s represents one of the significant aspects of Sino-Western encounters in the inter-war period. After the organisation of the first exhibition of modern Chinese painting in France in 1924, more than two dozens of others ensued in two subsequent decades. Some of them were shows organised by Chinese cultural leaders on behalf of the Chinese Government, which regarded presenting contemporary art in Europe as a means to embellish the reputation of China as a modern and cultured country. As a result, several large European cities such as Berlin, Amsterdam, London, Milan, Geneva, Prague and Leningrad saw shows of paintings by contemporary Chinese masters, lectures on modern Chinese art, public talks of the artists and the like. A renowned artist, Liu Haisu (1896-1994), was the founder of the Shanghai Academy of Art, one of the first public institutions in China to teach Western art techniques. He was a prominent advocate of modernist painting styles and his name often features among the organisers of these exhibitions. The Chinese representatives as well as Liu himself saw presenting a selection of paintings by contemporary Chinese masters as a means to let China speak for herself on the world art stage and regain at

The research for this publication was supported by the Ministry of Culture, Czech Republic—Institutional Support for Long-term Development of Research Organisations.

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least partly its reputation lost through the political weakness of the late Qing regime. Therefore, a call for participation had been issued in Shanghai in 1933 and several hundreds of contemporary Chinese paintings were selected to be exhibited in different European cities in 1934 and 1935. This chapter elaborates on the complexities of the organisation of some of these exhibitions, where Liu Haisu served as one of the organisers. It will describe their respective contents and adaptations to the conditions in the places where they were staged. It will highlight the differences in the approach of local scholarly as well as artistic circles and the response of the public. Finally, it will summarise the significance of these shows for later collecting and appreciation of modern Chinese painting in Europe and illuminate the way, in which they laid foundation for the development of some of the first European collections of modern Chinese painting.

The First Steps Together with Xu Beihong (1895-1953) and Lin Fengmian (1900-91), Liu Haisu was one of the trio of the most important Chinese artists-reformists, who strove to modernise Chinese painting through the incorporation of Western techniques and modes of expression. Liu was born in 1896 in southeastern China, and since his childhood, he expressed a fondness of European modernist and avant-garde painting. He is famed for having founded a private academy of painting at the tiny age of 16, where he and his students engaged in the scandalous painting of nude models and which was later developed into the Shanghai Academy of Art. In 1919, he travelled to Japan, where he researched Japanese and European art as well as the local system of art education and came to know a number of leading Japanese painters. After his return to China, he lectured on modern European painting and intensified contacts with the intellectual and artistic leaders of the day, most notably Cai Yuanpei 哉⃫➡ (1868-1940) and Kang Youwei ⹟㚱䁢 (1858-1927).1 In 1929, Liu Haisu took advantage of Cai Yuanpei’s offer to make a trip to Europe, which would help him to become familiar with European art and culture. For this purpose, Liu travelled by boat to France, where he landed on 15 March 1929 in Marseilles and continued by train to Paris (Liu Haisu meishuguan ∱ 㴟 䱇 伶 埻 棐 ġ 2005, 55). Here he joined Fu Lei ‭ 暟 1

For a more detailed biography, see for example, Sullivan 1996, 72-6; or some of the specialised biographical studies on Liu Haisu’s life quoted throughout this chapter.

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(1908-66) and other Chinese artists and intellectuals settled in France, visited museums and famous sites, studied French and frequented exhibitions of classical and contemporary European art, the study of which was the main purpose of Liu’s European journey. With the aim of making it easier for Chinese students to learn more about European art and for the Europeans to get acquainted with Chinese art, Liu Haisu and others initiated the establishment of the Society of Chinese Artists in France (Zhonghua liu Fa yishu xiehui ᷕ厗䔁㱽喅埻⋼㚫), which held its first meeting on 18 April 1929, about a month after Liu’s arrival in France (Cen 2006, 68). Liu Haisu’s first European sojourn in the end lasted for more than two years, during which he visited Switzerland, Italy, Egypt,2 Belgium and Germany. Accompanied by his wife Zhang Yunshi ⻝枣⢓ (1899-1970), his son Liu Hu ∱嗶 (b. 1920), Fu Lei and other friends, he roamed the famous historical sites and met local Chinese. At the same time, he was eager to get acquainted with European artists, from whom he could learn European techniques of painting, and European scholars who were interested in Chinese art and culture. His fame as an artist engaged in mediating contacts between Chinese and Western art quickly spread and upon reaching Germany, Liu was invited by the China Institute Frankfurt (Falankefu Zhongguo xueyuan 㱽 嗕⃳䤷ᷕ⚳⬠昊) to lecture for three days on the history and principles of Chinese art. 3 At the same time, an exhibition of contemporary Chinese painting was organised in the Frankfurter Kunstverein (i.e. the exhibition premises of the Frankfurt Art Association), which contained ninety-six modern and four ancient Chinese paintings. Twenty-two modern paintings were by Liu himself, while the rest comprised ten works by Wang Jiyuan 䌳 㾇 怈 ġ (1893-1975), who also travelled around Europe and studied techniques of European oil and watercolour painting. One or two works by some four dozens of other artists mainly from the Shanghai area or otherwise close to Liu Haisu comprised the rest of the display.4 2

A photograph of Liu and his wife riding a camel in the vicinity of Egyptian pyramids is reproduced in Liu Haisu meishuguan 2006, 72-3. 3 Liu 1931b. I am indebted to Wang Zhongxiu 䌳ᷕ䥨 for sharing with me the results of his newspaper survey related to major events in the Chinese art world in the inter-war period. 4 For the catalogue, see Exhibition Catalogue Frankfurt 1931. The exhibition lasted from 19 March to 8 April 1931 and the catalogue was published with a short preface by Curt Gravenkamp (1893-?), the then Director of the Frankfurter Kunstverein, and an explanation of some of the artworks on display by Ding Wenyuan ᶩ㔯㶝 (1889-1957, recorded as W. Y. Ting). See also Birnie Danzker 2004, 27.

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From the related sources, it is not quite clear how Liu Haisu gathered the artworks, as the Chinese newspaper articles related to his journey to Europe do not mention the fact that he was carrying any paintings with him when leaving China. Some texts record the fact that the works on display were from his collection,5 but it seems more plausible that they were gathered with the help of Chinese artists and intellectuals settled in Europe. The help of Chinese official representatives in Europe is also mentioned in some of the sources, which will, as we will see, be much more prominent during the exhibitions in 1934 and 1935. As for the 1931 Frankfurt exhibition, the presence of Dr Wu Kaisheng ⏛↙倚 (1900-97), the Chinese delegate to the League of Nations, at the opening is noted. It has also been reported that the opening was attended “by a number of Chinese living in Europe”.6 After three weeks in Frankfurt, the exhibition travelled to Heidelberg in June, for which, however, I have not been able to locate more specific information.7 In the preface of the 1931 catalogue by Ding Wenyuan, and more specifically in Liu’s lecture delivered at the China Institute Frankfurt,8 Liu Haisu’s explanation of the recent history of painting in China as having developed into four specific directions is offered, which will permeate all the subsequent texts Liu published with the aim of promoting the prestige of contemporary Chinese painting in Europe. These encompass “the antiquarian direction”, “the direction of the middle way approaching naturalism”, “the Southern direction” and “the literary direction”. Clearly, this theory was already present in his mind when Liu accepted the invitation to lecture on the development of Chinese painting in Frankfurt in 1931 and he was drawing on it later on when writing catalogue prefaces and lecturing about Chinese art in different parts of Europe in subsequent years. Although the 1931 Frankfurt exhibition was not the first show of contemporary Chinese painting to be held in Europe, it was the first to be organised by an important Chinese artist and art educator, well acquainted 5

This information is based on the content of Liu Haisu’s talk at the opening of the 1934 Berlin exhibition, reproduced in Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft für Ostasiatische Kunst 1934, 50. It is, however, mentioned as a part of Liu’s nostalgic recollections of his first visit to Germany and thus cannot necessarily count as a precise record of historical facts. 6 Birnie Danzker 2004, 408, note 44 quoting Ostasiatische Zeitschrift 7 (2) (1931): 100-1. 7 The note on moving to Heidelberg is made in Baishi 1932, and also by Liu Haisu himself in the text “Promoting Chinese Art”, which, however, dates only from 1935 and largely relies on Liu’s recollections of the whole process. The English translation of this text can be found in Birnie Danzker 2004, 378. 8 Published in German in Liu 1931a.

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with the situation on the whole of the China art scene. As such, and largely owing to Liu Haisu’s ability to win social and political backing for similar endeavours, it became a kind of a prelude to more substantial exhibitions of modern Chinese painting in the years to come. In the Shanghai-based newspaper Shenbao 䓛⟙, the impact and aftermath of the exhibition is described: The response to this exhibition was enormous, by far surpassing our expectations. That same year in spring, the Japanese organised a large-scale exhibition in Berlin. The works on display were for the most part conforming to European taste, so that people in Europe who saw it got the impression that Asian art follows the path of Europeanization and has no specific character of its own. When they later saw the modern paintings from China, they were deeply impressed with their plain and natural flavour (supu tianqu 䳈㧠⣑嵋) that cannot compare to the forced elaborateness (weixin lao ‥⽫⊆) of the Japanese works. When the [Chinese] embassy saw the response of the German press [to the 1931 Frankfurt exhibition of Chinese modern painting], it recognized the need to organize a show of contemporary Chinese painting in Berlin and initiated negotiations with the Prussian Academy of Art and the Society for East Asian Art. [...] In the end, the negotiations with the German side led to the official designation of February 1934 as the date of the exhibition and the Prussian Academy of Art as the venue. A ten-member German preparatory committee was appointed. [...] All these preparations having been made, [...] Liu [Haisu] returned to the motherland and is pleading with the government [for support]. The government has already expressed its keen approval and support, asking Chinese artists to take action and contribute to the realization of this plan, so that we don’t let those Japanese to take primacy and act as the leaders of the East (wu rang bi Ri ren jianyue wei Dongfang zhi zhuren ye 㭳嬻⼤㖍Ṣₕ 崲䁢㜙㕡ᷳᷣṢḇ).9

In the first part of this news from the previous day, we read that the Chinese Government had allocated a budget of 30,000 German Marks for the realisation of this exhibition and that the Chinese executive committee consisted of the Minister of Education Zhu Jiahua 㛙⭞槲 (1893-1963), the President of Academia Sinica Cai Yuanpei, the Chinese Ambassador to Germany Liu Wendao ∱㔯Ⲟġ (1893-1967), as well as the artists Chen Shuren 昛㧡Ṣ (1884-1948), Liu Haisu, Gao Qifeng 檀⣯Ⲙ (1889-1933), Xu Beihong and others. It further describes the plans to accomplish a large exhibition of contemporary Chinese painting in Europe as a pioneering event and one of the primary cultural objectives of the Chinese 9

Baishi 1932. Translation from Chinese by the author.

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Government. Paris and Berlin were reportedly selected as venues, for they were known as having rich artistic life and could claim the reputation of cultural capitals of Europe, where the lovers and students of art gather. Interestingly, the article again points to the Japanese primacy and repeats the argument that while the Japanese had been showing in Europe large selections of contemporary art and relied on generous governmental funds to mount exhibitions in cultural centres like Berlin, Paris and Rome, their works largely derived from Chinese and most recently European styles, not bringing in anything new or artistically unique. The Chinese side thus wanted to gather works representative of the latest development in purely Chinese styles of painting, which would let the European public see the present state of truly Asian artistic tradition (Ibid.). The evidence from the period press thus makes it possible to identify the background and intrinsic motives of the Chinese artists and political leaders that were underlying the efforts to organise large-scale shows of contemporary Chinese painting in Europe. These included, as we have seen, the huge and unexpected success of the first more or less randomly organised exhibition that took place in Frankfurt in 1931. Further and more importantly, they stemmed from the need to face the challenge of Japanese exhibitions, which had seized the European attention, but were considered insufficient, if not incapable of representing the state of development of contemporary Asian art. Last but not least, the urge to make the West acquainted with the fruits of the revolutionary changes that had recently been taking place in the sphere of Chinese art after the collapse of the imperial rule was a strong motive, too. Members of the Chinese Government and leaders of the principal scholarly institutions, recruited as they were from the foremost intellectuals the majority of whom had studied in the West at an early stage of their careers, were aware of the necessity to make a nation-wide appeal to the artists and allocate sufficient funds in order to accomplish these goals. This was thus the milieu into which Liu Haisu brought his suggestions when returning from his first European journey in August 1931, and from which the subsequent events unfolded resulting in a series of exhibitions of modern Chinese painting organised in major European cultural centres in 1934-5.

The Starting Point: Berlin, 20 January – 4 March 1934 The arrangements for the 1934 Berlin exhibition were, indeed, taken very seriously in China. This is obvious from the articles in the Shanghai press that reported periodically on the state of the preparations throughout 1932 and 1933. The most substantial news published in November 1933

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uncovers even more details from the background. Namely, it records the fact that in August 1932, the first meeting of the Chinese executive committee was held in Shanghai at the seat of the Academia Sinica’s foreign office.10 Because of the budget restrictions, the second assembly of the executive committee held in January 1933 decided to gather the works for the exhibition through direct contact with artists and a call for works was issued, inviting painters to submit their works for the committee’s consideration. It was announced that with respect to the agreement of the German and Chinese parties, only contemporary works are to be submitted, with a tentative addition of slightly older paintings, but no early paintings are to be collected for this purpose. The amazing result, clearly mirroring Chinese artists’ active stand, was a response of more than 160 individual artists from whom 400 contemporary and 200 slightly older paintings were received. These were exhibited and inspected by the representatives of both German and Chinese committees in order to select works appropriate for the purpose of the Berlin exhibition.11 Further, a catalogue that included an essay on the history of Chinese painting was compiled and prepared for a translation into German and the printing in Germany. Liu Haisu is reported to have been making preparations to board an Italian boat on 13 November and travel to Europe for the second time to supervise all the preparations in situ.12 The news on the arrangements of such a large-scale exhibition of modern Chinese painting in Berlin aroused considerable attention of European scholarly circles and representatives of other countries contacted 10

See also Cen 2006, 73. Here, the visit of the Prime Minister Lin Sen ᯘ᳃ (1868-1943) to Liu Haisu is also mentioned, which took place in Shanghai in September 1932. The Prime Minister made use of this opportunity to inquire about the state of the preparations of the Berlin exhibition and Liu Haisu is recorded to have painted a portrait of Lin at this occasion. 11 It is, however, not recorded who from the German part was involved in inspecting the paintings and whether a delegation of German specialists was sent to China to take part in the selecting process. From the articles and news published in the Ostasiatische Zeitschrift throughout the early 1930s, it is nevertheless obvious that some of the German specialists were travelling to China from time to time and the German Ambassador to China, Dr Oskar P. Trautmann (1877-1950), who himself collected contemporary Chinese painting and exhibited his own collection in Berlin in 1937, might have been engaged in the selection on behalf of the German side. 12 “Bolin Zhongguo meishu zhanlanhui choubei jingguo” 1933. “Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft für Ostasiatische Kunst” (1933, 238) report Liu’s arrival in Berlin on 11 December 1933, as well as the fact that he was carrying six crates with some 300 paintings for the exhibition with him, and was greeted at the train station by representatives of the Chinese embassy in Germany and those of the Society for East Asian Art.

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the Chinese embassy in Germany with requests to prolong the period the paintings would stay in Europe in order to have them shown in other European cities. These reportedly included demands from Austria, the Netherlands, Belgium, Italy and other countries. The article closes with the list of 263 works by 116 painters excluding Liu Haisu that had already been gathered for the first shipment to Germany. A notice to artists that contemporary paintings are still being received for additional shipments, which would take part later on and could include paintings submitted until the end of November 1933 was appended.13 Thus, the preparations were successfully in motion, resulting in the opening of the Exhibition of Contemporary Chinese Painting (Die Ausstellung Chinesische Malerei der Gegenwart) on 20 January 1934 in the premises of the Prussian Academy of Art in Berlin at Pariser Platz 4. In the end, the exhibition displayed 274 paintings by 163 masters,14 while other paintings had reportedly not been delivered on time to be made part of the display.15 It is interesting to note that the majority of the painters presented in Berlin originated from the region of southeastern China and most notably from Shanghai, the second largest group being painters from Canton and only six masters were residents of Beijing.16 Although there had been, as we have seen, a nation-wide call for participation issued and repeated in Shenbao, from the final figures it is obvious that the decision was firmly within the executive committee’s hands. Thus, mainly the Shanghai-based students and followers of Liu Haisu and his colleagues, together with the Canton-based fellows and pupils of Gao Qifeng and Chen Shuren were those finally selected.17 Among the artists from the North, only the name of 13

“Bolin Zhongguo meishu zhanlanhui choubei jingguo” 1933. Rahman-Steinert 2012, 28. I am indebted to Uta Rahman-Steinert for kindly sharing with me some of the sources pertaining to this topic. 15 Liu Haisu’s talk at the exhibition opening, see above note 8. 16 For an insightful analysis of different aspects of the Berlin venue, see Rahman-Steinert 2012, 27-9, and Birnie Danzker 2004, 27-31. Most of the details and numbers are based on the information available from the Exhibition catalogue Berlin 1934. While the regular version of the catalogue was published by the Würfel-Verlag, there was also a commemorative version issued by the Carl Koch Lichtdruckerei, which reprinted Liu Haisu’s essay on the history and recent development of Chinese ink painting as well as large reproductions of fifty-one works from the regular catalogue. 17 The secondary literature on the topic usually mentions the fact that the names of many of the painters present in the exhibition cannot even be identified today due to problems with deciphering the unorthodox transcription used in the surviving catalogues from the 1930s. Their names can in fact be identified only with the help of the Chinese sources, mainly “Bolin Zhongguo meishu zhanlanhui choubei 14

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Qi Baishi (1864-1957) shines forth, supplemented with that of Pu Ru (1896-1963) and a handful of others, a clear statement on their prominent position in the whole Chinese art world in the interwar period. Remarkably, not a single work by Xu Beihong or Lin Fengmian was included, although these painters were also members of the Chinese preparatory committee and both of them organised other exhibitions of Chinese painting in Europe. This probably mainly accounts for the rivalry among these important figures of the modernising Chinese art scene. Moreover, the lack of Xu’s and Lin’s names in the preliminary list of works selected by November 1933 and published in Shenbao might point to their own decision to ignore the call for submitting their works. Nor are recorded attempts on the part of Liu Haisu to consult or coordinate the preparations with Xu or Lin, although they were all part of the official preparatory committee.18 Besides that and interestingly enough, Xu Beihong, too, organised shows of his own selection of modern Chinese painting in other European cities exactly during this period.19 The 1934 exhibition of modern Chinese painting in Berlin reputedly was a great success, attracting around 13,000 visitors during the forty-four days it was opened to public and selling fifty-three works valued 8,225 German Marks. 20 The German Society for East Asian Art further received a generous gift of sixteen paintings from the exhibition that were to be made a base of a collection of modern Chinese painting in one of the German institutions housing Asian art. Unfortunately, these were together with other artworks taken as war booty by the Soviet Red Army in the final days of the Second World War and moved to Leningrad, where they are housed in the collection of the Hermitage to this day.21 The exhibition nevertheless met its aim of promoting contemporary Chinese art in Germany and disseminating some of the very recent works of living Chinese painters among German art-loving public. The texts in the catalogues, mainly Liu Haisu’s jingguo” 1933. The results of the comparison with the catalogues prove that there were some twenty contemporary and slightly older painters presented in these exhibitions, the names of whom have survived to the present day in the histories of modern Chinese painting. Other roughly 100 painters are, indeed, of a considerably lesser renown, but their careers and fortunes can be tracked in specialised literature. 18 For a vivid description of Liu’s and Xu’s antagonism, which reportedly survived even among their students and followers as late as by the end of the twentieth century, see Sullivan 1996, 73. 19 For more on the exhibitions of modern Chinese painting organised in Europe by Xu Beihong, see Lefebvre and Pejþochová 2013. 20 “Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft für Ostasiatische Kunst” 1934, 55. 21 For more details, see Rahman-Steinert 2012, 29.

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explanation of the development of Chinese painting up to the early 1930s and the talks in the exhibition held by both German and Chinese specialists 22 made the German public aware of the recent activities of Chinese artists and fulfilled the goal of bringing Chinese painting out of the shade of its Japanese counterpart. Entirely in accord with the objectives of the whole project set by the Chinese party, Chinese painting was at one occasion even declared to be synonymous for the whole of “East-Asian art”.23

Sparks and Glow throughout Europe: The Subsequent Venues As we have seen above, already during the preparatory stage, the news of the Chinese exhibition being sent to Europe received attention of other countries, which initiated negotiations with Chinese embassies throughout Europe in order to have the show moved to their museums after it had come to close in Berlin. As a result, the exhibition travelled to several other locations throughout 1934 and early 1935. First, the unsold paintings from the Berlin display supplemented with others from additional shipments were divided into two groups to be shown in Hamburg (24 March–22 April 1934) and Düsseldorf (8 April–6 May 1934). These further travelled to Amsterdam (5 May–June 1934) and The Hague (2 June–27 June), with Liu Haisu delivering a lecture on “The Principles of Chinese Painting” in Amsterdam on 7 May. 24 Later on, the paintings moved to Switzerland, where they were exhibited in Bern (26 August–23 September 1934) and Geneva (12 September–11 October 1934). Notably, the names of Xu Beihong and Lin Fengmian disappeared from the lists of the members of the preparatory committees in the catalogues of these exhibitions, testifying to the fact that these undertakings were largely based on Liu’s own negotiations with the European organisers in the course of his stay in 22

“Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft für Ostasiatische Kunst” (1934, 55) record special prolonged opening hours on 13 February, when members of the German preparatory committee were available in the premises of the exhibition for guided tours and inquiries from the public. 23 Ibid., 51. The transcript of Liu Haisu’s opening speech shows that he made a good use of this opportunity to extol the qualities of contemporary Chinese painting in comparison with the Japanese, even calling the latter a mere “school of Chinese painting”, for it allegedly evolved only thanks to building upon the Chinese base. 24 The dates for the above venues are based on Birnie Danzker 2004, 37-9. Cen Qi ⰹ℞ġ (2006, 84) gives the dates of the Düsseldorf exhibition as 8 April–5 May and the Hague exhibition as 8 June–5 July.

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Europe.25 In between all these venues, Liu Haisu is reported to have mounted an exhibition of his own works in Paris, the opening of which took place on 10 July 1934 and was attended by Herni Matisse (1869-1954) and Pablo Picasso (1881-1973), while the Chinese Ambassador Wellington Koo (Gu Weijun 栏䵕懆, 1888-1985) cut the tape (Cen 2006, 84-5). The paintings now divided into two groups, were busy touring around Europe, and so was Liu Haisu, talking at the openings and delivering lectures at almost every destination. These included three talks in Berlin, one in each city of Hamburg, Amsterdam and Bern, all explaining the principles of Chinese painting, expounding on the attitudes of a Chinese painter or tracking the history of the discipline in China. 26 The second peak of the journey, however, was still to come in the early 1935. At the beginning of 1935, the exhibits moved to London, where another large-scale show was organised, the prestige and impact of which was eventually comparable to the first exhibition of the whole series that took place in Berlin. Similarly as in other countries, the Chinese Ambassador to Great Britain, Guo Taiqi 悕㲘䤢 (1888-1952), mediated the contacts and took responsibility for the shipments and housing of the works of art before the exhibition was mounted. A reception and preliminary viewing of the paintings was held at the Chinese Legation in London, which was widely attended by artists and journalists. 27 The venue was set as The New Burlington Galleries, where the exhibition took place between 21 February and 25 March 1935, and a catalogue listing 230 paintings was published with prefaces by Guo Taiqi, Liu Haisu and the foremost British expert on Chinese painting, Laurence Binyon (1869-1943).28 It is interesting to note that paintings of masters residing in the United Kingdom were added to the display and catalogue, which testifies to the interest of the organisers to bring together a body of works representing the real living state of the discipline, and probably also to their good connections with the Chinese painters living in Europe. For instance, ten works by Chiang Yee (1903-77) 25 For a notice on the change of the members of the committees, see Birnie Danzker 2004, 410, note 100. For more on Liu’s active and independent role in the course of the European negotiations, see Liu Haisu meishuguan 2005, 59. 26 For the precise topics of the lectures and talks, see Liu Haisu meishuguan 2005, 58. 27 Cen (2006, 85) gives the date of this reception as 6 January 1935. Vainker (2004, 121), however, quotes an article published in The Times on 7 February that reports this event. 28 For more on Binyon’s connoisseurship of Chinese painting, see Michelle Huang’s chapter in this volume.

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are listed in the closing section of the catalogue, which were not part of the other European exhibitions organised by Liu Haisu. Shelagh Vainker, who analysed the response of the British press, has shown that the exhibition received a substantial coverage not by the serious art journals of the day, which had still largely remained preoccupied with the idea that early Chinese painting, if any at all, is representative of the high accomplishments achieved in Far Eastern art. General art magazines like Apollo or The Connoisseur, on the other hand, visibly reported the event and offered insights into the specific features of modern Chinese painting and other issues of interest for the European viewer.29 Liu Haisu again lectured repeatedly in London during the days of the exhibition, speaking on the recent development of modern Chinese painting, the application of the ancient canon of “Six Principles” in Chinese painting and related topics.30 Thus, after the promising start this “tour de promotion” of contemporary Chinese paintings had experienced a year earlier in Berlin, it has come to another high point in the spring of 1935 in London.

The Final Venue and Return to China Even before the London show came to its close in March 1935, another, final venue of the exhibition of contemporary Chinese painting was mounted in Prague, the capital of the then Czechoslovakia. As in other countries, the exhibition was offered by the representatives of the Chinese embassy to the Oriental Institute in Prague, which, as the archival

29

It can be noted that this was not the first show of contemporary Chinese painting to be staged in London, as Vainker (2004, 120-3) maintains. Two exhibitions of modern Chinese painting had been organised in 1933 and 1934 in the Whitechapel Art Gallery by the Czech artist and collector VojtČch Chytil (1896-1936), which, too, have received attention of contemporary press and specialists and critics such as Laurence Binyon. For more on Chytil’s exhibitions staged in several European capitals like Prague, Vienna, Berlin, Budapest and London between 1928 and 1936, that were largely paralleling those put together by Liu Haisu and Xu Beihong, see Pejþochová 2013. The official character of Liu’s show in London as well as its setting in the New Burlington Galleries, and also the fact that it had come to be a kind of prelude to the groundbreaking International Exhibition of Chinese Art organised in 1935-6 in the Burlington House, however, indeed set it apart as a crucial point in the development of the general awareness of the significance of contemporary Chinese painting in the UK. 30 The precise titles of Liu’s talks in London are recorded in Liu Haisu meishuguan 2005, 58.

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documents testify, occurred already during its first venue in Berlin.31 The Oriental Institute handed the proposal to the Museum of Decorative Arts, probably on the grounds of their holdings of pieces of Chinese porcelain and other types of applied art objects, which counted among the few comprehensive public collections of Chinese art in Czechoslovakia at that time. With minor difficulties,32 the Museum of Decorative Arts agreed to host the exhibition, for which it promised to provide exhibition rooms, while the publication of the catalogue was the responsibility of the Oriental Institute and the handling of the artworks was secured by the Chinese embassy. The comparison of the catalogues shows that it was very probably translated from the French version published for the Geneva venue, retaining to a great extent the order of the exhibits and sometimes even the transcription of the painters’ names. It is preceded by Liu Haisu’s essay on the development of Chinese painting, which, on the other hand, differs from the one published in Geneva.33 The catalogue lists 161 modern Chinese paintings and ten ancient ones, stating also that the exhibition was richly supplemented by Chinese objects of applied arts, supplied by Czech private collectors and some of them taken from the collections of the Museum of Decorative Arts.34 31 A handwritten record from a preliminary meeting of the representatives of the Museum of Decorative Arts in Prague, 27 February 1934, preserved in the archives of the Museum of Decorative Arts. I am indebted to Lucie Zadražilová, the archivist of this museum, for her help with locating the documentation on the exhibition. 32 A proposal of the exhibition, addressed to the Chamber of Commerce, under the supervision of which the Museum was operating, dated 30 January 1934, also survives in the archives of the Museum of Decorative Arts. It shows that it was not self evident why an exhibition of modern Chinese painting should be hosted by a museum specialising in collecting mainly objects of applied arts. This had to be explained to the headquarters, and so the representatives of the Museum resorted to the explanation that the Chinese paintings offered for the exhibition, beautiful and high quality as they might be, are in its nature fundamentally different from European painting, having been executed on long and narrow strips of paper, and thus being closer to “interior decoration” than to pieces of art in the Western sense. This utilitarian stance can of course be understood given that it was pronounced in a confidential correspondence of the museum staff to their superiors. It is nevertheless interesting to contrast it with the aims of the European presentations pursued by the Chinese party, which was exactly the extinction of such views and prejudice. 33 As the exhibition in London finished only after the start of the Prague exhibition, it is obvious that there had to have been two sets of paintings at this stage, one mounted in London and the other, more or less corresponding to the one mounted previously in Geneva, then travelling to Prague. 34 Old paintings and objects of applied arts from local collections were also shown together with modern Chinese paintings during the previous shows in other

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The exhibition took place between 24 March and 22 April 1935 and was opened by the Chinese Ambassador to Czechoslovakia, Dr Lone Liang (Liang Long 㠩漵, 1894-1967). Although there is a mention of Liu Haisu’s lecture in Prague on the occasion of this exhibition in the secondary literature,35 the archival sources including photographs from the opening, as well as period press show that Liu most probably did not visit Prague together with the exhibition at all. The preserved photographs showing sections of the display indicate that the exhibition was neat and tastefully arranged using contemporary Chinese paintings and old ceramics, statues and other three-dimensional objects, yet the response of the Czech public seems to have been rather mild. The archival documents indicate that the overall attendance was 2,073 people for the period of some thirty days when the exhibition was mounted, selling 149 catalogues of the 500 copies published. Two-third of the figure of visitors, however, were groups of secondary school students who had free entrance to the exhibition, so the general public attendance would amount only to some 700 visitors. No painting from the display was sold, with only three cheaper album leaves that are recorded to have been delivered separately from the possession of Liu Haisu himself having been sold for a minor amount. Three reviews of the exhibition can be found in the period press, plus two recorded advertisements broadcast on radio. Invitations and free copies of the catalogue were distributed to representatives of all the prominent newspapers and journals. Four lectures were held in the exhibition premises by Czech scholars and experts of the day, none of them, however, being a true expert on Chinese art. A prominent art historian and critic, the author of one of the published reviews, described the works on display as archaising, closely following in European cities. The limited scope of this chapter, however, unfortunately does not permit a thorough analysis thereof. 35 Liu Haisu meishuguan (2005, 59) records that “On the 1 April, the exhibition moved to Prague, the capital of Czechoslovakia. Liu lectured in Czechoslovakia about ‘Modern painting in China’.” (Translation from Chinese by the author.) This information is most probably wrong, as no mention of Liu’s presence in Prague whatsoever can be found in the contemporary news, in the archival materials preserved in the Museum of Decorative Arts in Prague, nor is he present among the gentlemen photographed on the occasion of the opening of the exhibition. The inaugural speeches were delivered by the Minister of Education and National Enlightenment, Prof. Jan KrþmáĜ, curator-in-chief of the Museum, Dr František Oberthor, and the Chinese Ambassador to Prague, Dr Lone Liang. It can be also noted that names of Lin Fengmian (as Ling Feng-min) and Xu Beihong (as Ju Peon) are recorded among the members of the Chinese preparatory committee in the catalogue.

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the footsteps of old Chinese painting, perpetuating the ancient spirit, closing their eyes away form the China of today and away from the people who struggle and suffer there at the moment. It is an aristocratic art, conservative in motives as well as in its forms, blander in expression, coarser in colour, historicizing in the whole of its spirit (V.V.S. [Václav Vilém Štech] 1935, 16).

This demonstrates the level of understanding the contemporary Czech viewer of the exhibition, be it even the most qualified one, was able to arrive at without a proper explanation of the concept and aims of the exhibition series, the background of the works on display and their author’s position in the Chinese art world of the day. It also stands in sharp contrast to the responses to the shows of modern Chinese painting organised throughout Czechoslovakia by VojtČch Chytil between 1928 and 1936, the exhibits of which were mostly works by Chinese painters based in northern China. These could benefit from the intense involvement of their organiser, the painter and collector VojtČch Chytil, who was a personal friend of some of the Chinese artists and spent enormous energies on explaining their merits to the foreign public. 36 The exhibition organised as a part of the series conceived by the Chinese Government, on the other hand, passed rather undistinguished among other presentations of the art of other countries, such as Italian art, Bulgarian graphics, etc., and its impact was far from those documented in Berlin or London. Although attempts to get hold of the exhibition after the close of the Prague venue on the part of Russian and American museums are recorded, the paintings of contemporary Chinese masters brought to Europe by Liu Haisu finished their journey in Prague. The costs of the whole enterprise had by early 1935 far exceeded the original budget, intended at the beginning for a sole presentation of the exhibition in Berlin, and Liu Haisu, for his part, had been called back to resume his teacher’s activities in his motherland (Liu Haisu meishuguan 2005, 59). The other requests were thus reportedly declined with thanks and the paintings from the Prague venue were shipped “to China”.37

36

For more on Chytil’s exhibitions, see Pejþochová 2013, 52-8. This is documented with a receipt from a shipping company, dated 24 April 1935, preserved in The Centre for Documentation of Collections of the Museum of Decorative Arts in Prague, Coll. A, Box 127. 37

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Conclusion Taken as a whole, nonetheless, the outcome of Liu Haisu’s efforts to present contemporary Chinese painting in Europe was in the end far from being a small achievement. Liu and his colleagues were able to mount the exhibition in nine cities of five European countries throughout a period of fifteen months, with most of the venues closely following each other and Liu Haisu travelling and lecturing almost without a break in most of these important cultural centres. In Germany and the UK, although not being the earliest shows of contemporary Chinese paintings as formerly assumed, Liu Haisu’s exhibitions marked a new stage in presenting and collecting modern Chinese painting in local museums and galleries. They not only drew the attention of local art-loving public to this topic and, in case of the London show, reunited for a period of time works by contemporary Chinese masters living both in China and abroad. More importantly, for European curators and critics, they posed new questions as to the technical and aesthetic qualities of modern Chinese painting in an era of intensified cultural and artistic exchanges between the two ends of the Eurasian continent.38 They also to a significant degree accomplished the objective of their Chinese instigators by introducing the Europeans to a distinct indigenous tradition of artistic creation, which was kept alive in the works of contemporary Chinese masters and looking for a place within the field of modern art. The venues in the Netherlands and Switzerland might really have been the first presentations of contemporary Chinese paintings in these countries and have thus spread the awareness of their qualities to a new area, which thus far had only limited possibilities of seeing objects of contemporary Chinese art.39 The final presentation of the selection in Prague, even though more or less overshadowed by the exhibitions of modern Chinese painting organised by VojtČch Chytil in the late 1920s and early 1930s, offered a unique opportunity for the Czechoslovak public to get acquainted with works of contemporary Chinese painters active in southeastern China, which were lacking in Chytil’s collection. It has, however, not yet been possible to associate the exhibition with a functional collection of Asian arts and the scholarship on East Asian art had not yet been strong enough to recognise the potential of such activities. This was only achieved in 1937, 38

For a deeper reflection over the problems pertaining to mutual reception of modernist and modernised art in China and Europe in the interwar period, see Birnie Danzker 2004, 56-68. 39 Birnie Danzker (2004, 39) writes that “The response of the Dutch press and public [was], once again, enthusiastic.”

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when Jaroslav PrĤšek (1906-80), the founder of the Prague School of Sinology, returned from China, and most importantly in 1952, when the collection of Asian art was established as a part of the National Gallery in Prague.

Works Cited Baishi 䘥䞛. 1932. “Bolin Zhongguo meishu zhanlanhui choubeiji 㝷㜿ᷕ ⚳伶埻⯽奥㚫䯴⁁䲨.” Shenbao, June 27 and 28. Birnie Danzker, Jo-Anne, Ken Lum and Zheng Shengtian, eds. 2004. Shanghai Modern 1919–1945. Ostfildern-Ruit: Hatje Cantz. “Bolin Zhongguo meishu zhanlanhui choubei jingguo 㝷㜿ᷕ⚳伶埻⯽奥 㚫䯴⁁䴻忶.” 1933. Shenbao, November 6. Cen Qi. 2006. Liu Haisu shuhua jianshang ∱㴟䱇㚠䔓揹岆. Hangzhou: Xiling yinshe chubanshe. Exhibition Catalogue Frankfurt. 1931. Ausstellung Chinesischer Maler der Jetztzeit [Exhibition of Contemporary Chinese Painters]. Frankfurt am Main: China-Institut and Frankfurter Kunstverein. Exhibition Catalogue Berlin. 1934. Chinesische Malerei der Gegenwart [Contemporary Chinese Painting]. Berlin-Lankwitz: Würfel. Lefebvre, Éric and Michaela Pejþochová. 2013. “Les modalités de la réception de l’art moderne à travers une typologie des expositions de peinture chinoise dans l’Europe de l’entre deux guerres”, an unpublished paper presented at the conference La Chine et l’Europe : réception et interactions artistiques (XVIIe-XXe siècles). En hommage au Professeur Flora Blanchon. Lille: l’université de Lille 3, January 23. Liu Haisu. 1931a. “Die Richtungen in der modernen Chinesischen Malerei [The Trends in Modern Chinese Painting].” Sinica VI (2): 49-55. —. 1931b. “Liu Haisu shi shu Ouyou kaocha yishu de ganxiang ∱㴟䱇㮷 徘㫸㷠侫⮇喅埻䘬デ゛.” Shenbao, October 21, 22 and 23. Liu Haisu meishuguan ∱㴟䱇伶埻棐. 2005. Canghai yi su. Liu Haisu de yishu rensheng 㹬㴟ᶨ䱇ġ · ∱㴟䱇䘬喅埻Ṣ䓇. Shanghai: Shanghai jiaoyu chubanshe. —. 2006. Bainian cangsang. Liu Haisu yishu rensheng tupian ji 䘦⸜㹬㟹ġ· ∱㴟䱇喅埻Ṣ䓇⚾䇯普. Shanghai: Shanghai huabao chubanshe. Lopes, Rui Oliveira, ed. 2013. The Transcendence of the Arts in China and Beyond: Approaches to Modern and Contemporary Art. Lisboa: Centro de Investigacao e Estudos em Belas-Artes.

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“Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft für Ostasiatische Kunst [Notifications of the Society for East Asian Art]”. 1933. Ostasiatische Zeitschrift N.F. 9 (6): 238-9. “Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft für Ostasiatische Kunst [Notifications of the Society for East Asian Art]”. 1934. Ostasiatische Zeitschrift N. F. 10 (1-2): 48-55. Pejþochová, Michaela. 2013. “Modern Chinese Painting in Europe: A Failure or a Tour-de-force”. In The Transcendence of the Arts in China and beyond: Approaches to Modern and Contemporary Art, edited by Rui Oliveira Lopes, 46-71. Lisboa: Centro de Investigacao e Estudos em Belas-Artes. Rahman-Steinert, Uta. 2012. “Sammeln, Ausstellen, Interpretieren. Chinesische Malerei des 20. Jahrhunderts in Berlin bis 1980 [Collecting, Exhibiting, Interpreting. Chinese Painting of the 20th Century in Berlin up to 1980].” Ostasiatische Zeitschrift (Neue Serie) 24 (Autumn): 27-36. Štech, Václav Vilém. 1935. “Rozcestí staré kultury: K výstavČ þínského umČní v UmČlecko-prĤmyslovém museu [At the Crossroads of Ancient Culture: On the Exhibition of Chinese Art in the Museum of Decorative Arts]. ” ýeské slovo, March 31. Sullivan, Michael. 1996. Art and Artists of 20th Century China. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press. Vainker, Shelagh. 2004. “Modern Chinese Painting in London, 1935.” In Shanghai Modern 1919-1945, edited by Jo-Anne Birnie Danzker et al., 118-23. Ostfildern-Ruit: Hatje Cantz.

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Fig. 9-1. Cover of the regular version of the catalogue Chinesische Malerei der Gegenwart [Contemporary Chinese Painting] (Berlin-Lankwitz: Würfel, 1934).

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Fig. 9-2. Lone Liang (third from the left) reading the inauguration speech at the opening ceremony of the exhibition of modern Chinese painting in Prague on 23 March 1935. © UmČleckoprĤmyslové museum v Praze.

On the left-hand side, left to right: Dr František Oberthor, vice-president of the Czechoslovak Chamber of Commerce; president of the Curatorial Assembly, Museum of Decorative Arts Dr Karel Herain, director of the Museum of Decorative Arts Dr Lone Liang, Chinese Ambassador to Czechoslovakia On the right-hand side, right to left: Prof. František Lexa, academician specialising in the study of ancient Egypt Mr [Jaromír?] Stretti-Zamponi, painter of renown Dr Kamil Novotný, executive official of the Ministry of Education and National Enlightenment Mr Karel Kabát, director of the State-owned publishing house; member of the Chamber of Commerce

Exhibitions of Chinese Painting in Europe in the Interwar Period Fig. 9-3. A view of the display of the exhibition of modern Chinese painting in the Museum of Decorative Arts in Prague on 23 March 1935. © UmČleckoprĤmyslové museum v Praze.

Fig. 9-4. A view of the display of the exhibition of modern Chinese painting in the Museum of Decorative Arts in Prague on 23 March 1935. © UmČleckoprĤmyslové museum v Praze.

199

CHAPTER TEN THE RIGHT STUFF: CHINESE ART TREASURES’ LANDING IN EARLY 1960S AMERICA NOELLE GIUFFRIDA

Efforts to present the first major American exhibition of works from the National Palace Museum in Taiwan came to fruition in 1961 as Chinese Art Treasures (CAT) opened at the National Gallery of Art in Washington. Comprised of over 250 objects, with a major focus on paintings, the show also travelled to New York, Boston, Chicago and San Francisco, drawing large crowds on its yearlong tour. As the first significant post-war exhibition of paintings from the Palace collection, it drew worldwide attention. CAT’s landing at the right time, in the right place, and with the right works, made the show a pivotal event in the history of exhibiting and studying Chinese painting in the United States. Focusing on a discrete time period, from the inception of the exhibition in the 1950s through its US tour and ending in 1962, this chapter explores the timing, composition and presentation of the show, examining how and why each affected public and scholarly reception in early 1960s America. In addition to considering scholarly publications and popular media, this study draws upon first-hand accounts and archival correspondence to reconstruct an inner history of CAT.1 Discussions of the planning, painting selection, 1 In her survey and analysis of foreign exhibitions from the Palace Museum in Beijing, Susan Naquin (2004, 344-5) recognised the importance of attempting an “inner history” exploring behind-the-scenes issues, including negotiations about object selections, budgets and finances, audience reception, show and catalogue profits, as well as display and labelling challenges. Jane Ju (2007) also explored the museum’s role, from the Taiwan perspective, in cultural representation and canon formation.

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catalogue negotiations, media coverage and scholarly debates will highlight political and scholarly factors that affected the show’s reception. As a result of CAT, its accompanying catalogue and the scholarly discussions it sparked, a core group of paintings from the Palace collection emerged as monuments in the newly forming post-war canon of Chinese painting. By raising the profile of Chinese painting for the American public, CAT spurred increased interest in US museum collections. Chinese Art Treasures’ combination of all the “right stuff” assured both its success with the American public and its impact on Chinese painting studies in early 1960s America.2

Early Plans In the early 1950s, shortly after the relocation of the Republic of China (ROC) Government and many objects from the Palace collection to Taiwan, a Chinese and American group began discussing a possible American exhibition from the National Palace Museum and the Central Museum. Talks between institutional and government representatives focused on the basics: when and where to hold the show, and which objects would be included. During the summer of 1953, leaders of the China Institute in New York Hu Shih 傉怑 (1891-1962) and Meng Chih ⬇㱣 (a.k.a. Paul Chih Meng, 1900-90), Director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art (Met) Francis Henry Taylor (1903-57), and the newly appointed ROC ambassador to the United Nations Han Lih-wu 㜕䩳㬎 (1902-91) proposed a 1954 exhibition. Directors from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (MFA), the Art Institute of Chicago, and the de Young Museum in San Francisco joined the conversations. From the beginning, Americans wanted a painting-centred exhibition. This preference came from worries about the safety and physical condition of the works as well as concerns about handling and expenses. Most had heard about the collection’s forced moves from Beijing to Shanghai, Nanjing ⋿Ṕ and Chongqing 慵ㄞ on account of 1930s Japanese invasions, and eventually to Taiwan after the Communist takeover in 1949 (Jayne 1945). Many believed that humidity and potential mainland attack put the paintings in ongoing jeopardy and that bringing them to America on an extended tour would save them from harm. The need for Americans to be directly involved in selecting artworks arose from concerns about the high cost and unknown content of the show, 2

This chapter’s title was partly inspired by James Cahill’s (1926-2014) discussion of “right” and “wrong” paintings in comparing the 1935-6 International Exhibition of Chinese Art in London and CAT.

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and it proved to be an early stumbling block. Any contract for the show would only become effective if and after the list of objects was approved by each of the participating museums. 3 Though not intended as a formal selection of objects, the Met’s Associate Curator of Far Eastern Art Aschwin Lippe’s (1914-88) trip to Taiwan in 1954 laid some of the groundwork for the exhibition.4 Lippe (1955, 57) examined almost all of the 400 paintings on his list and several hundred more during his month-long stay. His overview in the Met’s Bulletin and his critical remarks from Archives of the Chinese Art Society of America provided a telling glimpse of the eventual show. For the Bulletin, he focused primarily on praising the collection as a whole. Lippe was especially impressed with the quantity and quality of Song (960-1279 AD) and Yuan (1279-1368 AD) paintings so rare elsewhere. His more extensive report for Archives contained his critical evaluations of over fifty paintings. Lippe believed that an American show could include a much higher quality selection than the paintings featured in the 1935-6 London exhibition. Limited general knowledge of Chinese painting, lack of familiarity with the Palace collection, and the fragile condition of some works meant that many of the best pictures did not travel to London. As champions of Chinese painting, Lippe and other scholars in the US believed that wider exposure through an American show would lead to much-deserved recognition for the paintings, largely inaccessible for decades. Political and physical conditions of the time prevented an exhibition in Taiwan, so an American show presented the best opportunity to raise the profile of Chinese painting and help position it among the superior artistic achievements in the history of art.

Priming the Public Despite Lippe’s trip, there was still no agreement about an exhibition.5 In the meantime, the American mainstream press piqued public interest about the collection throughout the middle to late 1950s. Articles related the dramatic saga of its many moves. These stories championed the Nationalists on Taiwan as defenders of Chinese art and gave Americans another reason to root for them against the Communists on the mainland. The American 3

Director of the MFA G.H. Edgell (1887-1954) to Easby, 16 December 1953. Loan Exhibition 1961, Chinese Art 1953-1960. Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives (hereafter MMAA). 4 On Lippe’s life and publications, see Lee 1989. 5 Edgell to Easby, 15 January and 14 February 1954. MMAA. It is difficult to determine precisely when and why the plans fell through. Correspondence between American museum directors drops off by the end of February 1954.

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media presented possession of these valuable artworks as a Nationalist victory. Stories in dailies such as the New York Times reported on the Nationalists’ determination to retain the collection and defend it against forces from the mainland (Lieberman 1956). As the first major article on the collection in a national magazine, Time’s 1957 feature proved to be one of the most important pieces that spurred public interest. The banner headline “The Art of China: Masterpieces Rescued from the Mainland” appeared on the news magazine’s cover. By describing the rescue and protection of the artworks using military imagery, the article asserted the collection’s political and cultural significance. Echoing the sentiments of Lippe and other American scholars, it stressed the collection’s high quality and lamentable inaccessibility. The inclusion of thirteen colour pictures focused on paintings. The Time feature represented a microcosm of Chinese-American cooperation and the role of Americans in mediating and promoting Chinese painting that proved essential in organising CAT. Correspondents made arrangements with Chinese officials and curators who selected artworks to be unpacked and photographed by Time’s Robert Crandall. US experts helped choose the final group for publication. Thus, the first colour photographs of several of the most prized Chinese paintings were taken by an American photographer and appeared in an American magazine. This is another example of how Americans not only advocated for Chinese painting but also claimed the right to expose these artworks to the US public and the world. With Time’s circulation of over two million at the time,6 the widely read article served as a key primer, shaping public perceptions that would factor into CAT’s reception a few years later. During the Second Taiwan Strait Crisis in 1958, fears about the safety of artworks and calls for American intervention intensified, and these concerns played out in the press. In the midst of the crisis, stories in the media discussed the collection as under threat, noting that US experts had urged sending artworks to America for safe keeping (North American Newspaper Alliance 1958). Some Americans publicly expressed beliefs that the US needed to get directly involved in protecting the collection by putting on an exhibition. In a letter to the New York Times, Paul Mocsanyi, former art critic of the United Press, insisted that America’s pledge to defend Taiwan extended beyond political and strategic issues. Mocsanyi (1958, 26) expressed frustration with failed efforts to organise a show and argued that holding an exhibition was a political and cultural duty. These issues continued to draw attention as the ROC Embassy publicly responded by declaring the PRC “unfit custodians of objects of incalculable cultural 6

Circulation for 1956 as reported on 31 December 1965.

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value” and asserting its role as the proper guardians of China’s cultural heritage. The Embassy’s letter also assured Americans that negotiations for a US show might soon be resolved (Ling 1958). While mainstream media publicised the collection’s rescue and provided a forum for discussions about America’s role in protecting the artworks, other publications helped set the stage for the reception of CAT by Chinese art scholars and collectors. Li Chu-tsing’s 㛶 揬 㗱 (b. 1920) account of the collection’s recent history appeared in 1958. He echoed the anticipatory sentiments of many who believed the collection could hold the answers to many key questions about Chinese art. The 1959 publication of Three Hundred Masterpieces of Chinese Painting (Gugong minghua sanbai zhong 㓭⭖⎵䔓ᶱ䘦䧖) stirred considerable excitement. The bilingual catalogue featured 300 paintings from the Palace and Central Museums, from the earliest works through the Qing dynasty (1644-1911 AD). In his introduction, Wang Shih-chieh 䌳ᶾ㜘ġ (1891-1981) referred to recent re-appraisals in the painting selection process. While several bearing inscriptions dating them to pre-Tang periods were re-classified as Tang or later, most of the Qianlong-era (r. 1735-96) attributions remained unchanged. Though Wang acknowledged that this was not entirely satisfactory, he defended the practice of accepting seals and inscriptions as genuine and, unless an attribution could be solidly proven wrong, no changes were made. 7 Three Hundred Masterpieces of Chinese Painting marked the first publication of many paintings, serving as a valuable compilation and visual record, but it did not put forward significant scholarly re-appraisals. Almost seventy paintings from the volumes would end up in Chinese Art Treasures just two years later. A good number of them would be presented to reflect recent research diverging from traditional attributions.

Geneva, We Have a Problem: Negotiating Attributions for the Catalogue In the fall of 1959, plans for an American show jumped onto the fast track. Director of the National Gallery John Walker, 3rd (1906-95) and the Met’s Director James Rorimer (1905-66) spearheaded the renewed project. A draft agreement and budget for a 1961-2 exhibition began to circulate in

7 Gugong minghua sanbai zhong [Three Hundred Masterpieces of Chinese Painting] 1959, vol. 1, 26.

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January 1960.8 Walker and ROC Ambassador to the United States George K. C. Yeh 叱 ℔ 崭 (Yeh Kung-chao, 1904-81) served as the main negotiators. The final agreement reflected pressing concerns for both sides. Chinese officials worried that the PRC might take legal action to interfere, perhaps even attempting to steal the artworks. Thus, the word “loan” could never be used in connection with the show. The contract stipulated that artworks would remain ROC property. To ensure continuous legal custody, at least one Chinese curator would be allowed to remain in close proximity to the artworks at all times. Parties agreed that the US Navy would bring objects from Taiwan and back again—at no charge to the ROC or the participating museums. The agreement hinged upon joint approval of works for the exhibition. American museum directors tapped Associate Director of the Freer Gallery of Art John Alexander Pope (1906-82), Tseng Hsien-ch’i 㚦ㅚ℞ġ (b. 1923) of the MFA and Lippe to travel to Taiwan for object selection in April 1960.9 The trio joined Chinese officials and curators including Wang Shih-chieh (1891-1981), Chuang Shang-yen 匲⯂♜ (1899-1980), Tan T’an-chiung 嬂㖎ℷġ (1906-96), and Na Chih-liang 恋⽿列 (1908-98). Lippe’s 1955 reports served as one source for the committee’s work. Other scholars’ previous work also contributed to the process, allowing the committee to complete their work in less than a month. For instance, James Cahill visited the collection on two occasions before 1960: once in 1955 to research Yuan paintings, and again in 1959 when he and C.C. Wang 䌳⶙ ⋫ (Wang Chi-ch’ien, 1907-2003) worked with Li Lin-ts’an 㛶 暾 䆎 (1913-99) and others to select and photograph paintings for Cahill’s Chinese Painting, published by Skira in 1960. 10 Max Loehr (1903-88) travelled to Taiwan to research Song paintings in 1957. Even though his article did not officially appear until 1961, he likely shared it with Cahill (then the Freer’s Associate Curator of Chinese Art) and the selection group in advance (Fig. 10-1) (Loehr 1961). The choice of paintings for CAT reflected scholarly taste and priorities in 1960s America. Organisers selected works that they felt were best not only in terms of quality but also 8

Total projected budget was $90,000. Other than a percentage of catalogue proceeds and admission fees, the American museums did not pay any other monies to the ROC. Walker to Rorimer, 31 December 1959. MMAA. 9 The Henry Luce Foundation granted $15,000 toward the committee’s travel to Taiwan. 10 Lippe shared his notes with Cahill prior to 1959. Other American scholars, who saw some works in Taiwan during the 1950s, also shared their notes with the committee.

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for their importance in developing the field of Chinese painting studies. Many of the 112 paintings in the final checklist of 253 objects had not travelled to London in 1935, including sixty-six from the early group. US scholars and students would finally get to personally examine a large selection of paintings that would permit a more rigorous discussion of early Chinese painting history. Lippe, Pope, and Cahill immediately began crafting the exhibition catalogue (Fig. 10-2). 11 With production deadlines looming, the thorny issues of attributions and dating proved to be a challenging aspect of bringing CAT to fruition. The American trio felt the catalogue should reflect the most recent scholarship. Part of getting the entries “right” involved systematically re-evaluating many Qianlong attributions. Since the catalogue would become not only the public, scholarly, and lasting presentation of the show, but also serve as the first widely available post-war book on paintings from the collection, the stakes were high. Problems came to a head in March 1961, threatening to disrupt the exhibition. A look at some of the issues and eventual solutions peels back an important layer of CAT’s inner history. Correspondence between Lippe, Cahill, Pope, Walker, Rorimer, Wang Shih-chieh and Ambassador Yeh reveals points of contention and negotiations during a tense week.12 After seeing proofs from Geneva, Yeh balked at some modified attributions and insisted that printing be suspended. An eleven-page missive from Wang Shih-chieh followed. Pope and Lippe felt that they had gotten the okay, during the trip to Taiwan the previous year, to include comments that reflected recent American and Chinese scholarship within the texts of the entries, even if those comments did not agree with traditional attributions. However, the Americans went even further and shifted a number of paintings’ attributions outright. 13 In anticipation of meeting at Yeh’s Washington residence, Lippe and Cahill lobbied for the updated attributions. Lippe contended that the altered attributions and language agreed with opinions of the majority of Palace Museum staff. Some evidence supports his claim. For instance, Li Lin-ts’an’s article (1961) on Minghuang’s Journey to Shu 㖶䘯⸠嚨 presented a convincing case for dating the painting, traditionally attributed to the Tang, no later than the 11 Lippe and Cahill wrote the painting entries and Pope wrote the rest. The catalogue trio exchanged and commented on all contributions, including Cahill’s introduction, so they decided to present the catalogue as a collective enterprise. Lippe to Pope, 7 November 1960. SA: FGA. 12 Cahill (2005a) recounts some of the events. My discussion of the negotiations incorporates research based on the original correspondence preserved in SA: FGA. 13 Lippe to Rorimer, cc: Pope, 2 March 1961. SA: FGA.

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Song.14 Li acknowledged Palace Museum Director Chuang Shang-yen’s suggestions and support for his conclusions. Both Lippe and Cahill feared that Walker was going to give in too easily and follow the customary practice of wholly accepting the attributions of the lender. With Pope in Geneva overseeing production at Skira and Lippe in New York, Cahill was the lone advocate for the updated attributions at the meeting. With plenty of jasmine tea on tap, Yeh brokered a solution: the ROC Embassy’s Cultural Officer Mr Lai and Cahill would meet the next day to try to work out some compromises.15 The catalogue’s final version reflected these compromises. Altogether, CAT converted about eighteen paintings in Three Hundred Masterpieces of Chinese Painting from “by” a particular artist into “attributed to” him.16 Cahill and Lai reworded some entries to couch, but not completely excise, comments questioning attributions or assigning paintings to later periods. In these cases, the dynasty and date listed in the tombstone information still corresponded to traditional attributions. Some of these trade-offs created an odd hybrid: a painting’s tombstone pronounced one attribution and date, while comments in the entry proposed something quite different. For instance, CAT #4 was labelled Ten Views from a Thatched Hut 勱➪⋩⽿, attributed to Lu Hong 䚏泣 (early 8th century, Tang dynasty). Nestled within the entry further down the same page, we read: One body of opinion, however, both Chinese and Western, holds that this is a version of Lu’s composition done by some highly accomplished artist of the Song dynasty (CAT #4, 39).17

Authors structured the entries, so that the first section was primarily descriptive, guiding the reader in traversing the work: in effect, demonstrating how a novice should look at a Chinese painting. More detailed, nuanced information and judgments aimed at experts, appeared at the end. Scholars, collectors, and students of Chinese painting could parse these comments, recognising that the tactful wording actually overturned many attributions and dates on the same page. Because of its status as the 14

Although this article was officially published after the March CAT negotiations, its content was almost certainly known to Palace Museum officials and curators and the Americans. 15 Cahill to Pope, 9 March 1961. SA: FGA. 16 Since several CAT paintings did not appear in Three Hundread Masterpieces of Chinese Painting, the total number of re-attributions in CAT was actually higher. 17 By the 1980s, many considered this painting a Yuan or early Ming work. Cahill 1980, 15.

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first major publication that did not perpetuate all of the traditional attributions, the catalogue captured and preserved an important scholarly moment in early 1960s Chinese painting studies. It played a key role in helping to put forward a new post-war canon of Chinese painting, and it functioned as a valuable reference volume for decades.

Landing in America From the outset, CAT was intended to play a range of political, diplomatic, cultural, and artistic roles. The US State Department supported the exhibition as a way to promote the ROC as the legitimate Chinese government. Not only would the show increase American appreciation for Chinese artistic achievements, it would also highlight the role of “free China” in preserving Chinese culture.18 The State Department saw CAT as a political and diplomatic weapon in the American-led fight against Communism. The State Department officially announced the show in 1960 and headlines proclaimed “Art Saved from Reds in China to Be Shown.” In response, the PRC took aim at the US and the “Chiang Kai-shek clique,” calling the exhibition illegal and accusing the US of plotting to steal Chinese national treasures. Accusations and threats to disrupt the show flowed from the PRC through the end of 1962. The exhibition itself was an act of cultural diplomacy. Prefatory materials in the catalogue served to politically and culturally package the show for the public.19 To endow CAT with high-level cachet, Presidents Kennedy, Chiang and their wives appeared as honorary patrons along with a distinguished group of officials and benefactors (Fig. 10-3). The preface and foreword included customary acknowledgements statements about the exhibition’s significance as an event of unprecedented quality and rarity. Written from Chinese and American perspectives, each put forward carefully gauged statements that expressed cultural, national, and institutional pride. Wang Shih-chieh’s preface proclaimed the political and 18 Special Assistant to the Secretary of State Robert Thayer to John Walker 3rd, 16 November 1959. Records of the Office of the Director, John Walker Office Files, Exhibition Records, Series 2B1, box 4, folder 4, National Gallery of Art Archives. 19 The government-sponsored loan shows Japanese Painting and Sculpture from the Sixth Century to the Nineteenth Century (1953) and Masterpieces of Korean Art (1958) also worked as cultural diplomacy, but with different impetus, goals, and makeup than CAT. Those shows drew from multiple lenders, including temples and private collections. Organisers presented the Japanese show as an act of friendship and good will toward the Americans and the Korean exhibition as an expression of gratitude to American friends and the nation from the Korean people.

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cultural legitimacy of the ROC by repeatedly invoking its relationship with the Palace collection. He declared them inheritors of the imperial court collection, founders of the Palace Museum in Beijing, saviours during decades of war, and legitimate custodians of Chinese culture. Wang characterised Chinese painting as having the ability to lend comfort and solace to the modern man by imparting a sense of tranquillity and peacefulness. It seems likely that his emphasis on these qualities in painting also implied that the ROC, as preservers of this art, also had an intrinsically peaceful nature, quite opposite from the Communists on the mainland. He explicitly recognised the State Department and the US Navy for their help with the exhibition, while implicitly acknowledging their role in the recent political and military defence of the ROC. Political, diplomatic, and cultural roles were intertwined. From the ROC perspective, the show would foster a fuller understanding of Chinese art and culture by the American people and remind them about the plight of “free Chinese” fighting to the save their cultural heritage and recover lost territories (Pope, Lippe and Cahill 1961, 8). The catalogue’s foreword contextualised the exhibition by presenting a history of collecting Chinese art in the US, emphasising the quality and extent of American collections. Upon receiving a draft from Walker, Director of the MFA Perry Rathbone (1911-2000) suggested that It seems to me that a more positive statement about the development of American collections would be more appropriate on this occasion. I fear, that we are rather apologetic about American collections of Chinese painting and that what we have doesn’t amount to much. We all know that these collections in quality and extent are unsurpassed outside the Orient. European collections do not compare.20

Rathbone disagreed with the choice of individuals cited in the draft as important figures. Omitting Charles Lang Freer (1854-1919), Okakura Tenshin (1862-1913), Langdon Warner (1881-1955), and Laurence Sickman (1907-88) did not paint the right picture of American collections. Not coincidentally, associated institutions such as the Freer Gallery of Art, the MFA, and the Nelson-Atkins Gallery of Art possessed some of the finest museum holdings of Chinese painting. Rathbone saw CAT as a reward for American connoisseurship and devotion to Chinese art.21 The final version 20

Rathbone to Walker, 17 February 1961. SG: FGA. Ibid. A few days later, Rathbone sent Pope a copy of his letter to Walker with an accompanying note, pronouncing the foreword “ludicrous as well as misleading, and I would not like to have my name attached to what he says concerning American 21

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of the foreword, signed by the five American museum directors, expressed national and institutional pride in American collections historically, while also pointing out more recent acquisitions that continued to enhance US collections, making them pre-eminent in the Western world (Pope, Lippe and Cahill 1961, 11). The foreword maintained that the range of Chinese painting and resulting discernment of American audiences made the US the right place for CAT. Mainstream media coverage of CAT melded politics, culture and art. Similar to press that primed the public during the 1950s, newspapers, magazines, television and radio focused on the collection and its preservation and protection. 22 Two of the most widely read features appeared in Life and Time in August and September 1961. Descriptive captions provided a reasonable guide, while the features’ enthusiasm and timing encouraged readers to visit the show. Life’s pull-out section spotlighted large colour images, including five paintings (Sieberling 1961, 47-60B). Time’s coverage featured five paintings, several occupying full pages. 23 These magazines’ praise and exposure drove readers without previous interest in Chinese art, and those who might not even be regular museum goers, to the show. CAT’s exhibition catalogue proved essential for public reception and understanding. Wall labels in CAT’s galleries included only basic tombstone information (Fig. 10-4), without any explanation of subject matter, time period, style, technique or significance.24 The catalogue’s first edition of 13,000 sold out at every venue. Visitors quickly snapped up a second edition. Demand spurred the creation of thousands of makeshift catalogues.25 For most Americans, CAT’s ties to anti-Communist politics raised the show’s profile, creating appeal on political, cultural, and artistic levels. Prior to CAT, ceramics and decorative arts had garnered more public attention than painting. As a yearlong national event, CAT exposed more Americans to Chinese painting than ever before. While some of the public recognised the high quality and importance of the show’s paintings, for most, debates that engaged scholars about dating, attribution, and collections of Chinese art.” Rathbone to Pope, 23 February 1961. 22 The MFA’s Bulletin used CAT to tout its collection. Tseng Hsien-ch’i’s thirty-five page essay (1961) compared paintings from the MFA and CAT, sometimes asserting the superiority of MFA pictures. 23 “Art from a Peking Palace” 1961. 24 Incomplete documentation of gallery installations makes a thorough exploration difficult. 25 The booklet lifted the catalogue’s foreword, preface and introduction, along with an object list. The de Young distributed over 10,000.

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authenticity were not central to the their experience of the show.

Giving Grades, Creating Canon Scholars, curators, collectors, and students of Chinese art across America flocked to CAT (Fig. 10-5). Though some had seen paintings from the collection before, none had seen them altogether or examined them for an extended time. The shared experience of visiting CAT occasioned many scholarly reappraisals and debates. Judgments engaged fundamental questions about methods and criteria that scholars should use to determine paintings’ authenticity and date. From the early 1940s through the mid-1960s, articles and book reviews spent considerable time addressing these issues, demonstrating their pressing importance at the time.26 Scholars grappled with the problem of establishing monuments for early Chinese painting. Which works traditionally attributed to the Five Dynasties (907-960 AD) and Northern Song (960-1127 AD) could be trusted as benchmarks? How might scholars best determine which, if any, paintings attributed to a particular artist were original? CAT’s abundance of early paintings provided a unique opportunity to gather opinions and hash out these concerns. James Cahill solicited scholars and collectors to grade and offer opinions on the paintings. Seventeen people weighed in after seeing CAT; the impressive group included: Victoria Contag (1906-73), Tseng Yu-ho 㚦 ⸤匟 (Betty Ecke, b. 1925), Richard Edwards (b. 1916), Wen Fong 㕡倆 (b. 1930), Aschwin Lippe, Li Chu-tsing, Max Loehr, Michael Sullivan (b. 1916), Sherman Lee (1918-2008), Alexander Soper (1904-93), Laurence Sickman, Father Harrie Vanderstappen (1921-2007), Nelson Wu (1919-2002), and C. C. Wang. Cahill’s rubric established grades from A to F: A. Genuine, find, reliable signature or safe attribution; for anonymous works, genuine, fine work of the period to which attributed; F. An imitation of a later period (i.e. imitation of a style, or manner).27

Although the grades and comments ranged widely among the 112 works, a number of “A” paintings emerged. Thirteen received near unanimous “A” 26

For an overview of some post-war East Asian art history, see Cohen 1992, 155-99. Cahill’s rubric: B: genuine, but not of high quality; C: an original work of the period, but not by the artist to whom attributed; D: an original work of a later period; E: a copy of a later period, probably based on an earlier painting.

27

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rankings, effectively putting them forward as benchmarks for the field. They included: Deer among Red Maples ᷡ㣻␎渧 (10th-11th century) Travellers among Mountains and Streams 寧Ⱉ埴忲, by Fan Kuan 劫⮔ġ Pure and Remote View of Streams and Hills 㹒Ⱉ㶭怈, by Xia Gui ⢷⛕ Banquet by Lantern Light 厗䅰ἵ⭜ (c. 1190-1224) Autumn Colours on the Qiao and Hua Mountains 洚厗䥳刚 (1295), by Zhao Mengfu 嵁⬇染 (1254-1322) Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains ⭴㗍Ⱉ⯭ (1350), by Huang Gongwang 湫℔㛃 (1269-1354) Music under Trees 㜿ᶳ沜䏜, by Zhu Derun 㛙⽛㼌 (1294-1365) Old Trees by a Cold Waterfall ⎌㛐⭺㱱 (1549), by Wen Zhengming 㔯⽝ 㖶 (1470-1559) Whispering Pines on a Mountain Path Ⱉ嶗㜦倚, by Tang Yin Ⓒ⭭ġ (1470-1524)

Most graders also awarded an “A” to fourteen more paintings, including:28 Early Spring 㖑㗍 (1072), by Guo Xi 悕䅁 (c. 1020-1090) Breaking the Balustrade ㉀㩣 (1127-1279) Knick-knack Peddler ⶪ㑼⫘㇚ (1210), by Li Song 㛶ⴑ (act. 1190-1230) Waiting for Guests by Lamplight 䥱䆕⣄忲, by Ma Lin 楔湇 (act. c. 1200-1250) Returning Late from a Spring Outing 㗍 忲 㘂 㬠 , by Dai Jin ㇜ 忚ġ (1388-1462) Walking with a Staff 䫾㛾, by Shen Zhou 㰰␐ (1427-1509)

Though no one made such pronouncements at the time, most of the twenty-seven “A” paintings from CAT emerged as monuments in a newly forming post-war canon. For the remainder of the twentieth century, seminal survey books such as Sullivan’s Arts of China (1961-2009), Sickman and Soper’s Art and Architecture of China (1956-92), Cahill’s Chinese Painting (1960-85), and Lee’s History of Far Eastern Art (1964-94) features many of the “A” works and others from CAT.29

28

Paintings in this tier had the support of all but one or two graders. See editions, for example, Sullivan 1961; Sickman and Soper 1956; Cahill 1960; Lee 1964. 29

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Scholarly Autopsies With general support for just one quarter of CAT’s paintings as potentially secure, there was a lot more to talk about.30 Cahill organised a New York gathering to discuss fourteen “controversial” paintings. The Palace Museum Exhibition Post-mortem Symposium convened in October 1962. In preparation, Cahill (1962) distributed the list of opinions to an expanded group. The forty attendees included many from the grading group and two dozen others such as Osvald Sirén (1879-1966), Henry Trubner (1920-99), John Crawford Jr. (1913-88), and dealer Nathan Hammer. 31 Discussion during the two-day gathering revolved around authorship, dating, and authenticity. 32 In order to construct a history of Chinese painting, traditional methods that relied on documentary and material evidence such as seals, inscriptions, colophons and physical condition, needed to be balanced with connoisseurship and stylistic analysis (Fong 1962). Scholars in post-war America believed they had to begin by attempting to reconstruct Northern Song style. Sherman Lee (1948) tried to classify Song painting based on overlapping general progression of four styles. He and Wen Fong’s monograph (1954) for Cleveland’s Streams and Mountains without End 㹒 Ⱉ 䃉 䚉 (c. 1100-50) described five styles: courtly, monumental, literal, lyric, and spontaneous. Though everyone did not embrace these categories, that study took an important step toward answering what Soper (1956) called the question mark at the heart of Chinese art history: What should a proper Northern Song landscape look like?33 In his detailed accounting of almost 150 paintings with Song dated inscriptions, Loehr (1961) asserted that style should be the chief consideration for determining authenticity. While most agreed upon the necessity and urgency of addressing these questions, it was not yet clear how to accomplish it. Loehr called style a “visual fact,” but what methods would prevail in establishing and interpreting such facts? Soper (1959, 262) presciently predicted imminent debates, and CAT’s landing prompted the first major chapter of these debates. The transcript of the discussions provides a rare window on scholarly dialogues about pressing problems in Chinese painting studies during the early 1960s. CAT precipitated and permitted debates among a quorum of 30

During a visit to Princeton over Labour Day weekend 1961, Li Lincan, Wen Fong, and Cahill debated and graded each CAT painting. Li burned their grades at the time, so that no one would ever know. Li 1972, 152. 31 For a complete list of attendees, see Cahill 1963. 32 Cahill (2005a) briefly discussed the Post-mortem Symposium. 33 Also see Hochstadter 1956.

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scholars who saw the paintings first-hand (Cahill 1962; 1963). Even though Early Spring placed among “A” paintings and was not on the docket as a controversial work, discussion about another work morphed into a debate about authenticity and style, with Guo’s painting at the centre. Fong immediately questioned Early Spring’s authenticity as Northern Song. Though he found it impressive, Fong believed it to be stylistically, and thus chronologically, close to Zhu Derun’s fourteenth-century Music Under the Trees. Describing Early Spring’s rendering of space as “ambiguous” and “smudged,” he declared the painting as early Ming. Fong’s rejection prompted Lee to highlight a seminal problem: upon what should scholars base a conception of Northern Song painting? Lee maintained that Fong only accepted Fan Kuan and archaeologically dated works, thus relegating anything unlike those to the Ming or later. Presumably, Fong’s restrictive view of Northern Song style prompted him and Li Chu-tsing to give Early Spring an “F” grade. Fong and Li awarded “F’s” to many other CAT paintings that a most others supported as pre-Yuan. At the time, Fong (1992) doubted the survival of more than a handful of paintings created before the early Ming.34 Lee, Soper, Sickman and others maintained that it would not be possible to build upon Fong’s restricted view. Loehr’s observations that he found Early Spring “somewhat dull” and “smudged in passages” seemed to resonate with Fong’s characterisation. But Loehr came to a different conclusion: Early Spring showed originality, so it could not be a later “cooked-up job.” Responding to some of the same visual features described by Fong and Loehr, Soper expressed his admiration for the painting. The same visual evidence produced different determinations about style, leading scholars to disparate conclusions about authenticity. Soper lamented that [the] discussion so far has made obvious the personal and subjective character of many of our judgments. Fong’s pejorative “smudged” is my “visionary”; Loehr’s “passionate” might well be interpreted by someone else as a sign of nervous agitation (Cahill 1962, 28).

For the moment, hopes that more candid stylistic analysis would quickly lead to complete consensus were dashed. Even if, as Loehr (1961, 228) declared, style was a visual fact, authenticity was still a matter of 34

Cahill 1963, 27. Fong’s skepticism in the 1960s, along with his advocacy of visual and structural analysis, helped propel the field toward establishing a solidly defensible group of works that scholars continue to rely on today. Many of Fong’s doubts faded as his professional roles expanded to include work for the Met in the early 1970s. His later catalogue of the Met’s Chinese paintings used many CAT paintings as benchmarks.

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conclusion, an opinion based on that fact. CAT re-ignited debates about Song painting among scholars in America. It also indirectly produced consensus on a group of works from the Palace collection as canonical.35

The Right Stuff Chinese Art Treasures was the first major travelling show of Chinese art in the United States. Between 466,000 and 700,000 visitors saw the exhibition during its yearlong tour. The National Gallery boasted the highest attendance of 150,000. The de Young Museum and the Metropolitan Musuem of Art reported 110,000 visitors with Boston bringing in 55,000 attendees and Chicago enticing 65,000 people into the galleries. 36 CAT happened at the right time. As cultural diplomacy, it occurred when the ROC needed to assert its legitimacy and shore up American political and military support. The Palace collection survived decades of hardships, but arrived in Taiwan without a museum space to inhabit. The National Palace Museum complex in Taipei would not be completed until 1965. Most of the world had not seen the collection in over thirty years, creating a compelling mystery that attracted public and scholarly attention. CAT landed in the right place: the United States. Reports about the collection’s rescue captured the interest of the public during the Cold War in the 1950s and 1960s. American institutional and private collections of Chinese art represented some of the best assemblages outside Asia. CAT focused worldwide attention on the US and the critical mass of scholars based there, firmly establishing America as a centre for Chinese painting studies. CAT featured the right paintings. Unlike the London show, CAT included the right Palace collection paintings from key eras and artists, particularly those from the Song dynasty. The selection committee chose the right works and the ROC was willing to send them to America. The shared experience of examining the paintings in CAT provided the right first-hand fuel for scholarly evaluation and debate that led to the emergence of a group of works from the Palace collection as increasingly secure monuments in a newly forming post-war canon. American organisers saw CAT as way to promote Chinese painting in America and internationally. While some experts doubted that CAT would help the public understand and appreciate Chinese painting, many viewed 35

Cahill (2005) orchestrated extensive photography of the CAT paintings in Washington. The resulting high quality slides allowed scholars and students to study the paintings in colour and in detail, perpetuating interest in them for decades. 36 The National Gallery estimated 700,000 visitors during CAT’s yearlong tour. Li Lin-ts’an estimated 465,496.

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CAT as an opportunity to stimulate interest long past 1962. Lee (1961, 212) urged that the show should convert audiences: [Chinese Art Treasures is the] first opportunity for the West to really see more than a few great early Chinese paintings as well as numerous fine Ming and Qing examples. The exhibition should be a revelation [. . .] We are being tested, and if we fail we can lose an important part of our heritage, one of the truly original, creative and profound schools of painting in world history.37

Lippe reported from Taiwan in 1960: “This is going to be the best show of Chinese paintings ever seen outside of China—and I’m afraid the last.”38 American newspapers and magazines touted CAT as an once-in-a-lifetime event. In the early 1960s, such grandiose statements seemed like hyperbole. By the middle 1990s, they proved remarkably prescient. In 1996, almost thirty-five years later, another show from the Palace collection, Splendours of Imperial China: Treasures from the National Palace Museum, Taipei, arrived in America. But this time, all the “right” paintings did not make the journey. Protests erupted in Taiwan over the inclusion of twenty-seven paintings from a restricted list of paintings that could only be exhibited for forty days every three years. Only four of the restricted paintings originally slated for Splendours, many of the early landscapes from CAT made the trip to appear before a new generation of visitors.39 Political, diplomatic and scholarly factors coalesced to make CAT possible. By providing sustained national exposure, the show ushered in an era of intense public interest in and scholarly concentration on Chinese painting that paved the way for the many American exhibitions in succeeding decades. The particular combination of “right stuff” that landed Chinese Art Treasures in early 1960s America secured the show’s pivotal position in the history of exhibiting and studying Chinese painting.

37

Some of Lee’s efforts to introduce the public to Chinese painting are discussed in my Separating Sheep from Goats: Sherman E. Lee’s Collecting, Connoisseurship, and Canon of Chinese Painting in Postwar America (forthcoming 2015). 38 Lippe to Priest, 17 May 1960. MMAA. 39 Solomon 1996. Splendours was a much larger comprehensive show, not so dominated by painting.

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Silcock, Arnold. 1948. An Introduction to Chinese Art. New York: Oxford University Press. Solomon, Andrew. 1996. “Don’t Mess with Our Cultural Patrimony.” New York Times, March 17. Soper, Alexander. 1941. “Early Chinese Landscape Painting.” Art Bulletin 23 (2): 141-64. —. 1948. Review of Ludwig Bachhofer’s A Short History of Chinese Art. College Art Journal 8 (1): 72-3. —. 1949. “A Northern Sung Descriptive Catalogue of Paintings: (The Hua P’in of Li Ch’ih).” Journal of the American Oriental Society 69 (1): 18-33. —. 1949. Review of Arnold Silcock’s Introduction to Chinese Art and History. College Art Journal 9 (2) (Winter): 224-6. —. 1950. Review of William Cohn’s Chinese Painting. Art Bulletin 32 (1): 77-82. —. 1956. Review of Streams and Mountains without End by Sherman Lee and Wen Fong. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 14 (4) (June): 505-6. —. 1957. “Standards of Quality in Northern Sung Painting.” Archives of the Chinese Art Society of America 11: 8-15. —. 1959. Review of Chinese Painting, Leading Masters and Principles. Part I, the First Millennium by Osvald Sirén. Artibus Asiae 22 (3): 258-62. Sullivan, Michael. 1961. The Arts of China. Berkeley: University of California Press. —. 1962. “Chinese Art Treasures: Notes on the Paintings in the Exhibition of Palace Museum Treasures in the U.S. 1961-62.” Artibus Asiae 25 (1): 45-56. Tomita Kojiro ⭴䓘⸠㫉恶, and Tseng Hsien-ch’i. 1961. Portfolio of Chinese Paintings in the Museum (Yuan to Qing Periods). Boston, Mass.: Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Tseng Hsien-ch’i. 1961. “Chinese Art Treasures.” Bulletin of the Museum of Fine Arts 59 (317): 63-97. Wallis, Brian. 1991. “Selling Nations: International Exhibitions and Cultural Diplomacy.” Art in America (September): 84-91. Watson, William. 2000. The Arts of China 900-1620. New Haven: Yale University Press. Yeh, George K. C. 1961. “Formosa Was Well-Named.” Washington Post Times Herald, May 28. Zhonghua wenwu jicheng ᷕ厗㔯䈑普ㆸġ [A Collection of Chinese Art Objects]. 1954. Taizhong: Guoli zhongyang bowu tushuyuan guanlian he guanli chu.

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Fig. 10-1. Chinese and American curators posed in front of Magpies and Hare by Cui Bo (act. 1050-80) at the National Gallery opening of Chinese Art Treasures in 1961. Left to right: Na Chih-liang, Aschwin Lippe, Tan Tan-ch’iung, James Cahill, Henry Beville (photographer), Li Lin-ts’an (holding the catalogue), John Alexander Pope. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Gallery Archives.

The Right Stuff Fig. 10-2. Chinese Art Treasures exhibition catalogue (1961).

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Fig. 10-3. Contemplating Waiting for the Ferry in Autumn by Qiu Ying (act. 1522-60). Left to right: Secretary of State Dean Rusk, Ambassador George K.C. Yeh, and Director of the Freer Gallery of Art John Alexander Pope at National Gallery opening in 1961. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Gallery Archives.

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Fig. 10-4. Gallery view of Chinese Landscape Painting at the Cleveland Museum of Art, 1954. Left to right: Song of the Lily Flowers and Cypress Leaves by Yun Shouping (1633-90), Myriad Valleys and the Flavor of Pines by Wu Li (1632-1718), Reciting Poetry Before the Yellowing of Autumn by Wu Li, Mountain in Fall after Wang Meng by Huang Ting (1660-1730), Landscape by Zhang Zongcang (1686-1756), Mountain and River Landscape by Wang Yuanqi (1642-1715), and Bamboo Grove and Distant Mountains by Wang Hui (1632-1717). Cleveland Museum of Art Archives.

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Fig.10-5. Crowds gather in front of Early Spring by Guo Xi (left) and Travellers amid Mountains and Streams by Fan Kuan (right), National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C., 1961. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Gallery Archives.

PART IV: POSITIONING CONTEMPORARY CHINESE ARTISTS IN THE GLOBE

CHAPTER ELEVEN UNDER THE SPECTRE OF ORIENTALISM AND NATION: TRANSLOCAL CROSSINGS AND DISCREPANT MODERNITIES DIANA YEH

“I always wish my works of art to be me. I always want space and freedom” (Li 1977a).

Spanning several localities across China, Taiwan, Italy and Britain, the creative practice of Li Yuan-chia (1929-94) raises complex questions regarding the politics of identity in the reception of art and the writing of art histories across borders. Little is known about this artist, in part due to the difficulty of categorising his extraordinarily eclectic art practice into specific movements or styles. Yet, his movement across nation-state boundaries has also contributed to his lack of recognition. Though born in 1929 in Guangxi, China, Li became a founding member in 1950s Taipei, Taiwan of Ton Fan Exhibition, recognised as one of the first Chinese art groups to produce abstract art. In 1962, he moved to Bologna, Italy, where he joined the art group Il Punto, before leaving for London where he participated in the experimental art scene. He then moved to Banks, Cumbria, where he set up and ran the LYC Museum and Art Gallery (1972-82), and spent the rest of his life. Coupled with the tendency of Euro-American art histories to erase the contributions of non-western artists to modern art—and political hostilities between mainland China and Taiwan—this translocal journey has ensured Li’s erasure from art histories, which remain confined to national borders. In the last two decades, interest in Li has resurfaced amid the appeal of contemporary Chinese art in the international arena, and in new geopolitical

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conditions shaped by shifting domestic politics within—and international relations between—China, Taiwan and Europe. This interest has generated competing claims that enfold Li’s legacy within specific national art histories. In Britain, the work of his Trustees has coincided with wider attempts to expand the British artistic canon, a process increasingly institutionalised under the rubric of multiculturalism. Due to his inclusion in The Other Story (1989), the first major exhibition to foreground, as its subtitle suggested, “Afro-Asian artists in post-war Britain”, his name appears most frequently in work on “black” diaspora art (e.g. Araeen 1989; Hall 2006a).1 Along with the acquisition of his works by Tate Britain and a 2000 retrospective at the Camden Arts Centre, London, Li has arguably entered British art history, however marginally. Several publications on modern art in Taiwan (e.g. Hsiao 1989) and on modern Chinese art (e.g. Gao 1998) now include Li, yet are limited to his Taiwan days. The reception of his practice thus remains fragmented across national art histories. Positioning his works within the frameworks of Chinese, Taiwanese, British or black diaspora art, each perspective illuminates different parts of his artistic journey and ways of interpreting his practice. Yet, with the exception of Brett and Sawyer (2000), these accounts remain bounded by national borders and thus fail to acknowledge fully the translocal nature of his work. In this chapter, I relocate Li’s artistic practice within his life’s journey from Cha Dong 勞㳆 in the 1930s-40s via Taipei in the 1950s, Bologna and London in early to mid-1960s and to Banks, Cumbria from 1968 onwards. To do so, I draw on three years of ethnographic fieldwork among Li’s family, artistic and social networks and contemporary art critics and art historians in London, Cumbria, Cha Dong and Taipei. 2 Providing a multi-sited account of his work, I critique East-West dichotomies and ethnonational politics in the reception of art, showing how they erase the complexity of Li’s practice by obscuring its myriad cultural influences and the way it emerges from and contributes to a global traffic of art. I begin by considering Li’s place within the history of black diaspora art in Britain, where his reception initially focused on his Chineseness, and critics produced Orientalist interpretations of his work according to fixed, 1

In Britain, the term “black” has been used as a political category to include “the Chinese”, though arguably in peripheral way. Identity categories such as these, alongside “British”, “Western”, “African Caribbean” etc, are highly contested and used here “under erasure” (Hall 2006b). Quote marks are omitted to ease legibility. 2 Deepest thanks are due to all participants, without whom this research could not have been undertaken. All unattributed quotations emerge from fieldwork undertaken between 2004 and 2007.

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essentialist notions of a traditional Chinese “culture” frozen in time and space. Discussions of his later works, however, were marked by a notable absence of reference to difference, resulting in an erasure of his reconfigurations and subversions of modern art practices. By appropriating him into what were characterised as “Western” art trends, such responses provide a vivid example of the failure of Eurocentric art discourses to acknowledge the extent to which the development of modern art has involved artists from all over the world (Brett 2000). To decentre this Eurocentric perspective, I then discuss responses to Li’s works in Taiwan, showing how his practice may be radically re-interpreted within Chinese discourses and highlighting the specificity of responses to modern art among Li’s cohort in 1950s Taipei. Despite this, I contend that any interpretation of Li’s works that is confined within Chinese discourses also remains inadequate. His practice, I suggest, can only be understood in the context of his specific journey and localised movements across nation-state boundaries. In the final section, therefore, I discuss his distinctive engagement with globalised and hybridised artistic ideas, concepts and languages in the specific political and material conditions of 1950s Taipei. Yet by following Li’s own tracing of his artistic genesis to his earlier life experiences of leaving his natal village of Cha Dong, Guangxi, I discuss how not only artistic but also broader cultural practices “travel” through his work, under localised conditions of modernity. By tracing his journey through specific localities in China in the 1930s, Taiwan in the 1950s, Italy in the 1960s and into Britain from the 1960s onwards, I situate his artistic productions as emerging in the context of, and contributing to, the global “traffic in culture” (Marcus and Myers 1995).

Within but from Beyond Empire The history of black British diaspora art, in which Li has been included, provides a necessary contextualisation for his reception in Britain. Despite the relative internationalism of the British art world in the early 1960s (Araeen 1989; Overy 2001), the experiences of African Caribbean and South Asian artists were “patchy and dispiriting” (Hall 2006a, 16). Similarly, though well known in artistic circles and to art critics such as Herbert Read (1893-1968), Li was not, as Guy Brett (b. 1942), then art critic at The Times, emphasised to me, “written into the discourse, because it really was hegemonic”. Though subject to the same marginalisation as African Caribbean and South Asian artists, Li’s story cannot be contained entirely within discourses of postcolonial black diaspora art. Arriving in

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London on invitation by David Medalla (b. 1942) to exhibit at the Signals Gallery, Li mixed closely with its associated artists, mainly from Europe and Latin, Central and South America. While Hall (2006a, 5) emphasises that decolonisation liberated black diaspora artists from “any lingering sense of inferiority”, distinctions in attitude between artists from British-colonised and otherwise marginalised societies were articulated during fieldwork. While sharing a belief in modern art “as an international creed” (Ibid., 6), the life-worlds of the Signals artists from Greece, Venezuela and Brazil, like that of Li, had not been framed in the same way by British colonialism. As Medalla declared, “I am from the Philippines, and the Philippines was never a colony of England”. Certainly, in terms of artistic interests, Li coincided with other Signals artists, and his practice had already developed from previous engagement with other artists in Europe and Taiwan (Fig. 11-1). Arriving in Italy in 1962, Li had co-founded the “international” artists group Il Punto with his Ton Fan friend, the painter Hsiao Chin 唕⊌ (b. 1935), the painter Antonio Calderara (1903-78) from Italy, and the sculptor Azuma Kengiro ⏦⥣ġℤ 㱣恶 (b. 1926) from Japan. Later, the group also included artists from Spain, France and the Netherlands, and had links with Lucio Fontana (1899-1968), Piero Manzoni (1933-63), the T-Group and N-Group in Italy, and with the Zero Group in Germany, many of whom had interests in kinetic art. Critical of the emphasis in abstract expressionist trends, especially physical action painting, on “gesture, material and passion”, Il Punto sought, according to Hsiao Chin, a more spiritual approach. Li’s language became increasingly minimal, brushmarks became measured, the ink saturated in simple marks, circles or spheres (Fig. 11-2). It was in Bologna that he further developed his concept of the Cosmic Point and reduced his colours to black, red, gold and white, which he gave symbolic meanings, of origin and end, blood and life, nobility and purity, respectively. Both the Cosmic Point and this colour system remained central motifs throughout his oeuvre. As well as painting, he also made folding scrolls, with fabric mounted on card or between wood covers, and wood reliefs and brass or metal-faced panels. On arrival in London, Li continued making objects and materialised his concept of the Cosmic Point by making wooden discs and painting them. He also began writing poems in fragmented English and taking photographs and combined both with his discs. This led to the creation of participatory artworks and “total environment” shows where the points were hung in a space through which the viewer could wander. Through these experiments, as Brett (2000) suggests, his works can be aligned with those of Medalla, Vassilakis Takis (b. 1925), Jesus Raphael Soto (1923-2005), Lygia Clark (1920-88), Hélio Oiticica (1937-80), Mira Schendel (1919-88) and dom

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sylvester houédard (1924-92). Like them, Li shared an interest in artworks as environments or inexpensive multiples, the spectator’s physical participation, the connections between kinetic art and concrete poetry and a conception of art as proposal, creative gesture and intervention into public space. While influenced by such avant-garde currents, however, Li’s response was “to filter them through his own experience and personalise them” (Brett 2000, 34). Indeed, as I show later, in his works in London, Li materialised in his art ideas, practices and values, which emerged from his earlier life in Taipei and Cha Dong. When Signals closed in 1966, Medalla recommended Li to the Lisson Gallery, where he had his last three solo gallery shows in Britain during his lifetime. 3 When the Lisson began focusing on American artists and discontinued representing him, Li continued to exhibit in group shows until the early 1970s. However, with the exception of Pioneers of Participation Art (1971) at Oxford’s Museum of Modern Art, instigated by Medalla, the shows lay on the outskirts of the gallery system.4 Afterwards, it was not until almost two decades later that Li was invited to participate in another exhibition, The Other Story (1989), which secured his place in the history of black diaspora art. While Li’s artistic attitude and practice aligns him more closely with artists who had not directly experienced British colonialism, he is usefully located in the postcolonial paradigm as a racialised artist in the British art world. Yet, within this, the specificity of his location and practice in the context of discourses of Chineseness must also be considered.

The Hypervisibility of Chineseness Of the few Chinese artists exhibiting in Britain during the 1960s, most were already established figures elsewhere, but it was the allure of their Chineseness, rather than their specific artistic practices, that sometimes appealed to the general public. 5 According to Medalla, Zhang Daqian (1899-1983) had “a big exhibition in a wonderful gallery”, but the “millionaires who bought his works didn’t even know who he was!” It was image that counted: “He was very old, with a long beard. They thought, ‘what a wonderful-looking Chinese man!’” This superficial reception of 3

This does not include the exhibitions Li organised himself. These include Pavilions in the Parks (1968), Little Missenden Festival (1970) and Art Spectrum North (1972). 5 For example, the Grosvenor Gallery showed Zhang Daqian (1965), while the Redfern Gallery showed Zao Wou-ki 嵁䃉㤝 (1962-2013) and Cheong Soo Pieng 挦㱿屻 (b. 1917-83) (1962). 4

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Chinese artists could extend to art critics. As David Clarke (2002) points out, while critics have played an active role in introducing Asian art to a wider audience, in lacking the richly contextual knowledge required to do so, they often present interpretations in a historical vacuum. In response to the Lisson’s “3 + 1” show, the Chineseness of Li, Ho Kan 暵∃ (b. 1932) and Hsiao Chin garnered attention in the British press: newspapers remarked that despite hailing from Italy, only Pia Pizzo was Italian—“the other three, surprisingly are Chinese” and have “chosen exile in Milan” (Coutts-Smith 1966, 10). This interest, however, emerged from a mistaken elision of Taiwan and China and historically salient associations between Chineseness and Communism during this period. Despite noting that Li and his friends, were “founder members of Ton Fan, inaugurated in Taipei”, in other words, Nationalist Taiwan, the reviewer erroneously concludes: “They are therefore doubly interesting in that they are among the first truly abstract painters to work in Communist China” (Ibid.). This elision of China and Taiwan not only reveals a lack of knowledge about East Asian politics and geographies, but also suggests that the attention to the artists’ “origins” emerged less from an interest in their artistic trajectories or the art worlds they had come from, than from the frisson generated by the mention of Communism. At the level of artistic discourses, Li’s work was often discussed in terms of “East-West” artistic exchanges, which raises crucial questions of power in the reception of art. That Li appropriated Western art trends is unremarkable—the convoluted process of cultural borrowings across the globe has, as Mitter (2005, 28) argues, been, “a fact of world art history or cultural transmission right from ancient times”. What is key is how these borrowings are judged. As many have suggested, in a colonial situation, “if you imitate a style perfectly, you are really aping or mimicking a western form”, yet “if you are unable to do that, you become second-rate” (Ibid.). Though China’s relations with the West were only semi-colonial, such judgements have also been applied to Chinese artists. This imitation paradigm, however, precludes recognition “that borrowed elements are given local or culturally-specific meanings; that they are changed, reconfigured, assimilated and even subverted in the process” (Clarke 2006, 77). Clarke (2006) points out, for example, that while European modernism emerged from a crisis in mimetic representation, an emphasis on the possibilities of the medium of paint had been commonplace for Chinese ink painters for centuries. The works exhibited in Li’s early exhibitions in London—paintings, reliefs in card and wood, and brass and metal-faced panels—were praised for their combination of “Chinese” and “Western” aesthetics. Yet only his

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inner circle compared his works to those of other Chinese artists thereby recognising differences among them, or transcended Eurocentric paradigms of judgement. Guy Brett, for example, felt that, although “there are many combinations of a Chinese tradition with Western abstraction”, Li’s were the “most exciting”. As he wrote, while synthesis usually emerged at a superficial level, Li’s work exceeded this: Nobody could have foreseen the synthesis of the concrete space of abstract art and the symbolic space of Chinese art that he has made, precisely because it is a personal perception of space and not an intellectual synthesis of styles (Brett 1967, 44).

Medalla also compared Li favourably to other Chinese artists working in Europe and America: while “very much more modern” than Zao Wou-Ki, he was “certainly very Chinese” unlike the “figurative and American” Dong Kingman 㚦㘗㔯 (1911-2000), and it was this combination that was “very beautiful”. The two also recognised that Li’s practice involved culturally specific reinterpretations and subversions of Western art. Brett (2000) points out that despite the visual similarities between Li’s abstraction and that of artists such as Piet Mondrian (1872-1944), Kazimir Malevich (1878-1935), Calderara or Fontana, Li introduced symbolism, which was rigorously excluded by the others. Medalla concurred: “his abstraction was not really based on Western concepts, it was based on Chinese symbolisms”—if not Li’s individual life story. In a box-set of ten prints, made in 1965, each engraving bears small white points embossed on a white background and appears completely abstract. Yet, an included annotation indicates that the work symbolically represents Li’s autobiography, in terms of his changing spatial relations with his family. Many British-based art critics, however, were unable to recognise such reinterpretations or reconfigurations in Li’s work. In their criticism, some simply rehearsed Orientalist discourses in identifying in his works “flaws” that art critic Thomas Hess (1920-78) had claimed in 1951 “so often mar Oriental painting”—“understatement to the point of preciosity and restraint to the degree where statement is innocuous” (Abe 2006, 57). Hughes (1966), for example, declared that “the defect” of Li’s reliefs was that “they lack plasticity: they are seductive, but so timid and over-refined that space never becomes an issue”. Others were able to discern central features of Li’s artistic language and identify the hybridity of his works. However, in absence of a discourse that allowed modernity to exist alongside Chineseness, in attempting to explain their value, they too resorted to Orientalist narratives of Chinese art. In

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noting the spiritual qualities of Li’s art, for example, one critic suggested that while Li’s works maintained a “purity and refinement reminiscent of some New York ‘Nart’ artists”, his “surface has not become total object” as he humanises it with a minute mark, a “vitalising accent” (Coutts-Smith 1966, 10). Yet, because of this, Li was likened to “the classical Japanese potter who deliberately mars a perfect vase by a contrived crack” (Ibid.). While the purity and refinement of Li’s work is located in the modern West, its spiritual element is located in a classical Oriental tradition. However, Li’s spirituality could not be so easily located. As Medalla dryly commented, “he didn’t go around singing mantras, pretending to be Daoist or Buddhist, it was a deeper spirituality”. Others appreciated Li’s art for its power to effect a displacement of being—the space and freedom that Li sought. While one critic simply suggested that his work “carries us far beyond an experimental gallery’s walls into realms where the mind is purged of all extraneous thought, a wonderful and lasting experience” (Williams 1966), others cast this in overtly Orientalised terms: One feels oneself in some temple where thought is not an aggressive movement but a rarefied displacement of being […] The whole exhibition […] gives us a chance to withdraw ourselves for a space from the world where Western Time goes so fast (Blakeston 1966).

Li’s works provided refuge from the Western world—located in a temple, i.e. Oriental culture; it is defined as being outside Western time and space. For others, it was Li’s refusal to chase art fashions that was refreshing, at a time when the “internationalism of art” simply meant that “a fashion in painting likely to sell will be known from Chelsea to Sao Paulo, Vienna and New York in no time” (Laws 1966, 11). Against the “stink” of this “culture of international hotels and mighty liners”, critics were impressed that Li “had not been bothering with recent Italian aesthetics or the doctrine according to Mondrian as understood in Rome, St Ives or Los Angeles”, but had “stuck to the world that he can really know with his hands and feet and local education” (Ibid.). This world, however, was described as one of “the delicacy, love for space and unvitiated material of some traditional Chinese art” (Ibid.). Others noted that Li’s work is “what art does when it does not do precisely what it is supposed to do according to the functions assigned to the different art movements which have a theoretical or ideological basis” (Reichardt 1969, 227). Yet the idea of intuitive or anti-theoretical art practice itself arguably constitutes a part of Orientalist discourse (Abe 2006). While the recourse to Orientalised discourses of Chineseness in the

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reception of Li’s works seems peculiar given the recognition of the uniqueness of his practice, this emerged in response to the recognisably “Chinese” elements of his early reliefs and paintings. With the radical departures of Li’s new experiments, as these motifs appeared to vanish, he attracted less press. In the responses that did emerge however, critics no longer discussed his works in terms of cultural orientation, or provided analyses informed by long-held assumptions about Chineseness.

The Imperceptibility of Chineseness In 1968, The Times declared: “The word ‘multiple’ is making some little stir in the English artworld” (Lucie-Smith 1968, 11). As the article suggested, the emergence of inexpensive mass-produced artworks challenged long-held understandings of art, which had tied artist to work through the process of making, and raised controversial questions over the authenticity, uniqueness, quality and value of works of art. Such debates were not entirely new, as artists elsewhere in Europe and the US had already produced multiples. In Britain, however, with the work Cosmagnetic Multiple (1968), Li Yuan-chia was at the centre of this stir, lauded as having “designed one of the first ‘multiples’ to be made in this country” (Overy 1969, 3). Despite this, it appears it was in fact Nicholas Logsdail (b. 1945), Director of the Lisson Gallery, who proposed the name Cosmagnetic Multiple for Li’s work, and Li just “probably went along” with it. Devising a series of 2 x 3 ft steel panels, painted red, gold, black or white, each with four moveable magnetised points for the viewer to play with, and priced at £9 each, Li materialised his belief that the appreciation of art should not be dependent on monetary value, but involve the spectator through the freedom of play. In this he was successful. With these “fascinating […] aesthetic toys”, he was cited as “offering to pull art out of [the] golden rut of unaffordability” (Lynton 1968, 6). Praised as “beyond preciousness and untouchability”, critics saw that “games, emotional or aesthetic can be described on them with limitless permutations” (“Li Yuan-Chia” 1968). However, the fundamental premise of the multiple—its mass production via technological means—sat uneasily with Li. In the following year, when he exhibited Mathematics (Fig. 11-3), a series of circular magnetic discs, 4ft in diameter, floating and rotating in space, and each with attachable, moveable points, Logsdail (1969) described the works as an extension of the multiples concept, but acknowledged,

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the only thing the works really have in common with multiples is that they are sold at a ‘multiples’ price. In fact they are all originals: each geometric form has an undefined size, a different finish, a changing tactile quality and possibly a different colour […] each piece is different.

Once again, Li had turned a burgeoning artistic concept on its head. His “extension” of the multiples concept in fact entailed subverting its defining principle, and he wanted this to be known. As he emphasised in the exhibition catalogue, “It is very important for you to understand that all these new works have been completely finished by my own hands” (Li, 1969). It was around this time that Li also developed the notion of Toyart, which meant his works, like toys, were “very simple”, but had “many possibilities” and were “good for everyone, from children to old men (women)” (Li 1968). Again, the spectator’s physical participation was key and Li wanted to be recognised for this departure from artistic convention: “I would like to ask you one question: have you seen in any gallery or museum an artist’s work that you can touch or play with?” (Ibid.) He began expanding this idea by creating a series of “total environment shows”, so that “people can walk round inside it and become a part of it—not just look at something on a wall” (Hutton 1971). Using “cheap and easy-to-come-by, things and shapes and colours, in a poetic way”, Li wanted to encourage people, “to find art everywhere, to make it themselves, to see it at home or in the streets” (Reichardt 1969, 227). This was demonstrated in the environment he created at the Little Missenden Village Festival in 1970, from polythene sheets, coloured paper birds and discs, lit up from below (Fig. 11-4). The work fascinated children so much that Li spent most of his time showing them how to make paper birds. His aim was to dissolve the market value of art, indeed, the boundaries between art and life, to enable others to recognise that “Art isn’t just a painting on the wall that costs £10,000” (Hutton 1971). In contrast to the reception of his earlier works, reviews of Li’s participatory experiments in multiples, toy-art and environments rarely acknowledged his Chineseness or interpreted his practice in terms of Oriental traditions. Critics focused instead on the formal qualities of his work, referring to the “universality” of his artistic language. While this could be viewed as a positive shift, indicating an end to the “burden of representation” (Mercer 1994, 233), it in fact merely allowed critics to appropriate Li into a discourse that continued to characterise emerging avant-garde art trends as European and American. Such interpretations failed to engage with the specific intentions and subversions of Li’s works or acknowledge that modern art forms could be developed by an artist

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whose practice had been shaped by moving through distinctive local conditions of modernity in China, Taiwan and Europe. Soon after this period, Li was to make the final move of this life—from London to Banks, a rural village in Cumbria, where he set up the LYC Art Museum and Gallery. This entailed spending almost a year renovating an old dilapidated farmhouse, and undertaking most of the building, plumbing and electricity single-handedly. After it opened in 1972, Li held over 330 exhibitions, concerts and poetry readings for local, national and international artists, poets and musicians, including now well-known figures such as Andy Goldsworthy (b. 1956), David Nash (b. 1945), Bill Woodrow (b. 1948), dom sylvester houédard, Michael Longley (b. 1939) and Frances Horowitz (1938-83). While reportedly attracting some 30,000 visitors a year, as much as an art gallery or museum, the LYC is remembered as “community space” of artistic practice and belonging (Fig. 11-5). As Li had typed in his fragmented English, he wanted to: Bring people all link together throughout the world come here to Bankside LYC Museum to learn it to teach it to make real good friends and to feel like a home a real warmthly house (Cited Brett 2000, 46).

To do so, he wanted to: encourage EVERYONE, not only to become aware of and to begin to appreciate all new forms of art, but also to begin to express themselves and to develop their own natural talents, in fact to make art a part of their everyday lives rather than just something in a museum or gallery (Li 1977b).

While this period in Li’s life is often described as a moment when he stopped making work, the LYC can be seen as an extension of Li’s participatory and total environment works. The fact that Li captured its making on film highlights its performative significance, and it can be aligned with several unofficial, artist-run projects in London that had begun to emerge, including David Medalla’s Exploding Galaxy, in which a group of artists lived and worked together, staging dance dramas in public spaces, and in which Li participated. Yet, it was also an expression of his “self”—the “LYC is me”, as Li would say (Brett 2000, 14). Only by adopting a translocal perspective of his journey does such an interpretation come to light.

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Chineseness Re-visited: Views from Taipei While most art critics in Britain interpreted Li’s works either in Orientalist terms or subsumed him into western art discourses, the artists and critics I spoke to in Taiwan offered alternative interpretations. Like those in Britain they often stressed Li’s Chineseness but interpreted it differently. While claiming that Li “belongs to Chinese art” and emphasising that despite living in Britain, his works had the “logic” and “sensibility” of a Chinese artist and emerged from an engagement with Chinese philosophy, participants stressed that Li’s practice reconfigured and subverted Western art forms. My experience in listening to their narratives was similar to that of Michael Sullivan (1997, 199), who, among artists in 1970s Hong Kong, heard: the dynamic confrontation of areas of pure colour in Hard-Edge painting interpreted as an expression of the interaction of opposites enshrined in the yang-yin concept, and kinetic art as an expression of the state of eternal flux that both Buddhists and Taoists see in the natural world.

Taiwan-based participants suggested that these were precisely the specific conceptions active in Li’s works, from his earliest monochromes to his later performative and participatory experiments. Artist Chu Wei Bor 㛙䁢䘥 (b. 1929) emphasised a conceptual difference for Eastern and Western artists in the use of black and white, by referring to their interdependence in yin-yang, rather than polarity in Western thought. He also suggested that Li’s proposed art performance for his All and Nothing Show (1967) —drawing a frame in the air with his finger—emerged not from Western concepts of performance art but mediations on Chan Buddhism: He used Ch’an to think what art really is. He took ideas from nature, pointed to a view, using his finger to draw a frame. You can’t touch it but at that moment you can see the artist’s work. And you can still talk about it now.

Certainly, when Li created an environment, simulating stars by hanging discs in the air and placing masses of crumpled white tissue paper on the floor to “give the feeling of walking on clouds”, he described it in Daoist terms: “Everything will be very gentle, flowing smoothly, changing all the time” (Hutton 1971). In the Golden Moon Show catalogue, Li (1969)6 also reiterated: 6

This catalogue is unpaginated, as are the artist catalogues that Li produced himself at Boothby and the LYC.

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Chapter Eleven I express in my art ideas which are based upon the religion and philosophy of the Chinese and the spirit of Western art. These influences combined, form the basis of my art—simplicity, humanity, sensibility and symbolism.

Despite this statement, Li in fact cared little about the politics of the reception of art. He preferred to leave interpretations of his work to the viewer, “as if”, as Sawyer (2003, 71) suggests, “no one, not even himself, was entitled to have the last word”. As Li (1977b) once wrote: You can look at my work symbolically you can think of it conceptually you can play with it as a kind of toy or game or you can appreciate it for its own beauty.

Addressing his audience in writings, Li proposed that art could be aimed at “your eyes, your sense of rhythm, your mind” or the “way it feels to your hands” and that in some works “you might find all these aspects” (Li, n.d.). Giving little weight to art historical discourses or the politics of cross-cultural translation, Li felt that, “It is not necessary to understand to appreciate” (Ibid.). The value of art resided rather in the personal feelings it aroused in the viewer: To respond to a painting or sculpture needs no knowledge, only a little feeling […] the key to each work of art lies inside you—and all the works in the world cannot be a substitute for your response (Ibid.).

Li’s work was an intimate act of communication to “you”, whoever “you” were. But, as Medalla suggested, in attempting to open art to as many people as possible, Li was not a populist either: his work “needed the effort of someone coming across to his art to really meditate and think what he’s trying to do”. As Brett (2000, 12) suggests, “Li dared to be simple”, but knew that, “The simpler a thing is, the more likely it is to be misinterpreted or even dismissed” (Li 1977a). It was a risk not only worth taking, but one that had to be taken. As I argue, Li’s art practice was a means of continually enacting the self, of identity in the making. As he said, “I always want my works of art to be me” (Ibid.). In the following sections therefore, I discuss Li’s artistic development prior to arrival in Europe, tracing his individual trajectory through the specific local political, economic and artistic conditions of 1950s Taipei and to his natal village in Cha Dong.

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Becoming an Artist in Taipei Far from emerging out of Communist China, as British art critics assumed, Li’s art practice in fact evolved specifically under the conditions of fleeing China as the Communists gained power in the civil war in 1949 and arriving as a refugee in Taiwan, which had been under Chinese rule since 1945. Under Nationalist martial law, “the White Terror” period ensued, marked by material scarcity and political fear. It was this experience that led Li, like other Ton Fan members, to art. For these young men, arriving in Taipei alone and penniless, in some cases at the age of only 15 or 16 years old, art became a form of salvation, liberating them from their experiences of separation from their homes and families and from the repressive conditions of Taiwan. As Li later wrote, “Only through art could I find the means to express my own inner freedom and create my own beautiful world” (Li 1977a). However, in 1950s Taiwan, cultural activity was either repressed or used to bolster political and militarisation efforts, and when Li and his friends entered Taipei Teachers College to train as art teachers, they encountered a strictly conservative education. Nonetheless, while British art critics of the 1960s often located Li’s works within a classical Chinese tradition, outside Western time and space, the art education that Li received in 1950s Taipei already had an international trajectory. Art in Taiwan was shaped by diplomatic links with Europe and the US, as well as by successive colonial rule, by artists from Japan and then China, who worked in styles that emerged from centuries’ long engagement with Western art. Thus, the conservatism of Li’s college was confined to teaching not classical Chinese traditions, but strictly realist techniques. Dissatisfied with this education, the young students sought artistic guidance under Li Chun Shen 㛶ẚ䓇 (1912-84), an independent art teacher, today recognised as “the father of modern art in Taiwan”. It was through him that the Ton Fan friends soaked up stories of a modern art history built upon the travel of artists, ideas and cultures across national boundaries. They learnt of Li Chun Shen’s own journey during the 1930s, when he left the conservative fine art schools in China to train in Japan with the painter and printmaker Foujita Tsuguharu 喌䓘▋㱣 (1886-1968). They heard stories of how Foujita, in turn, had left a rigid art education in Japan in 1913 to travel to Paris, the international nexus for avant-garde art. There, Foujita became associated with the École de Paris, “all foreign artists”, as Hsiao pointed out—“Picasso had Spanish identity, Kisling had Polish identity, Pascin had some Bulgarian identity”. Foujita was the only one with an East Asian identity. In the minds of these young students, he achieved a near mythic status: “He was the first Oriental artist who established himself

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in the West as an Oriental artist. He was the first one.” The message of his example was clear: “You have to go to the world, but you have to have your own identity”. From the early 1950s, then, the key question for Li and his friends was, as Hsiao put it, “how to use knowledge from Western countries without depending on Western culture as the foundation”. While this question was pertinent among Li’s postcolonial contemporaries in London, Clarke (2006, 77) argues that generally, the response to modern art among Chinese artists has not resulted in the same kind of “abjection” found in other cross-cultural encounters. Certainly, Li Chun Shen would teach his students: Modern art has progressed towards a new state that is “anti-Western tradition” [and] approaches the high level of imagination and creativity of “the Chinese tradition” (Hsiao 1991a, 89).

In suggesting that with modernism, art was finally reaching the high level of artistry inherent in the Chinese tradition, Li Chun Shen turned Western hierarchies of culture belly up. It was the West that was catching up with the East. Such a perspective filtered down to Li and his friends. When, in 1956, they decided to form an avant-garde art group, they chose the name Ton Fan (literally “Eastern”) for its connotations that “the sun rises in the East, and with it, new life”. Translating their catalogues into English, they positioned themselves as an international art group. Nonetheless, their continued use of the transliteration “Ton Fan” (opposed to its English translation) was an act of declaring difference.7 The engagement of Li and his friends in Western art trends were shaped less by a postcolonial abjection than by a sense of a Chinese modernity, and a concomitant desire “to emphasise and claim emergent power, equality and mutual respect on the global stage” (Ong 1999, 35). However, while teaching his students that “spiritually”, a modern Chinese art had to retain “Eastern qualities” (Hsiao 1991b, 30), Li Chun Shen also emphasised the importance of individuality: We want to develop each person’s own creative instincts, have independent creative expression, establish an individual painting language (Hsiao 1991b, 30). 7

This contrasted their philosophy to that of the “Fifth Moon”, the other key modern art group in Taiwan at that time, who used an English name to emphasise their allegiance with the West. While some of Ton Fan’s early catalogues bore the translated name “Oriental” or “Eastern”, Hsiao Chin emphasised that these were mistakes made by translators, and subsequently avoided.

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Each student was thus faced with bringing to his work his own interpretations of Chineseness, his individual “personality” and “artistic language”.8 A comparison of the works by the eight original members of Ton Fan shows the extraordinary diversity with which the artists responded. While Li was inspired by Wassily Kandinsky (1866-1944) as well as the philosophy of Laozi, calligraphy, porcelain and ancient cave paintings (Li 1977a); others sought inspiration variously in Surrealism, Buddhist imagery, folk art and culturally specific customs and practices (Hsiao 1991b). Despite these differences, Ton Fan members shared an interest in abstraction, and their first show in 1956 created a huge political furore as one of the first abstract art exhibitions in Taiwan. As a result of this history, Ton Fan is now recognised as among the first Chinese art group to produce abstract work, and Li was the second in the group to do so.9 Clarke (2006, 77) has argued that in the 1960s Abstract Expressionism appealed to Chinese artists in Taiwan and Hong Kong for three main reasons: it signified modernity; employed a familiar language of brushwork; and was recognised as having been influenced by Chinese and Japanese art and thought. While his analysis certainly pertains to Ton Fan members almost a decade earlier, Li’s abstraction also emerged from his particular artistic language. Invoking Vincent van Gogh (1853-90), Hsiao Chin explained: Academically speaking, he wasn’t a good painter, he didn’t know how to draw but because of this, he was more original. Li Yuan-chia was a little bit like that.

Certainly, at Taipei Teacher’s College, where teachers stressed technical accuracy, Li’s works had his “professors shaking their heads” (Lu 1993, 52). Disliking “photo-images”, Li wanted instead to “look at things as a child would—simply; to get closer to nature” and show “the essence of a thing” (Li, n.d.), “what the human eye cannot see: the purity and simplicity, the beauty and wonder of the world” (Li 1977b). His abstraction arose not from an imitation of Western art, but from his own artistic language and ways of seeing. Thus far, I have considered Li’s practice as rooted within specific local political and artistic contexts, though, always framed by the global and 8

With one exception, all of Li Chun Shen’s first students were young men. According to Li’s own account, he began making abstract art in 1952. Hsiao Chin, however, remembered that Chen Daoming 昛忻㖶 (b. 1933), who later abandoned art as a career, was the first of the Ton Fan members to create abstract pieces in 1953, with Li starting about a year later in 1954.

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individualised. Yet, the specific material conditions of 1950s Taipei also shaped the Ton Fan group’s engagement with modern art. Partha Mitter (2005, 26) has shown how the circulation of Cubism in reproduction impacted upon its reinterpretation in India. This recognition of the material processes of “borrowings” enables a re-conceptualisation of “influence” that moves beyond the imitation paradigm. In Li’s case, his first encounters with modern art had unfolded during Li Chun Shen’s Sunday teahouse meetings. In a period marked by material scarcity, the young art students had limited art resources—“no library, no magazines, nothing!” beyond some very old Japanese magazines with photos so small that “you couldn’t even see them!”, as Hsiao Chin told me.10 Without visual material, they depended on their teacher’s verbal descriptions. As he recalled further: He described all the kinds of modern or abstract painting he saw in Japan by Western artists. He just described, you know, and we tried to figure out how it was with Klee or Miro, or Braque, or Kandinsky and tried with our fantasies to make experiments based on each of our stories.

As this suggests, Li’s encounter with modern art was “very conceptual!”, formed through a convoluted process of translation from original to reproduction, from visual experience to verbal description and from Europe via Japan in the 1930s to a Chinese context of interpretation in 1950s Taiwan. This mode of engagement with art trends in Europe continued until Li left Taipei in the 1960s, later through Hsiao Chin’s letters from Europe. The basic material conditions in Taipei also affected their art practice. In make-shift studios, the Ton Fan group fashioned art materials from sundry resources, substituting emulsion paint or lacquer for oils, carving sugarcane wood and using rice sacks or old parachutes stretched over discarded timber as canvas. With no money to pay models, the city became their subject as they walked around the streets, sketching people waiting at bus stations, carrying babies or laden with baskets of vegetables and live chickens, slumped fast asleep on benches at railways, or washing clothes in a stream. Li’s later experimentation in London with everyday “cheap and easy-to-come-by” materials, and his dissolution between the spaces of the 10 Due to diplomatic links with the US, contemporary international movements in art, particularly the post-war New York School, were known in Taiwan, though perhaps did not filter down to the young students. As Hsia et al. (2000, 21) point out, “Only those who understood Japanese could read Japanese art collections and information about new art trends; only those who understood English could browse through English art magazines in the library of the American News Bureau. There was hardly any information in Chinese”.

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art gallery and the world outside had earlier roots in his artistic practice in Taipei. Indeed, the disarticulation of art and monetary value in Li’s work in Britain also had earlier precedents. As Chu recalled, when participating in the first National Chinese Art Show in Taiwan in 1956, Li exhibited a very abstract ink painting. As one of the earliest shows to include abstract works, “no one could understand the work, or what he was trying to do”. Despite this, Li, an unknown art student, priced his work at ten times the amount asked by well-established painters. Recalling the shocked audience response, Chu laughed, “The work was very free, very simple, yet so expensive!” It was a conceptual gesture.11 When I asked Hsiao whether the artists hoped to sell their works, he laughed, “Nobody would sell. We threw all the paintings away—we had no place to keep them!” Far from reviving a classical Chinese tradition, or merely imitating Western avant-garde trends, Li’s creative vision in London and Cumbria in the 1960s and 1970s had earlier precedents in his practices as an artist in Taipei. Yet, his creative genesis had an even longer history. For if Li and his friends first turned to art as a form of salvation on arrival to Taipei, this was only one of several enforced migrations that Li had experienced in his young life. In one of his self-made catalogues, Water+Colour=56/7=Li Yuan-Chia (1977), Li traces his artistic beginnings back to the moment he left his natal village at the age of eight.

“I Arrived on this Beautiful Earth” (Li 1977a) Throughout my fieldwork, in attempting to understand Li’s decision to set up an avant-garde gallery in such a “remote spot” as Banks in rural Cumbria, Li’s friends in Britain always joked that the nearby Hadrian’s Wall reminded him of the Great Wall of China. Yet, home, for Li, was not nation, but, as he wrote, “Kwangsi [Guangxi], South China”, where he “arrived on this beautiful earth” (Li 1977a). Nonetheless, parallels between his natal village of Cha Dong and Banks are remarkable. After Li moved to Cumbria in 1968, his poems expressed a joyful sense of self-rediscovery through a familiar natural landscape: I know my whole heart with me come to the country […]/I walk/I breath/From this tree to other trees/From this mountain to other mountains

11 Many participants in Taiwan hailed Li Yuan-chia as the first Chinese conceptual artist.

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Li’s “vivid sense of the cosmos, of the universe”, which infused all of his works, emerged from his childhood in Cha Dong, Guangxi, and was rediscovered in Banks. Both Banks and Cha Dong share elemental “otherworldly” mountainous landscapes for which the wider regions of Cumbria and Guangxi have become internationally renowned sites of beauty and centres of tourism. Yet, Li’s cosmic sense was “as much the dirt beneath our feet as […] interplanetary space” (Sawyer 2003, 72). At some distance from the key scenic spots of Guilin and the Lake District respectively, both areas are also known for their harsh conditions of survival. Isolated from the wider economy and subject to extreme weather conditions, they have also lacked infrastructure, with electricity only available throughout the Banks in the 1950s and Cha Dong in the 1980s, and roads only built to the latter in 2001. In current day Cha Dong, subsistence levels remain low, but this could not compare to the harshness of Li’s childhood in the 1930s. As his brothers recalled: We didn’t play games; we worked. In the morning, there was school and in the afternoon, we took care of the water buffalo, while our mother and father took on the hard work. It was a difficult life. The family had no land but many children. Some people had land and got enough rice, but eighty per cent of the village were poor. We children would help the village landlord to bring home a little money. In the growing season, we would help to plant the rice, in the harvesting season, we would help to crop the rice, and finally we would help by grinding rice. Each child took on a part-time job to help the family.

As in the LYC Museum and Art Gallery, life in Cha Dong revolved around ritual communal physical activity undertaken in impoverished conditions, but nonetheless providing participants a sense of belonging. As Li’s brothers built a new house from scratch and harvested sacks of rice before me, it seemed unremarkable that Li’s artworks were “all about physical effort, hopes and aspirations” (Sawyer 2003, 72). The intense labour Li put into building, maintaining and expanding the LYC Gallery almost single-handedly—and the idea that such a project was even conceivable —were rooted in the basic material conditions of his early life in Cha Dong. Yet, this was also a place where houses were always open, people dropped 12 Quotations from Li’s unpublished writings are cited from sources held in the Li Yuan-Chia Archive, The John Rylands Library, University of Manchester, UK.

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by, and children roamed freely even as they worked. The strong sense of communal life cannot be idealised: not only was it enforced by state policies, but also internal disputes and hierarchies of power are palpable.13 Nonetheless, for a child of eight to leave this home and enter a “highly disciplined institutional life” (Li 1977a) in a series of orphanages was to lose what Li spent the rest of his life searching for: “space and freedom” (Ibid.). For, as one of the cleverest children in the village, Li was given the rare opportunity to enter a home for deprived or orphaned children. In doing so, he was the first in his family to leave the land they had lived and worked on for twenty-two generations. With the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War (1937-45) and the arrival of the Japanese army in Guangxi, Li’s orphanage fled on foot as they moved from place to place for over a year in a journey of thousands of miles. After the war ended, Li was again moved from orphanage after orphanage, spending “Whatever spare time I had […] reading books on construction, architecture, art, [etc], doing drawings and making all kinds of things” (Ibid.). An old schoolmate of Li recalled: Li was very sad at his new home and cried a lot. He always wanted to go home but never did. His two favourite pastimes were carving and playing with marbles that he made himself by slowly working pebbles into spheres.

The hand-made element of Li’s work, his later concept of the cosmic point and of toy-art, his commitment to introducing art to children and his belief in the role of art in helping one to “express an inner freedom” and “create a beautiful world” had a basis in these earlier life experiences. All these aspects became increasingly visible in his artistic practice in London, and arguably culminated in the LYC Museum and Art Gallery in Cumbria. After ten years, however, Li decided to close the LYC. Despite creating a space of freedom and belonging for so many, Li remained isolated, and, under pressure from tax-inspectors, local planners and arts committees, “longed to be free—travel again and not to be bound to time and place—to stones and buildings” (Brett and Sawyer 2000, 50). This desire became stronger when in the late 1980s, China began opening up its borders. Thousands of people outside China were finally able to contact their families again, including Li—after forty-odd years of separation. Yet, by that time embroiled in legal battles over the LYC building, Li was unable to leave Britain to visit them. It was then that Li began telling friends that it was “a stupid idea” for a man to live in a country other than his own. From 13 The village used to run on a collective basis where families turned in their rice crops to village heads for redistribution.

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once producing abstract works that expressed a cosmic sense of space and freedom, Li began producing hand-coloured photographic self-portraits of a man desolate, angry and trapped (Fig. 11-6). In the end, it was not only his artworks that were bounded by the borders of nation.

Conclusion Due to his translocal journey from Cha Dong in the 1930s, Taipei in the 1950s, Bologna and London in the early 1960s and Banks in Cumbria from 1968 onwards, Li Yuan-chia’s art practice has been fragmented across national art histories and the complexity of his works continually shrouded under the spectre of Orientalism and nation. In 1960s Britain, the reception of his works usually either located him within a fixed classical Chinese or Oriental tradition or appropriated him into purportedly Western modern art trends. Such interpretations thus failed to recognise the extent to which his practice emerged from a series of local engagements with modern art in Bologna and London in the 1960s, and in Taipei in the 1950s, as he crossed paths with artists and artworks from all over the world. In doing so, they were also unable to account for the locally and culturally specific ways in which Li appropriated modern art forms, and reconfigured or subverted them in the process. By relocating Li’s practice within his translocal journey, I have shown that key features of his work in London and Cumbria revived in new ways certain practices and conceptions of art and culture rooted in the specific political, economic and artistic conditions of his earlier life. Li’s Taipei days vividly bring to light the complexity of the global traffic in art, showing how modern art produced in Europe, travelled into Taiwan, via Japan in the 1930s or directly in the 1950s, though largely through a verbal, rather than material, process of circulation. These art forms, ideas and languages were translated conceptually via Chinese philosophical and artistic discourses that inverted Western hierarchies, such that the “West” was perceived to be finally catching up with the “East”. Despite the value of postcolonial approaches in understanding Li’s location as an artist in Eurocentric discourses, existing histories of black diaspora art in Britain have yet to account adequately for differences in local engagements with modern art across the globe, and which, in Li’s case unfolded amid specific discourses in 1950s Taiwan, under Chinese and not European colonial rule. Nonetheless, as I have argued, Li’s works cannot be limited by recourse to nationalist discourses of Chineseness either. Shaped by the political repression and material scarcity of martial law Taipei, his works were also characterised by a distinctive artistic language and vision that grew out of

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his earlier life experiences. By tracing Li’s artistic genesis to Cha Dong in the 1930s, and the moment he was forced to leave his natal village, I have shown that not only artistic but also broader cultural practices and life-ways travelled in his work, via Taipei, Bologna, London, and ultimately into Banks in Cumbria in the last decades of the twentieth century. Spanning multiple localities, Li Yuan-chia’s creative practice vividly demonstrates the necessity of reconfiguring modern art histories to include complex translocal crossings and modernisms that continue to be obscured by Eurocentric and nation-state discourses.

Work Cited Abe, S. 2006. “To Avoid the Inscrutable: Abstract Expressionism and the ‘Oriental Mode’.” In Discrepant Abstraction, edited by K. Mercer, 52-73. Cambridge, Mass. and London: Iniva and MIT Press. Araeen, R. 1989. The Other Story: Afro-Asian Artists in Post-War Britain. London: Hayward Gallery. Blakeston, O. 1966. What’s on in London, April 22. —. 1968. “Around Some of the New Shows with Oswell Blakeston.” What’s on in London, February 16. Brett, G. 1967. “1+1=0: The Painting of Li Yuan-chia.” Studio International, 174 (July): 44-45. —. 2000. “Space—Life—Time.” In Li Yuan-chia: Tell Me What is Not Yet Said, edited by G. Brett and N. Sawyer, 10-105. London: Iniva. Brett, G., and N. Sawyer. 2000. Li Yuan-chia: Tell Me What is Not Yet Said. London: Iniva. Clarke, D. 2002. “Contemporary Asian Art and its Western Reception.” Third Text 16 (3): 237-42. —. 2006. “Abstraction and Modern Chinese Art.” In Discrepant Abstraction, edited by K. Mercer, 74-93. Cambridge, Mass. and London: Iniva and MIT Press. Coutts-Smith, K. 1966. “Review of 3+1: Hsiao Chin, Ho Kan, Li Yuan-chia, Pia Pizzo, Signals Gallery, London.” Art and Artists 1 (1) (April): 6-10. Gao, M., ed. 1998. Inside Out: New Chinese Art. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hall, S. 2006a. “Black Diaspora Artists in Britain: Three ‘Moments’ in Post-war History.” History Workshop Journal 61 (1): 1-24. —. 2006b. “Who Needs Identity?” In Questions of Cultural Identity, edited by Stuart Hall and Paul du Gay, 1-17. London: Sage. Hsia, Y., S. C. Lee et al. 2000. “Hand-down of Taiwan Modern Art.” In The

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15th Asian International Art Exhibition Research Monograph 䫔⋩Ḽ⯮ Ṇ㳚⚳晃伶⯽䞼䨞⮰廗, edited by Yeh Chia-hsiung 叱Ἓ晬, 21-53. Tainan: Tainan County Cultural Affairs Bureau. Hsiao, C. R. 唕䑲䐆. 1989. “Ḽ㚰冯㜙㕡ġ İġ ᷕ⚳伶埻䎦ẋ⊾忳≽⛐㇘⼴ 冢 䀋 ᷳ 䘤 ⯽ (1945-1970)” [Fifth Moon and Ton Fan: The Modernisation Movement in Chinese Art in Post-war Taiwan (1945-1970)]. Taipei: Dong Da. —. 1991a. “The Last Work and Thought of Li Chun-Shan and the Meaning of His Life as a ‘Recluse.’” In Li Chun Shan, 1912-1984, 73-99. Taichung: Boya Publishing Co. —. 1991b. “Li Chun Shan: His Early Life in Taiwan (1949-1956)”. In Li Chun Shan, 1912-1984, 22-41. Taichung: Boya Publishing Co. Hughes, R. 1966. “Eastern Windows.” The Sunday Times, April 17. Hutton, A. 1971. “Things to Wear, Jump On, Touch and Explore”, unknown newspaper clipping, Li Yuan-chia Archive, The John Rylands Library, University of Manchester, UK. Laws, F. 1966. “Review: Li Yuan Chia Exhibition at Signals.” The Guardian, May 6: 11. “Li Yuan-Chia: Four Multiple Cosmagnetics.” 1968. Courtauld Institute: Review and Opinion, Li Yuan-chia Archive, The John Rylands Library, University of Manchester, UK. Li, Y.-c 㛶⃫Ἓ. n.d. “What do I say?” LYC Museum and Art Gallery Catalogue. Brampton: LYC Museum and Art Gallery. —. 1968. Li Yuan-chia: Boothby Studio Exhibition. Brampton: Li Yuan Chia. —. c. 1968. Unpublished Poem. Li Yuan-chia Archive, The John Rylands Library, University of Manchester, UK. —. 1969. The Golden Moon Show. London: Lisson Gallery. —. 1977a. Water+Colour=56/7. Brampton: LYC Museum and Art Gallery. —. 1977b. “General Policy and Future Plans.” LYC Diary. Brampton: LYC Museum and Art Gallery. Logsdail, N. 1969. “Introduction.” Golden Moon Show. London: Lisson Gallery. Lu, C.-F. 1993. “Modernism’s Experimental Period.” In Taiwan Art (1945–1993), edited by Lin Ping, 51-61. Taipei: Taipei Fine Arts Museum. Lucie-Smith, E. 1968. “Things Seen: Art May Have to Abandon the Rarity Standard.” The Times, February 27: 11. Lynton, N. 1968. “Art in Multiples.” The Guardian, February 17: 6. Marcus, G. E. and F. R. Myers. 1995. The Traffic in Culture: Refiguring Art and Anthropology. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press.

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Mercer, K. 1994. Welcome to the Jungle: New Positions in Black Cultural Studies. London: Routledge. Mitter, P. 2005. “Reflections on Modern Art and National Identity in Colonial India: An Interview.” In Cosmopolitan Modernisms, edited by K. Mercer, 24-49. Cambridge, Mass. and London: Iniva and MIT Press. Ong, A. 1999. Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transnationality. Durham: Duke University Press. Overy, P. 1969. “The Golden Moon Show.” The Financial Times, October 28: 3. —. 2001. “After a Long Silence: The Work of Li Yuan-chia.” Third Text 15 (55): 51-62. Reichardt, J. 1969. “UK Commentary: Li Yuan-Chia at Lisson.” Studio International 178 (917): 227-8. Sawyer, N. 2003. “Northern Review of the East.” The David Jones Journal 4 (1-2): 71-3. Sullivan, M. 1997. The Meeting of Eastern and Western Art. Berkeley: University of California Press. Williams, S. 1966. “Artists Don’t Belong in Pigeonholes: Sculptors Show Magic in London.” New York Herald Tribune, May 10.

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Fig. 11-1. Li Yuan-chia, untitled, late 1950s to early 1960s. Watercolour, approximately 29.7 x 42 cm. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation.

Fig. 11-2. Li Yuan-chia, untitled folding scroll, 1963. Ink on fabric mounted on card, 14 x 88 cm. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation.

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Fig. 11-3. Li Yuan-chia, Mathematics + 3 = 0, from the series Mathematics, 1969. Disc, magnetic points, 4ft diameter discs. Photograph by Li Yuan-chia. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation.

Fig. 11-4. Li Yuan-chia, untitled environment, Little Missenden Festival, Buckingham, 1970. Poems discs, plastic, paper, lights. Photograph by Li Yuan-chia. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation.

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Fig. 11-5. Photograph of LYC Art Room, late 1970s. Photograph by Li Yuan-chia. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation.

Fig. 11-6. Li Yuan-chia, untitled photograph, 1993. Hand-coloured black and white print, 24 x 30 cm. Courtesy of the Li Yuan-chia Foundation.

CHAPTER TWELVE THE RECEPTION OF XING DANWEN’S LENS-BASED ART ACROSS CULTURES SILVIA FOK

Lens-based art has become a significant genre in contemporary Chinese art. Chinese artists have started to use photography and video to document performance art since the mid-1980s. Nevertheless, they prefer to exhibit performance photography rather than video in both local and overseas exhibitions. This phenomenon has led to a vibrant development of photography in contemporary China, as revealed in the artistic trajectory of Xing Danwen (b. 1967), a female artist residing in Beijing since the late 1980s and being active in the early 1990s. This paper investigates how Xing Danwen developed a knowledge of Western photography in China and the West. The reception of her lens-based artworks in America, Europe and Asia will be analysed. I will also examine to what extent her culturally specific work has been appreciated and promoted by Western and Asian art critics.

Xing Danwen’s Encounter with the West Xing Danwen was trained in the Professional High School of the Xi’an Academy of Fine Arts from 1985 to 1989, then in the Traditional Folk Art Department of Central Academy of Fine Arts, Beijing from 1989 to 1992, and the School of Visual Arts, New York from 1998 to 2001. Her artistic trajectory is distinct in the way she has developed her visual vocabulary and perspective in handling different subjects at stake by means of photography. Xing has encountered the West by different means: seeing exhibitions of Western photography in Beijing, publishing photography in Germany, holding solo exhibition in Hamburg, studying in New York, and constantly travelling between China and the West.

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Taking up painting at the age of 15, Xing Danwen (pers. comm. 2011) had undergone a solid academic training in painting in Xi’an and Beijing, learning about the works by European masters. Her interest in photography was stimulated by a photo in a photography magazine.1 In 1989, she bought photography magazines and asked a friend to bring her a camera from Hong Kong. Photography became an auxiliary tool for her painting. Unfortunately, the first photographic trial taken during the demonstration in Beijing in 1989 proved to be unsuccessful (Gribb 1994, 4).2 In the late 1980s, Xing Danwen (pers. comm. 2011) visited the solo exhibition of the French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson’s (1908-2004) typical black-and-white street photography at the National Art Museum of China (Zhongguo meishuguan).3 She discovered and shared some common understanding with Cartier-Bresson’s photography. Xing (pers. comm. 2010 & 2011) admits that her visual language is very similar to that of Cartier-Bresson in depicting human existence and humanity. She felt as though she had known him before because they shared a similar perspective in depicting instant moments of life. The experience of seeing works of French photography in China strengthened Xing’s confidence in pursuing photography, albeit it was then not a well-established genre of art in China. This experience also encouraged her to depict life by adopting the concept and techniques of Western photography in the late 1980s. When she was studying in the Central Academy of Fine Arts, Xing Danwen travelled to remote sites, such as Shaanxi 昅大, Yunnan 暚⋿, Qinghai 曺㴟, Sichuan, Gansu 䓀倭 provinces and Tibet, taking black-and-white photographs. She developed her photography either in the darkrooms of the Central Academy of Fine Arts or that of her friend. Without supervision of any mentors, she studied photography on her own. According to Xing (pers. comm. 2011), 1

The magazine is either Sheying shijie 㓅⼙ᶾ䓴 or Dazhong sheying ⣏䛦㓅⼙. Xing Danwen mentions that it was a black-and-white full-page photo on the second page (the back of the cover). The image was taken by a wide angle of a camel with a background of desert. The camel was taking two-third of the picture in the front. Xing further clarifies that she was not interested in a photo competition or any competition. Instead she was attracted by the impact of photographic language. It was a new visual medium which carries a new visual language. Later she realised the charm of this visual language is how it talks about reality. 2 I cannot track down records of the photography Xing Danwen took during the demonstration in Beijing in 1989. 3 No record of this exhibition can be found in Art (Meishu 伶埻) and Fine Arts in China (Zhongguo meishubaoġ ᷕ⚳伶埻⟙). I have written to the National Art Museum of China to verify the actual date of this exhibition, but no reply has been received. Also see Yang 1995, 42-55; Flynn 2009, 60-4.

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only a few people engaged in the research of photography in China at that time (Also see Gribb 1994, 4-5). Xing Danwen explored different possibilities in photography without confining to any particular style and academic pursuit. In China, Xing Danwen (pers. comm. 2011) also saw the photography exhibition by the Brazilian documentary photographer and journalist, Sebastião Salgao (b. 1944).4 Selgao’s photography was exhibited at the then National Museum of Chinese History (now National Museum of China). Xing Danwen recalled her impression of how Sebastião Salgao captured the Serra Pelada gold mine and the miners labouring from a different perspective (Galeano and Ritchin 1990, 17).5 To Xing, the subject matter concerning the massive labouring scene is very heavy and powerful. Whilst Selgao’s photography demonstrated a macro approach in depicting a grand scene with numerous gold miners in Brazil, Xing Danwen (pers. comm. 2011) prefers Cartier-Bresson’s approach in depicting an instant moment of life. Thus, she took a micro approach when depicting individual coalminers in China. According to Anna Gripp (1994, 4), Xing Danwen together with three of her colleagues held a group exhibition at the Holiday Inn Hotel in Beijing in 1992.6 A German photographer from Hamburg, Gebhard Krewitt (b. 1957), happened to see this photography exhibition, thus the contact with Photo News, a photography magazine in Germany, has begun. The importance of this early group exhibition has generally been neglected by art critics, but the brief meeting with Gebhard Krewitt inevitably provided Xing Danwen an opportunity to gain exposure in Germany through publishing and exhibition in the mid-1990s. Xing (pers. comm. 2012) states that this exhibition was a four-person show, and only lasted for about a week because they had to pay for the rent. The other three artists’ works are very conventional, and Xing chose to show her early black-and-white photographs in the format of 16 x 12 inches. Many people including her friends attended the opening. Although Xing Danwen does not consider this group exhibition an important one in her career, her photographic work was introduced to both local and foreign audiences in China. Unlike other

4

However, no record of this exhibition can be found. It is also recorded that Sebastião Salgao held his solo exhibition Sahel—Man in Distress and Other Americas at the National Art Museum of China, Beijing and the Palace of Youth, Shanghai in 1989. 6 According to Xing Danwen, one of them is Chen Guangjun 昛⃱ὲ (b. 1962) who is the owner of the 798 Photo Gallery. The other two are Shao Hua 䳡厗 (b. 1954) and Lu Xiaoming 䚏㙱㖶 (b. 1964). 5

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contemporary Chinese photographers like Rong Rong 㥖㥖 (b. 1968) and Cao Feiġ 㚡㔸ġ (b. 1978), European audiences first learned about Xing Danwen’s lens-based art in her home country, but not in the West. Graduated from the Central Academy of Fine Arts in 1992, Xing Danwen was assigned a job in cultural marketing management in her hometown in Xi’an. With the help of her friend, in 1993 she got a new job that allowed her to reside in Beijing. She worked as a freelance designer, while teaching foreigners Chinese language and teaching children painting. In the same year, Xing Danwen married a German engineer who worked for Lufthansa Airlines in Beijing (Vine 2010, 84-93). In the autumn of 1993, she first travelled to Germany and France, experiencing European lifestyle, art and culture. Her first impression of Europe was “comfort” (Xing, pers. comm. 2010). Coming from a Communist state, Xing experienced a different way of living in Germany. Xing (pers. comm. 2011) found Hamburg and other cities generally quiet, clean and comfortable with few people. Life seemed to be much easier than that in China.7 Unlike Hamburg, Xing found that Paris was similar to the environment in China because it was very dirty, messy and crowded. Such a negative impression was completely different from her conception of Paris—the centre of modern art—that she learned from reproductions of Impressionist paintings in art books when studying in China. Xing (pers. comm. 2011) said, “I could not find the Paris in Paris.” Her sense of dislocation and loss in Paris later drew her to develop a video work, Sleep Walking (2001), which will be discussed in the latter part of this chapter. Xing Danwen was very excited about the experience of seeing masterpieces of Western art in Germany and France. This first-hand experience contrasts sharply with viewing the reproductions of masterpieces in art books, in which the colour quality of art pieces fluctuates significantly from one publication to another. Xing expanded her interest from painting to photography and became more inclined to use photography to depict the real faces of life. She showed many people in Germany her photographs of Beijing, Tibet, Xinjiang 㕘䔮 and the coalmine in Shanxi Ⱉ大 taken between 1989 and 1993. German audiences were impressed by Xing’s photography, both in terms of subject matter and artistic quality, which gave her confidence. The interactions with art professionals in Germany in the 7

For instance, the apartment in Germany was well designed with a standardised and well-equipped kitchen and bathroom. In contrast, the life in China at that time was so hard that they did not have hot water supply even in the northern part of the country. Nevertheless, Xing also encountered a similar landscape of her hometown when travelling to East Berlin.

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fall of 1993 further secured Xing Danwen’s first publication in a local photography magazine and her first solo photography exhibition in Hamburg in 1994.

Xing Danwen’s Art in Europe and Japan In 1994, Xing Danwen’s black-and-white photographs of Tibet and Datong ⣏⎴ (1992-3) (Fig. 12-1), a city with the largest coalmine, were published in the February issue of Photo News. At that time her works were considered exceptional in Germany, as hinted by the way Anna Gribb (1994, 4) introduced the exhibition: We are pleased to present the photographic work of Danwen Xing, especially photographs from China and Tibet, which are shown in our country, rarely come from Chinese photographers.

The national identity of Xing Danwen is highlighted, showing her insider’s view as a Chinese for Western audiences. These works capture the close-up of the Tibetans in a Tanka Festival in Labuleng Monastry, children and men in Langmusi 恶㛐⮢, as well as people in Datong. Taking the photographs from an onlooker’s perspective, this series highlights people’s gazes, both direct and indirect. Lighting is also carefully manipulated in order to show the different textures and facial expressions. The selection of this series as a whole reveals the personality and characteristics of the ethnic minority in China. The choice of portrait reveals the criteria and preference of the editor in Germany. At that time, the juxtaposition of the representation of Tibetan and Chinese people might have drawn much attention in the West. Xing Danwen’s first solo photography exhibition was held at the Grauwert Gallery, Hamburg between 17 November 1994 and 4 January 1995, as a European premiere with an exhibition catalogue. This exhibition was presented by the Factory Photo Forum, and Xing was present at the opening (Gribb 1994, 15). Around twenty-five black-and-white photographs of 16 inches in size, presenting the people in Tibet, Datong and other regions of China were exhibited. They were chosen from Xing Danwen’s early street documentary photographs taken in Tibet (1990-3), China (1989-92) and coalmine in Datong of Shanxi Province (1993) (Xing, pers. comm. 2011). The title of the exhibition, With Chinese Eyes, reveals the Chinese flavour the Europeans liked to promote in the mid-1990s. According to Anna Gribb (1994, 4), one cannot just rate Xing Danwen’s photographs as mere reportage, despite the documentary characteristics of most of her pictures. Thanks to the concentrated look at individual people,

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interesting portraits come up and can also be treated as individual pictures. Xing has frequently used unspectacular imagery, depending on the visual presence of the scenes depicted (Ibid., 15). German audiences seem to interpret the different ethnic people captured in Xing’s photographs as individual subjects, which might not conform to the representation of the Chinese prevalent in the West at that time. It is very likely that this unique quality attracts their attention. In 1997, With Chinese Eyes was exhibited in a small photo gallery in SOHO, New York (Xing, pers. comm. 2011). Yet, the public response to this exhibition is little known. In 1995, Xing Danwen had studied the German photographer Wolfgang Tillman’s (b. 1968) publication in Beijing (Riemschneider 1995). According to Richard Vine, Xing was shocked by Tillmans’s photography with its snapshots of youth and drug cultures. She said, “If his pictures could be art, maybe mine could be, too” (Quoted in Vine 2010, 91). Its spontaneous snapshot quality intrigued her and does not embody specific perspective from the photographer; instead it portrays the living characters (Xing, pers. comm. 2011). Tillmans’s publication gave Xing the impetus to carry on taking photographs of the lives and performance works of artists in the East Village and other figures in Beijing. The continuous effort turned out to be her photography project, A Personal Diary (1993-8), which will be discussed in the latter part of this chapter. The Tokyo Gallery invited Xing Danwen to take part in a group exhibition, The Witnesses of Chinese Modern Art, together with Xu Zhiwei ⼸⽿῱ (b. 1961) and Rong Rongġ from 4 to 22 September 1995. They displayed over eighty photographs, presenting the art and culture of Beijing, including artists living in the East Village and West Village (Zeng, Ai and Xu 1995). Although the Tokyo Gallery is a well-established gallery in Japan, it occupies a tiny space in Ginza. Xing’s black-and-white prints in around 10 x 8 inches or 12 x 10 inches were casually pinned on the wall without any frame, and the review of the show is little known (Xing, pers. comm. 2012). However, this exhibition signifies Xing Danwen’s pioneering role as a female photographer to represent the living condition as well as underground art and culture of China through her insider’s lens in the mid-1990s, when she was living in the East Village. Xing’s first commission for the Western audience was a series of colour photographs, which depicted the youth and performers in the Beijing Chinese Opera School and was published in the Geo International Magazine in July 1995 (Fig. 12-2).8 Xing’s photographs were accompanied 8

Pourazar 1995, Cover, 96-7 and 108-11. The information is based on the Japanese version of the Geo International Magazine.

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by Ghaffar Pourazar’s Japanese text. Xing (per. comm. 2011) spent a month taking these photographs, featuring a story of a specific cultural subject in the style of photojournalism. While Pourazar introduces Western and Japanese audiences to the tough life of Beijing Opera performers, who required apprenticeship for seven years in school from their routine daily practice to on-stage performance, Xing highlights both the tough training and leisure moments at school by visual means. Between 1994 and 1998 Xing Danwen became an active freelance editorial photographer for magazines published worldwide, including Europe, the US and Hong Kong.9 She took photography in China upon Western commissions because the editors prefer a good quality Chinese photographer to depict the life and story of the Chinese people from an insider’s point of view for the Western audience (Xing, pers. comm. 2011).

Although Xing’s commissioned freelance photography might not add value to her artistic career, the job experience and her endeavours in editorial photography facilitated her personal development. In 1998, Xing Danwen (pers. comm. 2010 & 2011) obtained two scholarships to pursue further study at the School of Visual Arts in New York for three years. 10 Her move to New York was an adventure to consolidate her understanding of Western art and photography. In America, Xing Danwen used the lens to capture her memory and the reality of different cities in China and the West with new perspectives and approaches.

Positioning Xing Danwen’s Lens-based Art Worldwide From 1999 Xing Danwen’s frequent participations in various art exhibitions in different countries inform her role and position as an active Chinese woman photographer in addressing Chinese and global issues. Art critics’ reviews generally centre on both her Chinese identity and feminist 9

For example, SPIN magazine, New York Times, Marie Claire, Newsweek in the USA; The Globe and Mail in Canada; Die ZEIT magazine, Marie Claire, Allegra, Merian, AMICA, BMW magazine, STERN, Wirtschafts Woche magazine, Spiegle in Germany; Das Magazine, FACTS magazine, Bilanz in Switzerland; Liberation in France; Sydney Morning Harald, the AGE, Good-Weekend in Australia; GEO-Japan in Japan; and Asia Week, South China Morning Post in Hong Kong. 10 One scholarship comes from the School of Visual Arts, while the other from the Asian Cultural Council.

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sensibility, however, both of which are not favoured by the artist. Xing indeed strives hard to position herself as an international artist rather than a Chinese artist and hopes to be treated equally as male artists (pers. comm. 2010 & 2011). In fact, cultural differences inevitably inform different ways of seeing Xing’s art. Art critics are inclined to interpret Xing’s art as a representative of the Chinese avant-garde, underground or experimental art community. Her unique female role, among numerous male artists is always highlighted. To a certain extent, Xing Danwen accepts this positioning and makes use of this labelling. The Western reception of her work in the 2000s somehow shapes the image of Xing Danwen and reflects their understanding of female Chinese lens-based artists in the international art world. Art critics regard Xing’s art as the representation of displacement and dislocation, the meeting and tension between East and West, and a critique on alienation and the change of society under globalisation. When reviewing Xing Danwen’s early black-and-white photo series, I am a Woman (1994-6) (Fig. 12-3), Darlene Lee (2003, 22-3) considers Xing’s pictures the representation of Chinese women’s power and freedom because the sitters are photographed in their own dwellings in a relaxing manner. Similarly, Gu Zheng 栏拂ġ (2006, 91-6) regards this series as the first ever photography of female nudity shot by a Chinese woman photographer. It serves to assert the new Chinese woman and Xing’s own female identity. As the articles by Lee and Gu were published in the UK and Canada, Western audiences were drawn to interpret Xing’s early work of art through her identity. Photographs of Chinese woman cater to the flavour of Western audiences. Wu Hung sees Xing Danwen’s Born with Cultural Revolution (1995) as reflecting an obsession. It represents her own generation born in the era of the Cultural Revolution (1966-76), which is likely to be autobiographical. The way Xing took three photographic images of her close friend, who was pregnant, juxtaposed with standardised portraits of Mao Zedong 㮃㽌㜙 (1893-1976) in an interior space, reveals that both women are thus bearers of the memory of the Cultural Revolution, agents of the past and are responsible for its continuing legacy and renewal (Wu 1999, 52).

An image of this series has been published, accompanying Britta Erickson’s review on Wu Hung’s Transience: Chinese Art at the End of the Twentieth Century (1999) in Art Journal. Erickson (2002, 105) states that Xing’s work has been exploited in order to represent the essence of Chinese experimental art and her work is well received in the Western art world.

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Unlike the silent response of Japanese audiences in 1995, Xing Danwen’s photography on the underground art and culture of Beijing resurged and bloomed in Europe and the US in the 2000s. In 2002, Chaos Chen (2002, 20-1) introduces to the audience in the UK that Xing Danwen is a photographer who documented the heyday of the performance artists and body artists living in the East Village in Beijing. Similarly, Brigitte Ollier (2003) reports that Xing’s screening of her diary of 1990s Chinese avant-garde caused a sensation in Arles in 2003, and highlights the body as the heart of the scene. Xing’s diary will soon be edited into a book. Art critics’ enthusiasm for Xing’s photography reflects a growing interest in the development of contemporary Chinese art, especially photography and performance art, in the West. As with her review of I am a Woman series, Darlene Lee (2003) considers Xing’s A Personal Diary (1993-8) a photo-documentary of the avant-garde scene in 1990s China, in which the subjects are predominantly male, looking from a personal, feminist perspective. In 2005, the story of how the short-lived East Village artistic community being formed in 1993, then closed down a year later, was publicised by Gaby Wood in the UK. Xing Danwen is introduced as one of the photographers of this community. Selected photographic images of performance works of East Village artists taken by Xing Danwen were included in the exhibition of Between Past and Future: New Photography and Video from China held at the Victoria and Albert Museum from 15 September 2005 to 15 January 2006. Gaby Wood (2005, 33) states that Xing Danwen will resolve the problem by publishing a book of her own photographs, initially entitled A Personal Diary of China Avant-Garde Art in the 1990s. Nevertheless, no image of this project is published in Wood’s article, which might unfold the controversy on the copyright ownership of the same image (Xing, pers. comm. 2010). 11 Instead, two images of Born with the Cultural Revolution (1995) and Scroll series (1999-2000) have been published with the text, without providing the reader an in-depth analysis. Lee’s and Wood’s articles positioned Xing as a member of the avant-garde community. Her female identity is unique as reflected in her way of depicting the performance works of predominantly male artists. In 2004, Marco Meccarelli introduces Xing Danwen to the Italian audience by publishing an interview with the artist. Meccarelli (2004) regards Xing as an important witness of 1990s Chinese avant-garde art, but Xing responds that she was indeed a participant of the movement, not just a witness of it. This statement helps her to argue for her active role in the 11

Xing told me that her book has not been published yet.

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artistic community. In addition, Xing managed to publish a self-explanatory text and photograph of A Personal Diary in the Art Asia Pacific’s 15th Anniversary Special Issue. Xing (2008, 168) states: This body of photographs was taken from 1993 to 1998. It is part of my personal experience as a first-hand witness and participant in the 1990s avant-garde art scene in China. These photographs represent my personal project on the 1960s-born generation, which is much an autobiographical subject as I was born in the late 1960s. Many of these photographs were taken because the artists invited me personally to document their actions.

To draw the attention of Western audiences, Xing Danwen is eager to position herself as a member of a unique generation in contemporary Chinese art history. Cheng Guanghu (2008, 54-7) considers Xing as a witness and participant of the Chinese avant-garde art and the first photographer who has been active since the 1990s, gradually entering the international stage. Two years later, Richard Vine (2010, 84) regards Xing Danwen as a “nomadic Chinese photographer” who presents her “private images from the wild-youth days to Beijing’s 1990s avant-garde”. Vine (Ibid., 88) further argues that the cultural rootedness in which Xing began and the artistic communality in which she originally thrived [is perhaps the reason for Xing to] exhibit her earlier, Nan Goldin-style images that record China’s 1990s underground arts ferment—first in a solo show (focusing on Beijing’s famous East Village performance art scene) […] in San Francisco and, later, in an exhibition and book titled Xing Danwen—A Personal Diary—China’s Avant-Garde in the 1990s (covering experimental film, theatre, rock ‘n’ roll and dance, as well as the visual arts) to be launched at Taka Ishii Gallery, Tokyo, in spring 2011.

Although the book publication has not been realised and there is no record of the solo exhibition at the Taka Ishii Gallery, the substantial amount of publicity concerning A Personal Diary between 2002 and 2010 indeed informs both Western and Asian audiences that Xing Danwen is a significant female photographer in the contemporary Chinese avant-garde art scene. In 2001, Xing Danwen exhibited Scroll in the First Tirana Biennale Albania along with three other Chinese artists namely, Gao Brothers 檀㮷 ⃬⻇ (Gao Zhen 檀ℇ, b. 1956; Gao Qiang 檀⻟, b. 1962) and Feng Mengbo 楖⣊㲊ġ (b. 1966) (Chen 2001, 62-3). Vine (2010, 87) considers Scroll as Xing Danwen’s

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first widely exhibited works, shot exclusively in black and white, [which] are elegiac meditations on lost worlds and broken ties […] Scroll (1999-2000) consists of two long horizontal strips of moody, deliberately blurred images from Beijing—widely separated swimmers, nearly empty streets, people sitting forlornly on park benches—all conjoined, jerky film-strip fashion, in stark contrast to the natural flow of traditional scroll paintings.

Although Scroll has not drawn as much attention via publicity as A Personal Journey, it signifies Xing’s decisive move away from her previous culturally specific work which concerns about the Chinese artistic community. Since then, Xing’s work has incorporated elements of her new and old living environments in different locations. Xing Danwen’s video installation, Sleep Walking (2001) (Fig. 12-4), is perhaps her first artwork being seen by the Western audience as the meeting of East and West. Tom Finkelpearl (2002, 8-9) interprets it as “a dreamy collage” of audio and visual elements, showing a blending of her past and present impression and experience of her city, which is likely a “psychological self-portrait”. Chaos Chen (2002, 21) thinks that it reveals Xing’s “intimate experience of dislocation as seen through overlapping images between East and West”. More specifically, Christopher Phillips (2002, 90), who sees Sleep Walking in the 2002 Yokohama Triennial, perceives that [a] moody installation grew out of the artist’s growing sense of disorientation as she shuttled between Beijing and New York over several years […] Capturing the eerie feeling of being suspended between present and remembered experiences […] Xing’s installation provided a poetic evocation of modernist displacement.

Similarly, Richard Vine (2010, 87) regards Sleep Walking as “disjunctive.” Marco Meccarelli’s interview (2004) with Xing Danwen reveals that the audience in Italy get to know about Xing’s art through Sleep Walking. Years 2001-2 was a turning point in Xing Danwen’s artistic development because her Scroll and Sleep Walking have been exhibited in East Europe and Asia, respectively. Both European and American audiences tend to appreciate and evaluate disCONNEXION (2002-3) (Fig. 12-5) from a critical and aesthetic perspective. Stuart Luman (2003, 90) uses the term “unplugged” to highlight this series: the tangled wires, circuit boards, and broken casings in her images belie the raw economics at work in China’s Guangdong Province—a thriving

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More precisely, Grace Glueck (2003) regards it “implicitly critical,” depicting “vast dumps of American ‘e-waste’ or computer rubble, shipped to Guangdong Province on China’s south.” Darlene Lee (2003, 22), on the other hand, analyses that the “traditionally masculine, impersonal and hard images” have been transformed into “something beautiful, abstract and powerfully moving”. Felicia Feaster (2004) uses the term “strange beauty” to summarise the “gray tones” of this series in depicting “the ugliest materials” exhibited at the Kiang Gallery in Atlanta in 2004, which is a survey of “the global implications of a wasteful society.” He sees a metaphor for the contradictions of the two worlds revealed by the sorting of waste objects into neat, concise groups, in which “the controlled and orderly East and the chaotic, teeming West find equal expression” (Ibid.). At the time, Xing Danwen is promoted by the French art critic Genevieve Breerette as the only Chinese woman photographer who carried out an international career. This statement seems to be oversimplified without further analysis. Based on her recent work exhibited in France, Breerette (2004) regards Xing as a witness of her time, “if not critical, on the modern world and the consumer society.” disCONNEXION is also publicised as representing the change of the Chinese society as a result of globalisation. Catherine Fox (2004) uses the headline “News: Photography captures Chinese Turmoil” to promote Xing’s work. She recalls Xing’s wish: “I want to be known as an international, not a Chinese, artist” (Ibid.). This contradicts how the author introduces her work as “Chinese artist Xing Danwen’s disCONNEXION series reveals the costs of China’s move to globalisation” (Ibid.). Barbara Pollack also introduces to the Western audience that a new generation of Chinese artists “embraced photo-based media as the perfect means for expressing the changes taking place around them” under the title Chinese Photography: Beyond Stereotype (2004, 98). One image of Xing’s disCONNEXION D02 is included in the article without analysis. A detail of this image is used in the front cover of the magazine with the title “Chinese Photography Going Global” (Ibid., front cover). An image of Xing’s disCONNEXION being chosen for the design of the front cover shows that she is likely to be considered a representative of contemporary Chinese photographers in the West. In the 2000s, contemporary Chinese photography has gradually drawn much attention in the West. Alan F. Artner examines the exhibition Made in China for seven artists (and two writers) held at the Museum of Contemporary Photography in Michigan in 2006 by means of a headline that reads, “After the Revolution: Photos, Videos Focus on Chinese

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Industry.” A close-up image of Xing’s disCONNEXION D01 is included in this article. Artner (2006, 3) reveals that Xing’s upbeat images are “deceiving piles of electronic trash.” By highlighting Xing’s acute consciousness in the theme of globalisation, Gu Zheng (2006, 94) states that Xing thoughtfully chooses photography as a global communicative visual medium, making her voice on such problematic issues available to the world outside China. Thus, Xing Danwen herself, a Chinese artist who is very active internationally, has benefitted from globalisation.

Photography has inevitably become a popular medium for Chinese artists to address Chinese and global issues. Eleonora Battison (2006, 37) evaluates that Xing documents the conflict between modern and tradition, between dream and reality without taking a drastic stand because “she also ‘recycles’ the images of the waste in order to transform them into works of art”. In contrast, Richard Vine (2010, 87) interprets Xing’s work as a social critique. He further highlights the sublime beauty of the images similar to that of the Abstract Expressionists, which balances the ecological protest against “the mass dumping of high-tech refuse from Japan, Korea and the US in southern China (where many of the devices were originally manufactured using low-wage labourĪįȿBetween 2003 and 2010 the diverse responses to disCONNEXION in Europe and the US prove that it has aroused lots of discussion among art critics. The debate of Xing Danwen’s Duplication (2003) (Fig. 12-6) centres on the critique of standardised sense of beauty and social roles. Battison (2006, 37) interprets Duplication as photographs of factory-made dolls and toys in the assembly line, reproducing a universal sense of beauty that penalises individuality and differences. She evaluates it as an extreme fascination of standardised models and canons of beauty, which implies cloning of perfect beauty by means of advance modern science. While Bourree Lam (2009) regards the “dead dolls as the dark side of development,” Brigitte Ollier (2003) analyses that Xing is determined to counter any cultural aesthetic format. However, both Lam and Ollier have not offered further analysis of their arguments. Nonetheless, Richard Vine discovers “an eerie quality” in Duplication that reveals a surrealistic essence. This series serves, according to Xing, as an acute comment on “the dehumanising effect of tailoring oneself of preconceived social roles” (Vine 2010, 87). These interpretations show that the Duplication series has drawn attention from the US and Europe, despite it is not as widely discussed as the disCONNEXION series. Both Duplication and disCONNEXION share similar form because they are photographs of the neatly-arranged, mass-produced products made in China for Western consumption.

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As with the disCONNEXION, Xing Danwen’s Urban Fiction (2004-8) (Fig. 12-7) is worldwide received. With her own image inserted in some of the digitised photographs, audiences from different cultures are prompted to relate this series to her own identity and story, the contemporary Chinese society, and a critique of modernity. In Switzerland, Louis Gerber reports on the group photography exhibition, The Chinese, held at the Kunstmuseum Wolfsburg from 9 October 2004 to 9 January 2005. Showing thirty photos of Urban Fiction, Xing Danwen is the only artist attending the associated conference. Gerber (2004) states that [Xing] draws her inspiration from her Chinese background. Due to her stays in the West her works contain however more universal messages than those of other Chinese artists.

He explains that Chinese photography is not yet well-developed as Chinese photographers are producing their art for Western buyers, who might look for either “the familiar or the exotic” (Ibid.). Gerber’s evaluation of Xing’s photography and contemporary Chinese photography as a whole is very Western-oriented, in which both universal and Chinese elements are important to them. In 2005, Xing Danwen is publicised alongside with Ai Weiwei (b. 1957), Liu Xiaodongġ ∱⮷㜙 (b. 1963), Yu Hongġ ╣䲭 (b. 1966) and Sui Jianguoġ 昳⺢⚳ (b. 1956) on Los Angeles Times. She is introduced as a photographer who shot her first pictures at the 1989 demonstration in Beijing, took pictures of the coal miners, and recycled electronic trash. Her Urban Fiction focuses on the real estate (Muchnic 2005, E40-1). This brief publicity positions Xing Danwen as a notable Chinese photographer making poignant comments on the Chinese society during the process of urbanisation and globalisation. Fiona Macdonald introduces China Contemporary: Fantasy Landscapes (2006) to the audience in the UK; it shows the four female artists’ alternative worlds, in which Xing Danwen questions utopian visions of the urban development in China. Charlotte Cripps (2006, 43), on the other hand, evaluates this exhibition at Asia House as “art that looks and tastes good.” Alternatively, Gemma De Cruz (2006) uses the title “The Great Wall comes down” to highlight the significant impact of this small-scale exhibition. She draws a parallel between Xing’s Urban Fiction with a cross between German artists Andreas Gursky (b. 1955) and Thomas Demand (b. 1964). The author places Xing Danwen and Cao Fei in the conclusion, claiming that both of their works display comments on alienation. The review of Urban Fiction in the UK affirms that Xing Danwen is one of the

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leading figures in contemporary Chinese photography. Douglas Britt (2008) regards Xing Danwen’s Urban Fiction as one of the two strongest lens-based works in the Current Perspectives, 1998-2008 exhibition because it offers “distinctive takes on China’s explosive growth and its rapid transformation by capitalism.” Similarly, Janice Van Dyke Walden (2008, 16) highlights the ways Xing tackles the challenges of urban growth in China and reveals the negative impact concerning relationships and individual identities that ultimately lead to self-destruction in Urban Fiction. Western people are eager to learn about the changes taking place in China. In this regard, Xing’s use of architectural models as a symbol of growth and development helps Western audiences to understand the current transformation in China. Madeline Eschenburg (2009, 51-66) interprets Urban Fiction, represented by architectural models, as the promises of modernity, which “invokes a sense of the uncanny,” isolation, disconnection and separation. Alain Jullien (2006, 20-57), on the other hand, sees Urban Fiction as Xing’s virtual autofictions. In addition, Jean-Claude Vantroyen (2006) interprets it as capturing the modernisation of her country and her mini dramas. Andrew Maerkle (2006, 22-3) further relates Xing’s Urban Fiction to the post-Mao period, in which “China is left with a mental and moral vacuum, an open frontier where the constructs of fantasy, personal and national, are inchoate.” Western art critics focus on personal narratives in relation to the Chinese societies signified by modern architectural models. While Kevin Kwong (2009) interprets it as an exploration of “the everyday dramas of big city isolation,” Bourree Lam (2009) considers it a critique of the “homogenous modern ideal.” Similarly, Vine (2010, 87) states that the domestic scenes played out by the ‘residents’ (many of them Xing herself in diverse guises) suggest that the foibles of the human heart cannot be fundamentally altered by China’s recent upscale housing frenzy.

Xing Danwen is being promoted and publicised as a group. Holland Cotter’s article “Long Overlooked, China’s Female Artists are Quietly Emerging” (2008) begins with a discussion of Xiao Lu 倾欗’s ĩb. 1962) gun-shot performance at the National Art Museum of China in February 1989, then discusses other works by a couple of female artists, including Xing Danwen. Cotter (2008) interprets Xing’s Urban Fiction series as “a transition between old and new ways of social thinking, between collectivism and individualism.” Positioning Xing Danwen as “a young artist trained in Beijing and New York and well established in Europe,” Shelley Rice (2011) investigates the “material” media employed by the artist as concretised dreams that connect the global past and future. The

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materialised drama represented in Urban Fiction has drawn worldwide attention as audiences are fixing their eyes on the progress of China and its positive and negative impacts on Chinese people. Xing Danwen inserts her own image in the interior space of Wall House (2007) (Fig.12-8), thus revealing her tactile presence in the isolated space. The Australian art critic Paul Flynn (2009, 61-4) promotes Xing Danwen as one of the best-known Chinese photographers, who has been exploring the development of urban Chinese society since the early days of the experimental artist colony in East Village, Beijing. Vine (2010, 87) evaluates that the most outstanding image of Wall House is “a partially clad woman gazing into a bathroom mirror, where she sees ‘herself’ fully dressed and wearing the incongruous blue wig”. He discerns that these works about alienation have helped Xing to get exposure in many international galleries and major institutions. Yet the pictures’ anomie, like the wanderings that engendered them, is far from the cultural rootedness in which Xing began and the artistic communality in which she originally thrived (Ibid., 88).

This critical evaluation reveals the successful engagement with the audience Xing’s Wall House has made. At the same time, some Western audiences’ expectation on the deep-root of Chinese cultural reality seems not to be met.

Conclusion Unlike many other contemporary Chinese artists who are more inclined to pinpoint national and cultural legacies, Xing Danwen’s encounters with the West helped shape her unique artistic direction by using photography to express global, personal and fictional issues beyond national boundaries. Her local and international identities are embodied in her work, thus permitting interpretation from various perspectives. Vine (2010, 87) comments that Xing Danwen’s artistic journey has reflected the development of Chinese art photography in general since the late 1970s. The reviews of Xing’s photographic work indeed unfold the way contemporary Chinese photography has been perceived and evaluated in different cultures. Xing Danwen plays a pioneering role in using lens-based medium in contemporary China. In her early photographic work, she has already developed an ability to handle a subject matter with the Chinese flavour that can influence the Western audience at large. As a female contemporary Chinese photographer, Xing’s culturally specific work has been appreciated and promoted by Western and Asian audiences alike.

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From 1999 a vast amount of art reviews of Xing’s lens-based art in different countries helped assert her unique position as an active woman photographer who addresses Chinese and global issues in the twenty-first century.

Works Cited Interviews Fok, Silviaġ 暵⮹曆. 2010. Personal interview with Xing Danwen, via Skype, August 20. —. 2011. Personal interview with Xing Danwen via Skype, June 22. —. 2012. Follow-up interview via email, replied on February 8. —. 2012. Follow-up interview via email, replied on October 23.

Primary Sources Artner, Alan G. 2006. “After the Revolution: Photos, Videos Focus on Chinese Industry.” Chicago Tribune, Arts & Entertainment, January 19: 3. Battiston, Eleonora. 2006. “Xing Danwen.” ZOOM (November/December): 32-7. Breerette, Genevieve. 2004. “Galeries—Regard de Chine.” LEMOND— Culture, June 5. Britt, Douglas. 2008. “China, Through a Lens: Catch These Works by International Artists before Fotofest Comes to a Close Sunday.” Houston Chronicle, April 16. Chen, Chaos Yang 昛㲙. 2002. “Women Art Watch: China.” Make 92, Special Edition (May): 20-1. Chen Yang 昛㲙. 2001. “Tirana Biennale” 㯠怈㰺㚱ṾṢ䘬㇘䇕炰䫔ᶨ⯮ ⛘㉱恋⚳晃喅埻暁⸜⯽. Art World 喅埻ᶾ䓴 39 (December): 62-3. Cheng Guanghu. 2008. “䟊㣎㧧Ṗġ ㏢Ṳɀ9: 㕇㧟┾㤢㠎” [The Introduction of Foreign Photographer 9: Xing Danwen]. Photographic Art Magazine (June): 54-7. Cotter, Holland. 2008. “China’s Female Artists Quietly Emerge.” The New York Times, July 30. Cripps, Charlotte. 2006. “Art that Looks and Tastes Good.” The Independent, February 14: 43. Erickson, Britta. 2002. “Transience: Faceting, Quicksilver.” Art Journal 61 (2) (Summer): 105. —. 2005. “Interview with Xing Danwen to talk about Urban Fiction by Britta Erickson.” TPW/photobasedart.ca: unpaginated.

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Eschenburg, Madeline. 2009. “Xing Danwen: Revealing the Masquerade of Modernity.” Yishu 8 (4) (July/August): 51-66. Feaster, Felicia. 2004. “Strange Beauty: Surveying the Global Implications of a Wasteful Society.” Creative Loafing, November 4. Finkelpearl, Tom. 2002. “Xing Danwen.” In Queens International, exhibition catalogue by the Queens Museum of Art in New York, August – December, 8-9. Flynn, Paul. 2009. “Xing Danwen.” Artist Profile 7 (April): 60-4. Fox, Catherine. 2004. “News: Photographer Captures Chinese Turmoil.” The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, October 21. Galeano, Eduardo, and Fred Ritchin. 1990. An Uncertain Grace: Photographs by Sebastião Salgado. New York: Aperture Foundation, Inc. Glueck, Grace. 2003. “Subject is U.S., Object is Art.” New York Times, reviews on Fine Art Leisure, July 4. Gripp, Anna. 1994. “Danwen Xing: Bilder aus China” [Danwen Xing: Pictures from China]. Fabrik 181, Oktober 23: 15. —. 1994. “Danwen Xing: Eine chinesische Fotografin” [DanwenXing: A Chinese Photographer]. Photo News, 2 (February): 4-5. Gu Zheng. 2006. “Projecting the Reality of China through the Lens: On the Artistic Practice of Xing Danwen.” Yishu 5 (1) (March): 91-6. Jullien, Alain. 2006. “Les autofictions virtuelles de Xing Danwen.” Le Monde 2 (144), Supplement, samedi 18 novermbre: 20-57. Kwong, Kevin. 2009. “Model Citizen.” South China Morning Post, December 8: C6. Lam, Bourree. 2009. “Xing Danwen: The Chinese Photographer tells Bourree Lam Why, in the City, Pain is so Close to Pleasure.” Time Out Magazine, November 25. Lee, Darlene. 2003. “A Bid for Empowerment, Feminist Artists in Beijing, China.” n. Paradoxa—An International Feminist Art Journal 11: 22-3. Luman, Stuart. 2003. “Unplugged.” Wired, Play—Culture/Gear/ Obsessions/Arts, December 11: 90. Macdonald, Fiona. 2006. “Contemporary China: Fantasy Landscape.” The Metro, February 16. Maerkle, Andrew. 2006. “Xing Danwen’s Chinese Fantasy.” Art Asia Pacific (Summer): 22-3. Muchnic, Suzanne. 2005. “China as a Gallery of Contrasts.” Los Angeles Times, October 16: E31, E40-1. Ollier, Brigitte. 2003. “Arles: Chine et grosses machines.” Liberation Reviews on Culture, Juillet 15. Phillips, Christopher. 2002. “Crosscurrents in Yokohama.” Art in America 1 (January): 84-90.

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Pollack, Barbara. 2004. “Beyond Stereotypes.” Arts News 103 (2) (February): Cover, 98-103. Pourazar, Ghaffar. 1995. “Ṕ∯⼡侭࡟࡞ࡿࡢࡶ㤥ࡌࡸ࡞࠸”ŜLife is not Easy Even for a Peking Opera Performer]į Geo International Magazine (1 July): Cover, 96-7, 108-11. Rice, Shelley. 2011. “Material Dreaming Photography.” Sculpture 30 (7) (September): 48-53. Riemschneider, Burkhard. ed. 1995. Wolfgang Tillmans. Verlag GmbH: Benedikt Taschen. Vantroyen, Jean-Claude. 2006. “Les minidrames de Xing Danwen.” Le Soir 25 (28) (27 decembre): unpaginated. Vine, Richard. 2010. “Beijing Confidential.” Art in America 2: 84-93. Walden, Janice Van Dyke. 2008. “FotoFest Highlights Chinese Artists: Focus on Xing Danwen.” Yellow Magazine (April): 16. Wood, Gaby. 2005. “State of the Art.” The Observer Magazine, Guardian Unlimited, September 4: 33. Wu Hung. 1999. “Mao Revisited.” Transience—Chinese Experimental Art at the End of the Twentieth Century. Chicago: Smart Museum of Art, University of Chicago. Xing Danwen. 2008. “A Personal Diary.” Art Asia Pacific 61, 15th Anniversary Special Issue (November/December): 168-77. Yang Chun 㣲 ⏃ . 1995. “Interview: Hsing Tan-wen.” Photographers International 18 (February): 42-55. Zeng Xiaojunġ㚦⮷ὲ, Ai Weiwei, and Xu Bing. eds. 1995. Baipishuġ 䘥䙖 㚠ġ[White Cover Book]. Private publication.

Internet Resources De Cruz, Gemma. 2006. “The Great Wall comes down.” BBCCOLLECTIVE 190 (24 February). Accessed March 19, 2012. http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/collective/A9614225 Gerber, Louis. 2004. “Chinesische Fotografie—Die Chinesen: Fotografie und Video aus China.” (10 October). Accessed February 21, 2012. http://www.cosmopolis.ch review Meccarelli, Marco. 2004. “Intervista a Xing Danwen.” Accessed February 21, 2012. http://www.versoriente.it Xing Danwen. Personal Webpage. Accessed June 29, 2011. http://www.danwen.com/

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Fig. 12-1. Xing Danwen, Tibet, Labuleng Monastery, 1993. C-print, 40.6 x 27 cm. © Courtesy of the artist.

Fig. 12-2. Xing Danwen, Beijing Chinese Opera House, 1995. C-print, 40.6 x 27 cm. Published in the Geo International Magazine (in Japanese), July 1995, p.101. © Courtesy of the artist.

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Fig. 12-3. Xing Danwen, I am a Woman, image 6 from the series, 1994-6. Photograph, 101.6 x 69.5 cm © Courtesy of the artist.

Fig. 12-4. Xing Danwen, Sleep Walking, documentation from Yokohama Triennale in Japan, 2001. Video installation. © Courtesy of the artist.

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Fig. 12-5. Xing Danwen, disCONNEXION, image A1 from the series, 2002. Photograph, 148 x 120 cm. © Courtesy of the artist.

Fig. 12-6. Xing Danwen, Duplication, image 1 from the series, 2003. C-print, 148 x 120 cm. © Courtesy of the artist.

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Fig. 12-7. Xing Danwen, Urban Fiction, image 0, 2004. Photograph with digital manipulation, 241.8 x 170 cm. © Courtesy of the artist.

Fig. 12-8. Xing Danwen, Wall House, image 2, 2007. Photograph, 100 x 80 cm. A multimedia installation with four photographs and one animation video projection. The photographs are various with choice of light-box or C-print. © Courtesy of the artist.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN SELLING CONTEMPORARY CHINESE ART IN THE WEST: A CASE STUDY OF HOW YUE MINJUN’S ART WAS MARKETED IN AUCTIONS ELIZABETH KIM

Whether we agree with the information or not, one of the most publically visible indicators of success for trends in art is auction price. Between 2005 and 2008, contemporary Chinese art was a “hot” commodity in the global auction markets, reflecting a growing interest in Chinese art from the last two decades. During this time, the international media chronicled the phenomenon as prices jumped exponentially and many auction price records were broken. According to data compiled by The European Fine Art Foundation, from 2005 to 2006 auction sales in contemporary Chinese art increased in value by 983% and the volume of lots increased by 477% (McAndrew 2009, 53). What happened during this time, and why was the change in prices so dramatic? I will partially shed light on this economic phenomenon by analysing the marketing efforts of Sotheby’s—one of the primary profiteers of contemporary Chinese art in the global market. This chapter shows how they attempt to convey historical meanings to a work by Chinese artist for auction, and how this manufactured meaning was disseminated through the English-language media. My study shows the auction house’s active role in creating meanings that may only be in the economic interest of all involved in a transaction, taking advantage of the gap of cultural and historical understanding between those in the Anglo-American world and China. I will focus on the auction of the Execution (1995) (Fig. 13-1), a painting by Yue Minjun (b. 1962) that took place in London on 12 October 2007. I intend to show that the marketing efforts of the auction house actively

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participated in creating meaning of this work, with the dearth of academic writings on the work enabling the market to have a stronger position in stipulating the meaning behind the work than is usual. The mass media assisted its efforts by simply repeating the marketing rhetoric to the public without offering a perspective of people independent from having an economic interest in the auction. I will analyse the catalogue description for this work in the auction, using advertising principles to establish that the meaning of Yue Minjun’s art was distorted in favour of building market value in the following ways: strongly emphasising qualities of the Chinese artist’s works that are associated with Western modernism, while also offering a distorted view of Yue’s association with the student uprising in 1989, and with the so-called Cynical Realist movement. The following analysis is a snap-shot of how work was interpreted during the height of the boom in 2007-8.

A Market Bubble? In economics, a market bubble is “trade in high volumes at prices that are considerably at variance with intrinsic values” (King 1993, 183). Applying this definition to art is highly problematic because measuring “intrinsic” value of art is a thorny issue, with no real possibility of consensus in measurement. However, a market bubble’s symptoms are well recognised, and this corresponds to what was observed during the market boom. Speculation is investment behaviour that is seen as one of the main causes of economic bubbles, and it seems to have been applicable to contemporary Chinese art as well. According to the market research firm ArtTactic, the level of speculation for the contemporary Chinese market was 73% higher than that for the Western contemporary art market (Lim 2009). This high level of speculation was observed by long time collectors such as Cees and Melle Hendrikse, father and son who have been collecting contemporary Chinese art since the mid-to-late 1990s. Melle Hendrikse, who owns a gallery dealing in Western art in Beijing and also deals in the secondary market for contemporary Chinese art, detailed the exuberance in the market as speculators drove up the prices beyond what would have been considered reasonable. Martijn Kielstra (pers. comm. 2010), an art dealer based in Amsterdam dealing in non-Western contemporary art including Chinese art, attributed this to the concepts of value and potential becoming more important than the art itself for many of the collectors during the time. According to Cees Hendrikse, who has been collecting art for approximately forty years, this rise in the importance monetary value in art became apparent as the “turnaround time for paintings were much shorter

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for Chinese Contemporary Art” (pers. comm. 2010), with many people “flipping” the works to turn a profit. Auctions were the sites of the unrestrained enthusiasm in the market during this period. “Irrational” would be appropriate to describe the mentality of the people who are trapped in the illusion of value as well, something that the economist Charles Kindleberger alluded to when he pointed to the speculative irrationality in the market as the cause of market bubbles. Robert J. Shiller is one of the foremost experts in this area. In his book, Irrational Exuberance ([2001] 2005), he describes the social processes by which bubbles form. One of the crucial elements of this is the role of the mass media, which magnifies a perception of high demand for certain types of goods. The media also plays an active role in disillusionment. Perhaps it is these characteristics that led to the media calling this a “bubble”, rather than simply a “boom”. Around early 2007, during the height of the boom in the market for contemporary Chinese art, mentions of “bubble” started appearing in some publications. New York Times may have captured the sentiment best with their article, “Chinese art market booms, prompting fears of a bubble” (Barboza 2007), describing the unbridled enthusiasm for the art, tracing the possible commercialisation of creative practices, and mentioning the rumours of shady selling practices (Also see Hartmann 2007 and Rabinovitch 2008). The questioning of the soaring prices continued in the media, with perhaps the strongest rebuke coming from the Forbes Magazine, which accused the artists, dealers, critics and auction houses in China of “market manipulation” in their article entitled “Pump and Dump” (Epstein 2008). Finally, after the market turned in the fall of 2008, various publications reported on the aftermath of the crash (See Ford 2009 and Lim 2009). Whether or not we can prove intrinsic value, we can say that during the 2000s, contemporary Chinese art market displayed an array of behaviours that are well associated with bubbles and exhibited this in price as well.

Yue Minjun and the Execution Yue Minjun was one of the most visible artists from contemporary Chinese art during the 2000s, featuring prominently in major international exhibitions of contemporary Chinese art such as those from the Uli Sigg collection, and in the United Kingdom, he was included in the Saatchi Gallery’s 2008 exhibition titled The Revolution Continues: New Art From China. His works are made instantly recognisable by the repeated images of his laughing self-portrait. Yue started painting his trademark faces after

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moving to the artists’ village at Yuanmingyuan in Beijing in 1991 (Yue 2006, 17), after graduating from Heibei Normal University with a degree in oil painting. His profile rose after his works were shown at the Shoeni Gallery in Hong Kong. He eventually became one of the most well-known artists in contemporary Chinese art, and his works are now some of the most highest-priced in the market. His works are reminiscent of how “repetition is a crucial aspect of visual persuasion,” much like how for advertisers, “one exposure will not suffice” (Nordhielm 2003, 91). This quality of Yue has long been noted. The art critic-curator Feng Boyi 楖⌂ᶨ (2006, 8) noted that Yue used “the language of consumer advertising,” invoking the “visual character of materialism that emerged with the market economy from the early 1990s”. Appendix A shows the auction results for Yue from 2004 to 2009. The graph is simply a collection of pricing points, without considering factors affecting prices such as size and year, but by the sheer numbers, trends emerge. The graph shows an exponential increase in monetary value starting in 2007, and then a steep drop in top price after reaching a peak in mid-2008, coinciding with the crash in Wall Street in the fall of 2008. The Execution (1995) is one of the high notes of Yue Minjun’s past auctions. It is a piece that embodies many of the characteristics that are typical for Yue’s works. It was created in 1995 and sold to a dealer for $5,000. A collector named Trevor Simon bought the work for $32,200 under the condition that it be hidden away for a decade, due to its potentially politically sensitive subject matter. It was put up for auction in 2007, reaching a then-record price for the artist and for contemporary Chinese art of £2,932,500 to an anonymous telephone bidder. Other than being one of Yue’s highest priced paintings, there are two other factors why this painting’s auction was singled out for analysis. Firstly, as a result of its clandestine past and the immediately foreseeable present, there is a dearth of academic writings regarding the work. The auction notes and the media interviews of the artist and the original owner of the work are the only sources of analysis for this work, with the auction notes being the most thorough out of these sources. Secondly, the intended set of buyers for this work was largely Westerners. The auction, which took place in London on 12 October 2007, represented one of the first instances where Asian contemporary works were sold along with Western works of artists such as Damien Hirst (b. 1965), Andy Warhol (1928-87), Mark Rothko (1903-70) and Francis Bacon (1909-92) under the label “Contemporary Art,” rather than being designated to their own separate categories. Because of this, and the geographic setting of this sale, only 6% of the buyers present at the auction of 12 October 2007 were Asian, with

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none of them being Chinese, meaning that the auction was targeted mostly toward Europeans and Americans, who made up 88% of the buyers (Sandler 2007). The hammer price estimate for the Execution was £1,500,000-2,000,000 before the auction, limiting the buyer’s pool to those who had more than £1,500,000 cash or credit going into the auction. Because of these buyer characteristics and the location of the auction, the Execution would have been marketed toward those who may not have an intimate knowledge of Chinese history or the contemporary art movements in China. These two factors may have given Sotheby’s more leeway in constructing the meaning behind the Execution.

Analysis Using Advertising Concepts The analysis of the catalogue notes for the Execution will be conducted based on contemporary advertising strategies, as it is a marketing tool that shares similar goals to advertisements: it represents a part of a larger marketing campaign for the artwork and the artist, aimed at raising the conceived value of the work to that of its price. The advertising concepts used in this analysis are based on George Felton’s Advertising: Concept and Copy (2006), a textbook that combines together design, marketing, consumer psychology and business principles to outline and teach the concepts in creating print advertising. Analysing the work using the methods outlined in the book will shed light on some of the strategies used to market Yue’s work in the catalogue. According to Felton, the advertising strategies range from product-oriented strategies to consumer-oriented strategies. Product-oriented strategies highlight the benefits of purchasing the product by descriptions, and consumer-oriented strategies by associations. He also distinguishes the two by describing the product-oriented strategies as one that appeals to a sense of reason, and the consumer-oriented strategies as appealing to emotions. It could also be said that product-oriented strategies tend to be text-based, whereas consumer-oriented strategies are more image-based. Felton states that typically advertisements lie somewhere in between the two extremes, and that both strategies are utilised in creation of advertising. The binary nature of this concept refers to the tendency within advertising to sum up decision processes to either rational or emotional choice, possibly a far derivative of the Kantian notion of judgement. In this exaggerated and extreme view, the image of the painting itself serves as the consumer-oriented strategy, appealing to the emotions of the potential buyers. The catalogue descriptions, then, are the product-oriented strategy that provides the detailed description of the work on sale.

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Should catalogue notes be considered scholarship or advertising? I will say that it is marketing presented in the guise of scholarship, mimicking in art historical writing. However, its distance from scholarship is made most obvious by the lack of author attribution to any of the catalogue notes. Like advertising copies, art catalogues provide anonymous voices of persuasion made to sell, rather than to enlighten. According to Felton, there are four general categories of product-oriented strategy of marketing: generic claim, product feature, unique selling proposition, and positioning. Each method will be defined and used to analyse the works. In the catalogue description of the Execution, all four of these methods are used to establish value for the artwork. Although all the ideas used in the catalogue notes may fit into more than one advertising category, I have attempted to separate and distinguish each category for the purposes of argument. Of course, Felton’s approach to advertising strategies is just one of many, but for the purposes of this analysis, the categories that Felton proposes serve as a useful tool for analysing the strategies of art marketing by Sotheby’s. In the following sections, I will analyse the product features that are emphasised by the auction house, using Felton’s four categories of the product-oriented marketing strategy.

Generic Claim According to Felton, generic claim is a strategy aimed at promoting the general brand or the product type, which in effect promotes the status of the object for sale. In the case of the catalogue notes for the Execution, Sotheby’s is promoting the Cynical Realist school of painters, and Yue Minjun’s association with the movement. By promoting the category to which the work belongs, they are constructing the importance for the meaning of the work itself. For this strategy in advertising, no distinction is made between the competitor’'s good and the object for sale; in this case, the works of other Cynical Realist painters and the other works of Yue are being promoted in conjunction with the Execution in order to create a significant context for the work being sold. Cynical Realism is a term coined by Chinese art critic Li Xianting 㞿ㅚ ⹕, in the catalogue for Hanart TZ Gallery’s 1993 exhibition of China’s New Art, Post-1989 held in Hong Kong. Li (1993, xx) described the artists as being born mostly in the 1960s, and the movement as being characterised by two generic traits, a “cynical spirit” and predominance of “realism”. Although Yue was not part of the 1993 exhibition, he indeed fits the description given to the group of artists loosely associated with the term, and the association is used to its full effect.

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Cynical Realism may be a valuable marketing tool because being associated with artistic movements can tend to build art historical relevance of an artist. In modern art, artistic movements became a way to categorise and track the formation of or the break from traditions over time, as Alfred Barr had done in his famous diagram for Cubism and abstract art (Brennan 2007, 181). More recently, advertising mogul Charles Saatchi (b. 1943) and complicit critics came up with the term yBAs, which used to lump together various British artists working during the 1990s. Inclusion in art movements is one of the tried-and-true qualities used to establish long-term legitimacy in art, and as a result, adds value. Yue’s associations with a movement make him seem more valuable from a Western art historical sense. Despite Yue himself rejecting his association with Cynical Realism (Bernstein 2007), it is one of the most emphatic concepts within the catalogue notes. Sotheby’s (2010) describes the Cynical Realist style as being considered to be the most vocal artistic expression of the shattered idealism that followed in the wake of the Tiananmen Square demonstrations in the summer of 1989.

The works associated with Cynical Realism may or may not be the most relevant art in China today, but they are perhaps some of the most visible to those living outside of China due to their high market values. The catalogue notes not only associates Yue with the movement, but essentially credits him as the founder of Cynical Realism: From 1991 onwards, Yue Minjun lived in a small village to the North West of Beijing where he pioneered an embryonic community of likeminded artists who shared the same ironic, absurdist response to the summer’s events. Later known as the Yuanmingyuan artists’ village, this community became a hotbed for some of the most talented artists known today, including Fang Lijun and Yang Shaobin. With the social conditions in place, this village on the fringes of society saw the genesis of the Cynical Realism movement (Ibid.).

The passage, which designates Yue Minjun as the pioneer of the community that became known as Yuanmingyuan artists’ village, is flatly incorrect; the community of artists existed before Yue joined (Yue 2006, 20). Yue’s qualities as an artist are also heralded in order to raise the importance of the work at hand. “Yue Minjun’s genius lies in his iconography which mines the rich seam of art history, couching his polemic in an overtly Western idiom” (Sotheby’s 2010). They refer to the concept of the romantic idea of an artist as a genius as a way of promoting Yue

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Minjun’s status and his knowledge of art history, including Western art history, is used as selling points. This crowning of Yue as a genius supports the high price associated with the work, and establishes new basis for future price expectations for his works of comparable quality, year make, and size.

Product Features Product features highlight certain qualities that raise the value for the product being marketed. For the Execution, its political potency is the quality being emphasised, by associating the work to the 1989 student protests in Tiananmen Square ⣑⬱攨⺋⟜, Beijing. The political potency of the work may be a way to associate the work with the concept of iconoclasm. The concept of iconoclasm in art is described by Dario Gamboni (1997, 255) as follows: Indeed, aesthetic “iconoclasm” implied a radicalization of the idea of artistic progress, according to which tradition was not only insufficient to bring it forth but really stood in its way.

In order for history to march forward, the past must be destroyed, spurned or discredited. Because of this iconoclastic tradition in the canons of Western art, associating iconoclasm with the Execution is an attempt to increase its importance, and by doing so, raise its value. In the catalogue notes for the Execution, the work’s supposed iconoclasm is more historical than aesthetic in nature. Sotheby’s repeatedly associates this work with the 1989 student protests despite the ambiguity of the painting. Even though the work was painted six years after the protest, a direct relationship is forged between the famous photo of the man in front of the tank and this work: The populous protests that saw over 100,000 students march on Tiananmen Square in one day are reduced to a single, condensed image of acute political import. Like the photograph of the ‘Unknown Rebel’ halting the advance of a column of tanks onto the square, an image immortalised by the international press as a symbol of the individual’s resistance against the State, Execution distils the sentiment of protest into a single captivating painting (Sotheby’s 2010).

By making this comparison, the auction house is constructing historical value of political protest where it may or may not exist. It can be inferred from the catalogue that purchasing this painting is to own an iconoclastic statement against an authoritarian regime. It buries the possibility of reading

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this as a statement on culture, and emphasises the work’s political potential. In contrast to this claim about the revolutionary aim of the painting, the catalogue quotes Yue Minjun as saying, The act of giving up is profoundly human. It prevents conflicts with society and allows inner peace to be preserved. By giving up, one becomes carefree and detached. All problems can be resolved with a laugh, and disappear painlessly (Sotheby’s 2010).

The auction house relates the quote back to political potency of the work by referring to the Shakespearean character of a fool, stating that the figures in Yue’s works are “analogous to the stock motif of the intelligent fool in Shakespearean tragedy, where feigning madness to cope with political oppression became a way of salvaging one’s self esteem” (Ibid.), implying that Yue’s figures laugh in order to deal with oppression. This seems to be in direct opposition to the earnest comparison between this painting and the man who stood in front of the tanks, as giving up and non-violent protests are false equivalents. The catalogue builds upon the concept of political potency of the work at the expense of the possibility that this painting is a critique of Westernisation of Chinese economics and culture, as it spares only 255 out of 1,909 words for the second explanation. The previous owner of the work, Trevor Simon, saw the work not as depicting political authoritarianism, but a dying culture: Simon was quoted as saying, “He’s wearing a generic T-shirt—the guy who’s delivering the last shot to be delivered into the heartland of Chinese heritage” (Yuan 2007b). This reading of the work as criticism of the proliferation of Western culture is awkwardly framed as an “alternative” to “tyrannical governmental authoritarianism” of the Tiananmen Square protests (Ibid.), creating a false equivalence between capitalism and the Communist regime. This directly contradicts their description of the co-existence of the two in China, describing the Chinese economy as “a capitalist model which was nonetheless still underpinned by utopian Communist ideals” (Ibid.).

Unique Selling Proposition Unique selling proposition is a claim that a product can make that no other competitive products can make. There are two main propositions of such type in the catalogue: firstly, the Execution was hidden away since it was sold to the dealer; and secondly, the work is a continuation of the Western modernist tradition. The work’s clandestine past is being used as a selling point to emphasise the work’s political potency. It is true that any

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critical reference to the Tiananmen Square protest in 1989 would have had to be treated with caution due to the political sensitivity to the subject in China. However, the catalogue uses the painting’s past as a way to explain the provenance and history of the work, and to further argue that the Execution is a protest of state censorship. The work’s lack of inclusion in important exhibitions and literature would normally be a devaluing trait, as these factors are one of the most important in determining the price of art. However, using political sensitivity, Sotheby’s uses it as a way to construct additional value for the work. The catalogue explains that the work was hidden away due to its “politically dangerous subject matter” (Sotheby’s 2010). By picturing the work in direct defiance against authoritarian state laws, the work comes to symbolise the rebellion against censorship, making it a valuable historical object rather than a possible derivative personal reaction to historical event. On the other hand, the work is portrayed as a continuation of the Western modern tradition: “In Execution, he confronts three towers of Western painting: Francisco de Goya, Edouard Manet and Pablo Picasso” (Sotheby’s 2010). The catalogue refers to the work’s inspiration in Edouard Manet’s (1832-83) Execution of Emperor Maximilian (1868-9) (Fig. 13-2). Based on similarities in the configurations of the figures, the Execution is clearly modelled after Manet’s work. In turn, Manet’s work was inspired by Goya’s Third of May 1808 (1814), and Yue’s inspiration can be traced to Goya’s through Manet. What may be false about the catalogue’s description is that it also associates the Execution with Picasso’s Massacre at Korea (1951) (Fig. 13-3). It attempts to draw a straight line from Goya, Manet and Picasso, to Yue, as though Yue is a continuation of this artistic lineage. It is unclear whether Yue knew of Picasso’s work when he created the Execution, but based on the formal comparison between the two works, Picasso’s work does not appear to have had any part in the origin of Yue’s work. The upright postures of the shooters to the right are reminiscent of Manet’s, as well as the uniformity amongst the shooting figures. Also, the Cubist forms of Picasso’s painting seem to have had no formal impact on Yue’s at all. Yet, it is included in the description as a way to forge a tradition from Goya to Yue. Despite this, the catalogue states that “The motif of spiked laughter reaches its apogee in the present work, thanks to the loaded connotations that come with his appropriation of Goya, Manet and Picasso’s images” (Sotheby’s 2010), without any evidence of appropriation of Picasso’s work in Yue’s. By strengthening the connection between the Western modern tradition and Yue, especially to three of the most esteemed painters in the Western tradition, the value of the work rises in association. Combined with its status

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as a reflection of the political situation in China, the usage of the masters of Western artistic tradition becomes a unique trait for the work that may distinguish this work from other Cynical Realist works, and from Yue’s other works as well. The association between the rebellious spirit of the three earlier works and Yue’s work also becomes a way to amplify the auction house’s argument for the political potency of Yue’s work.

Positioning Positioning is a strategy of trying to elevate the placement of product within consumer's mind. According to Felton (2006, 47), consumers arrange similar products in personal rankings. What positioning strategy does is to try to replace the products higher on the ranking with the product being advertised. In the case of the Execution, the product intended to be replaced are perhaps the higher priced Yue Minjun’s works, or works of artists that have fetched higher prices. Throughout the catalogue notes, not only are Cynical Realism and Yue Minjun being promoted as the most important in their respective categories as an art movement and an artist, the Execution is praised by Sotheby’s (2010) as the best among the best, using phrases like, “single most iconic,” “no painting before, or since, exhibits a more,” “crowning achievement,” “work of paramount importance,” etc. This repetition regarding the importance of the piece supports their effort to sell the work at the highest price possible. The money this work has fetched in the auction seems to affirm the positional claims made by the auction house. At the time, in 2007, the Execution set the record for the highest price for a contemporary Chinese artwork. Another strategy they used to position this particular work is the context of the auction. This was one of the first contemporary Chinese work of art to be represented among a major evening sale of contemporary art, in company of notable Western artists from the past without being relegated to the specifically “Asian” or “Chinese” category. By putting this work for sale in the company of works by artists such as Warhol and Rothko (Sandler 2007), the auction house positions this work not only as a great within its genre, but in the canon of art history. This affirms their claim that this work “will be consecrated as a work of huge art-historical significance, arguably the single most important painting of its genre” (Sotheby’s 2010). The auction results once again seem to agree with this claim, as the Execution fetched the highest price during the evening’s sale (Melikian 2007) in the company of the works of canonical Western artists.

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How was Execution perceived? The marketing effort by the auction house is a highly skewed interpretation of an artwork adorned with disassociated facts and contradictory claims, representing the work as a critical satire representing revolution, political struggle, and Western artistic ideals. Despite the evidence for wider possibility of interpretation, such as Yue himself stating that this painting is not directly about the 4 June 1989 incident, although it was inspired by it, and the fact that the work was painted six years after the incident, the news media seem to corroborate the distorted view of the auction house in many ways. In the ten news articles that mentioned the auction,1 all of them defined the work based on its monetary value, eight also defined it by the Tiananmen Square protests, five by its appropriation of Manet, five by the fact that it was hidden for ten years, and in lower numbers by other factors. Although this in no way represents a scientific numerical analysis, the consequences of this in the public consciousness would be exponential, as these articles become cited in other articles, which then become sources of reference for others. According to this logic, the Execution, then, became most widely recognised in society by its monetary value, then by its association with Tiananmen Square student protests. Martin Chi-kei Chung 挦 ⫸ 䤢 , a researcher in intercultural relationships, came to a similar conclusion regarding how the work was received in the West, in his analysis of the Execution by comparing it to its inspiration, Manet’s Execution of Emperor Maximillian. Chung (2009) notes, To some in the West, Yue’s Execution is a duo statement of sympathy towards those sacrificed in the June 4 Tiananmen Massacre on the one hand, and of accusation against the perpetrators on the other.

Is this tendency or the expectation of tendency to look only to Tiananmen Square a reflection of how the West sees China? Or are we just seeing our own reflection in the painting? Perhaps the concept of the bubble, a speculative irrationality, was not only applicable to the market phenomenon, but to the discursive one as well. The boom was driven by this type of skewed regard toward China, something that the critic Yi Ying 㖻 劙 ġ (2002, 101) criticises as 1

They were articles in AP, Telegraph UK, New York Times, Deutsche Presse-Agentur, Bloomberg, ABC News per AFP, Forbes, Economist, and Financial Times.

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“unidirectional and colonialist” in the catalogue for the first Guangzhou Triennial. However, that is not the whole story. In the same volume, Britta Erickson (2002, 105) talks about the intense interest that may have been raised by the exoticism of the new, but she also says it resulted in a more sound and dispersive interpretations of contemporary Chinese art. Although the wild speculations resulted in the collapse of the market, according to some, the market is starting to bounce back, and with a more conservative approach than before (Hendrikse pers. comm. 2010). In this renewed growth in the market, the irrational boom has provided the infrastructure to which the creative industry can grow back into, with some corrective changes. According to the economist Tyler Cowen (1998, 125), the marketing efforts by intermediaries like auction houses and galleries as having an overall positive effect on the art world: “The number of players, the number of stars, and the overall quality of play all have risen.” He further notes that marketing also helps to refine market taste. It seems to be the case with contemporary Chinese art as well. The aftermath of the irrationality, it seems, may have left behind a fertile land for further growth in China.

Works Cited Interviews Kim, Elizabeth. 2010. Personal interview with Cees and Melle Hendrikse, January 13. —. 2010. Personal interview with Martijn Kielstra, December 22.

Printed Sources Belting, Hans and Andrea Buddensieg, eds. 2009. The Global Art World: Audiences, Markets, and Museums. Ostfildern: Hatje Cantz. Blackwell, Roger D. et al. 2001. Consumer Behavior. Fort Worth: Hardcourt College Publishers. Brennan, Marcia. 2007. “The Multiple Masculinities of Canonical Modernism: James Johnson Sweeney and Alfred H. Barr Jr. in the 1930’s.” In Partisan Canons, edited by Anna Brzyski, 179-201. Durham: Duke University Press. Bryson, Norman, Michael Ann Holly and Keith Moxey, eds. 1991. Visual Theory: Painting and Interpretation. Cambridge: Polity Press. Cowen, Tyler. 1998. In Praise of Commercial Culture. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

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Danto, Arthur C. 1981. The Transfiguration of the Commonplace: A Philosophy of Art. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Erickson, Britta. 2002. “The Reception in the West of Experimental Mainland Chinese Art of the 1990s.” In The First Guangzhou Triennial —Reinterpretation: A Decade of Experimental Chinese Art 1990-2000, edited by Wu Hung, 105-12. Chicago: Art Media Resources, Ltd. Felton, George. 2006. Advertising: Concept and Copy. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Feng Boyi. 2006. “To Be Is Just Absurd: The Art of Yue Minjun.” In Reproduction Icons: Yue Minjun Works, 2004-2006, edited by Karen Smith, 8-9. Shenzhen: Museum Collections Services Co. Gamboni, Dario. 1997. The Destruction of Art: Iconoclasm and Vandalism since the French Revolution. London: Reaktion Books. Kindleberger, Charles Poor, and Robert Z. Aliber. 2005. Manias, Panics, and Crashes: A History of Financial Crises. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons. King, Ronald R. et al.1993. “The Robustness of Bubbles and Crashes in Experimental Stock Markets.” In Nonlinear Dynamics and Evolutionary Economics, edited by Richard H. Day and Chen Ping, 183-200. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Li Xianting. 1993. “Major Trends in the Development of Contemporary Chinese Art.” In China’s New Art, Post-1989, edited by Valerie C. Doran, x-xxvi. Hong Kong: Hanart TZ Gallery. McAndrew, Clare. 2009. Globalization and the Art Market. Maastricht: The European Fine Art Foundation. Nordhielm, Christie L. 2003. “A Levels-of-Processing Model of Advertising Repetition Effects.” In Persuasive Imagery: A Consumer Response Perspective, edited by L. M. Scott and R. Batra, 95-104. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc. Shiller, Robert. (2001) 2005. Irrational Exuberance. 2nd edn, Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Smith, P. R., and Jonathan Taylor. 2006. Marketing Communications: An Integrated Approach. London: Kogan Page Ltd. Velthuis, Olav. 2005. Talking Prices: Symbolic Meanings of Prices on the Market for Contemporary Art. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Wu Hung. 2005. Remaking Beijing: Tiananmen Square and the Creation of a Political Space. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Yi Ying. 2002. “Criticism on Chinese Experimental Art in the 1990’s.” In The First Guangzhou Triennial—Reinterpretation: A Decade of Experimental Chinese Art 1990-2000, edited by Wu Hung, 98-100. Chicago: Art Media Resources, Ltd.

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Yue Minjun. 2006. “Yue Minjun by Himself.” In Reproduction Icons: Yue Minjun Works, 2004-2006, edited by Karen Smith, 16-20. Shenzhen: Museum Collections Services Co.

Internet Sources Aspden, Peter. 2007. “Art Sale Auctions See Record Prices.” Financial Times, October 15. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/8da59882-7aa9-11dc-9bee-0000779fd2ac.h tml Barboza, David. 2007. “Chinese Art Market Booms, Prompting Fears of a Bubble.” New York Times, January 4. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/04/world/asia/04iht-china.4097207.h tml —. 2008. “China’s Hot Young Artists Well Schooled in Market Savvy.” New York Times, April 1. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/01/arts/01iht-chinart.1.11577362.ht ml Bernstein, Richard. 2007. “Yue Minjun and the Symbolic Smile.” New York Times, November 13. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/13/arts/design/13smil.html “Chinese Painting Sets Sales Record at London Auction.” 2007. The Star Online. AP, October 13. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://thestaronline.com/news/story.asp?file=/2007/10/13/apworld/200 71013203027&sec=apworld Chung, Martin Chi-kei. 2009. “A Study of Yue Minjun’s and Edouard Manet’s Executions.” Chinese Cross Currents 6 (1) (December 15). Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.riccimac.org/ccc/eng/ccc61/artsandletters/article1.htm Epstein, Gady A. 2008. “Pump and Dump.” Forbes.com, March 13. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.forbes.com/forbes/2008/0407/088.html Ford, Peter. 2009. “As Chinese Art Market crashes, Many Artists Applaud.” Christian Science Monitor, April 7. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.csmonitor.com/World/Asia-South-Central/2009/0407/p06s 01-wosc.html Gleadell, Colin. 2007. “Art Sales: Asian Tigers Roar to Auction Records.” Telegraph, October 16. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/art/artsales/3668548/Art-sales-Asia n-tigers-roar-to-auction-records.html Gluckman, Eliza. 2007. “China will Shake the Art World yet.” Guardian,

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February 20. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/artblog/2007/feb/20/chinawill shaketheartworld Hartmann, Robert. 2007. “Turning Canvas into Cash in China.” Asia Times Online, January 5. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.atimes.com/atimes/China_Business/IA05Cb02.html “Laughing in the Face of Adversity: Is the Boom Ending?” 2007. The Economist, October 20. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.economist.com/node/10006840 Lim, Louisa. 2009. “Sky-High Chinese Art Market Comes Back to Earth.” NPR.org, March 13. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=101817209 Melikian, Souren. 2007. “Chinese Works Elicit Surprise at Christie’s and Sotheby’s Contemporary Sales.” New York Times, October 15. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/15/arts/15iht-melik16.1.7892551.ht ml Parry, Hazel, and Simon Parry. 2007. “Painting of Tiananmen Massacre to be Auction Sensation.” Monsters and Critics. Deutsche Presse-Agentur, October 8. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.monstersandcritics.com/news/asiapacific/features/article_1 363314.php/Painting_of_Tiananmen_massacre_to_be_auction_sensati on Rabinovitch, Simon. 2008. “Chinese Art May Face Bubble Trouble as Prices Soar.’ Reuters, June 12. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSPEK25297320080614 Sandler, Linda. 2007. “Yue Minjun Wins, Damien Hirst Loses at Sotheby’s London Auction.” Bloomberg.com, October 13. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601088&refer=muse&si d=aVJKec58T9E8 Sotheby’s. 2010. “Contemporary Art Evening Sale, Lot 5: Yue Minjun, The Execution.” October 12, London. Sotheby’s Web Catalogue, n.d., November 16. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.sothebys.com/app/live/lot/LotDetail.jsp?lot_id=159405055 “Tiananmen Square Painting Smashes Chinese Art Records Sale.” 2007. ABC News. AFP, October 13. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2007/10/13/2058894.htm West, Nina P. 2007. “Behind the Smile.” Forbes.com, November 7. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.forbes.com/2007/11/07/collecting-arts-auctions-forbeslife-

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cx_nw_1106minjun.html Yuan, Elizabeth. 2007. “‘Execution’ Artist Rejects Tiananmen Label.” CNN.com, October 15. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/asiapcf/10/11/china.artist —. 2007. “Painting’s Owner ‘Un-Executed.’” CNN.com, October 15. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://edition.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/asiapcf/10/12/china.artist/index. html “Yue Minjun—Auctions.” n.d. Artfacts.net. Accessed November 29, 2011. http://www.artfacts.net/en/artist/yue-minjun-9699/auctions.html

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Appendix A Auction results for Yue Minjun’s Artworks, 2004-12. Source: findartinfo.com

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Fig. 13-1. Yue Minjun, The Execution, 1995. Oil on canvas, 150 x 300 cm. © Yue Minjun. Courtesy of The Pace Gallery, Beijing.

Fig. 13-2. Edouard Manet, The Execution of Emperor Maximillian, 1868-9. Oil on canvas, 252 x 302 cm. Image by Courtesy of the Witt Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London.

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Fig. 13-3. Pablo Picasso, Massacre in Korea, 1951. Oil on canvas, 110 x 210 cm. Image by Courtesy of the Witt Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London.

GLOSSARY OF CHINESE AND JAPANESE CHARACTERS

Ai Qing 刦曺 Ai Weiwei 刦㛒㛒 Ami-ha 旧⻍㳦 Ashikaga Yoshiakira 嵛⇑佑娖 Ashikaga Yoshimasa 嵛⇑佑㓧 Ashikaga Yoshimitsu 嵛⇑佑㸨 Ashikaga Yoshinori 嵛⇑佑㔁 Azuma Kengiro ⏦⥣ ℤ㱣恶 Bai Juyi 䘥⯭㖻 Beihai (North Sea) ⊿㴟 Beijing (Peking) ⊿Ṕ Budai ⶫ堳 Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku ṷ㖍 ⹝℔䈑䚖拚 Cai Yuanpei 哉⃫➡ Cao Fei 㚡㔸 Cen Qi ⰹ℞ Cha Dong 勞㳆 Chan 䥒 Chen Daoming 昛忻㖶 Chen Guangjun 昛⃱ὲ Chen Shuren 昛㧡Ṣ Cheong Soo Pieng 挦㱿屻 Chiang Yee (Jiang Yi) 哋⼅ Chikaraishi Chichi ≃䞛䖜dž Chikusei Tǀbon 䪢大䫱㡝 Chongqing 慵ㄞ Chǀshǀken 倜㜦幺 Chu Wei Bor (Zhu Weibai) 㛙䁢䘥 Chnjan Shinkǀ ẚ⬱䛆⹟ Chuang Shang-yen (Zhuang Shangyan) 匲⯂♜ Chung Chi-kei, Martin 挦⫸䤢

Dai Jin ㇜忚 Daitokuji ⣏⽛⮢ Dao (Way) 忻 Daodejing 忻⽟䴻 Datong ⣏⎴ Daxiu Zhengnian ⣏ẹ㬋⾝ Dazhong sheying ⣏䛦㓅⼙ Deng Xiaoping 惏⮷⸛ Ding Wenyuan ᶩ㔯㶝 Dong Kingman (Zeng Jingwen) 㚦㘗 㔯 Dong Qichang 吋℞㖴 Engakuji ℮奂⮢ Enni Benen ℮䇦⺩℮ Falankefu Zhongguo xueyuan (China Institute Frankfurt) 㱽嗕⃳䤷ᷕ ⚳⬠昊 Fan Kuan 劫⮔ Faxiangsi 攟䚠⮢ Feng Boyi 楖⌂ᶨ Fenggan 寸⸚ Feng Mengbo 楖⣊㲊 Feng Menglong 楖⣊漵 Fong Wen (known as Wen Fong) 㕡 ⪺ Foujita Tsuguharu 喌䓘▋㱣 Fu Lei ‭暟 Gansu 䓀倭 Gao Qiang 檀⻟ Gao Qifeng 檀⣯Ⲙ Gao Zhen 檀ℇ Geiami 剠旧⻍ Gengzhitu 侽䷼⚾

The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures Gidǀ Shnjshin 佑➪␐ᾉ Gomotsu on’e mokuroku ⽉䈑⽉䓣䚖 拚 Gongwangfu (Prince Gong’s Mansion) 〕䌳⹄ Guangxi ⺋大 Gugong minghua sanbai zhong (Three Hundred Masterpieces of Chinese Painting) 㓭⭖⎵䔓ᶱ䘦 䧖 Gujin huajian ⎌Ṳ䔓揺 Gu Weijun (a.k.a. Wellington Koo) 栏 䵕懆 Gu Zhenqing 栏㋗㶭 Gu Zheng 栏拂 Guangzhou (Canton) ⺋ⶆ Guo Moruo 悕㱓劍 Guo Taiqi 悕㲘䤢 Guo Xi 悕䅁 Gyokuen Bonpǀ 䌱䔡㡝剛 Haikou City 㴟⎋ⶪ Hainan Island 㴟⋿Ⲟ Hakata ⌂⣂ Han Lih-wu (Hang Liwu) 㜕䩳㬎 Hanshan ⭺Ⱉ Hangzhou 㜕ⶆ Ho Kan (Huo Gang) 暵∃ Hǀjǀ Tokimune ⊿㜉㗪⬿ Hǀjǀ Tokiyori ⊿㜉㗪柤 Hǀsei 㱽㶭 Hsiao Chin 唕⊌ Hu Shih (Hu Shi) 傉怑 Huaji buyi 䔓两墄怢 Hua shanshui xu (“Introduction to Painting Landscape”) 䔓Ⱉ㯜⸷ Hua shi (The History of Painting) 䔓⎚ Huang Gongwang 湫℔㛃 Huang Junbi 湫⏃⡩ Huiming jing ㄏ␥䴻 Huiyuan ㄏ怈

299

Huizong ⽥⬿ Isshi ᶨᷳ Itakura Masaaki 㜧ᾱ俾⒚ Jiaqing ▱ㄞ Jiangnan 㰇⋿ Jiao Bingzhen 䃎䥱屆 Jǀchiji 㳬㘢⮢ kaki zatsuga 剙⋱晹䓣 Kamakura 挴ᾱⶪ Kang Youwei ⹟㚱䁢 Kangxi ⹟䅁 Kannon 奛枛 (S: AvalokiteĞvara; C: Guanyin や㡢) Kano school 䊑慶㳦 Kantǀ 敊㜙 Kawai Tsunehisa 㱛⎰⿺ᷭ Kei shoki ⓻㚠姀 Keisǀ ⓻⬿ Keison ⓻⬓ Kenchǀji ⺢攟⮢ Kenkǀ Shǀkei ➭㰇䤍⓻ Kǀboku 冰䈏 Kokka (National Flower) ⚳厗 Kyoto Ṕ悥 Lamqua ⓱␙ Lanqi Daolong 嗕㶻忻昮 Langmusi 恶㛐⮢ Lang Shining (Giuseppe Castiglione) 恶ᶾ⮏ Laozi 侩⫸ Li Chu-tsing (Li Zhujin) 㛶揬㗱 Li Chun Shen (Li Zhongheng) 㛶ẚ䓇 Li Di 㛶徒 Li Keran 㛶⎗㝻 Li Lin-ts’an (Li Lincan) 㛶暾䆎 Li Madou (Matteo Ricci) ⇑楔䩯 Li Song 㛶ⴑ Li Tang 㛶Ⓒ Li Xianting 㞿ㅚ⹕ Li Yuan-chia (Li Yuanjia) 㛶⃫Ἓ Liang Long (a.k.a. Lone Liang) 㠩漵

300

Glossary of Chinese and Japanese Characters Lin Fengmian 㜿桐䛈 Linquan gaozhi (Noble Features of the Forest and Stream) 㜿㱱檀农 Lin Sen 㜿㢖 Liu Haisu ∱㴟䱇 Liu Haisu meishuguan ∱㴟䱇伶埻棐 Liu Hu ∱嗶 Liu Songnian ∱㜦⸜ Liutongsi ℕ忂⮢ Liu Wendao ∱㔯Ⲟ Liu Xiaodong ∱⮷㜙 Lou Shu 㦻䑡 Lu Hong 䚏泣 Lü Peng ⏪㼶 Lu Shan ⺔Ⱉ Lu Xiaoming 䚏㙱㖶 Lu Xiujing 映ᾖ朄 Lu Xun 欗彭 Ma Lin 楔湇 Ma Yuan 楔怈 Maejima Sǀynj ⇵Ⲟ Mao Zedong 㮃㽌㜙 Matsumura Kiyoyuki 㜦㛹㶭ᷳ meiga (masterpieces) ⎵䓣 Meishu (Art) 伶埻 Meng Chih (a.k.a. Paul Chih Meng; Meng Zhi) ⬇㱣 Mi Fu 䰛剦 mogu (J: mokkotsu) (boneless method) ἄ㦵 Muqi Fachang (J: Mokkei) 䈏寧㱽ⷠ Na Chih-liang (Na Zhiliang) 恋⽿列 Nanhai (South Sea) ⋿㴟 Nanjing ⋿Ṕ Nanpo Jǀmyǀ ⋿㴎䳡㖶 Ningbo ⮏㲊 Nishida Hiroko 大䓘⬷⫸ Nǀami 傥旧⻍ Okakura Kakuzo ⱉᾱ奂ᶱ (a.k.a. Okakura Tenshin ⱉᾱ⣑⽫) ƿnin no ran (ƿnin War) ⾄ṩ̯ḙ

Pu Ru 㹍₺ Qi Baishi 滲䘥䞛 Qianlong Ḧ昮 qingbai ware 曺䘥䒟 Qinghai 曺㴟 Qingming shanghe tu (Along the River during the Qingming Festival) 㶭 㖶ᶲ㱛⚾ Rakan (S: Arhats) 伭㻊 Rinzai (C: Linji) 冐㶰 Rong Rong 㥖㥖 Ryǀkǀin 漵⃱昊 Sekishǀ Shǀan 䞛㧝㖴⬱ Sesshnj 暒凇 Sesshnj Tǀyǀ 暒凇䫱㎂ Sesson Shnjkei 暒㛹␐䵁 Settǀ 暒㳆 Shanshui xun (“Advice on Landscape”) Ⱉ㯜妻 Shanxi Ⱉ大 Shaanxi 昅大 Shanghai ᶲ㴟 Shao Hua 䳡厗 Sheying shijie 㓅⼙ᶾ䓴 Shenbao 䓛⟙ Shenzhen 㶙⛛ Shen Zhou 㰰␐ Shide ㊦⼿ shikken (fifth regent) ➟㧑 Shinpen Kamakura shi 㕘䶐挴ᾱ⽿ shoki 㚠姀 Shǀkokuji 䚠⚥⮢ Sichuan ⚃ⶅ Songyuan school 㜦㸸㳦 Songzhai meipu 㜦㔶㠭嬄 Spolium ⎚居暾 Su Shi 喯度 Suzhou 喯ⶆ Sui Jianguo 昳⺢⚳ Taipei ⎘⊿ Taiyi jinhua zongzhi ⣒ḁ慹厗⬿㖐

The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures Taki Seiichi 㿏䱦ᶨ Tan T’an-chiung (Tan Danjiong) 嬂㖎 ℷġ Tang Hou 㸗✽ Tang Yin Ⓒ⭭ Tao Yuanming 昞㶝㖶 Tiananmen Square ⣑⬱攨⺋⟜ Tianzi guxi ⣑⫸⎌ⶴ Tingqua ⹕␙ (a.k.a. Guan Lianchang 斄倗㖴) Tomita Kojiro ⭴䓘⸠㫉恶 Ton Fan Exhibition 㜙㕡䔓㚫 torii (Japanese-style gate) 沍⯭ Tseng Hsien-ch’i (Zeng Xianqi) 㚦ㅚ ℞ Tseng Yu-ho (a.k.a. Betty Ecke; Zeng Youhe) 㚦⸤匟 Wang Chi-ch’ien (a.k.a. C.C. Wang; Wang Jiqian) 䌳⶙⋫ Wang Jiyuan 䌳㾇怈 Wang Mo 䌳⡐ Wang Shih-chieh (Wang Shijie) 䌳ᶾ 㜘 Wang Xizhi 䌳佚ᷳ Wang Xianzhi 䌳䌣ᷳ Weng Fen 佩⤖ (a.k.a. Weng Peijun 佩➡䪋) Wen Zhengming 㔯⽝㖶 woyou ⌏忲 Wu Cheng’en ⏛㈧】 Wu Hung ⶓ泣 Wu Kaisheng ⏛↙倚 Wu Taisu ⏛⣒䳈 Wu Zuoren ⏛ἄṢ Wuan Puning ⃨⹝㘖⮏ Wuxue Zuyuan 䃉⬎䣾⃫ Wuzhun Shifan 䃉㸾ⷓ䭬 Xishan qingyuan tu (Pure and Remote Mountains and Streams) 㹒Ⱉ㶭 怈⚾ Xishan xinglü tu (Travellers amid

301

Mountains and Streams) 寧Ⱉ埴 㕭⚾ Xia Gui (J: Kakei) ⢷䎒 Xiao Lu 倾欗 Xing Danwen 恊ᷡ㔯 Xinjiang 㕘䔮 Xu Beihong (a.k.a. Ju Peon) ⼸ず泣 Xu Zhiwei ⼸⽿῱ Xuanhe huapu (The Painting Catalogue of the Xuanhe Era) ⭋ ␴䔓嬄 Xuechuang Puming 暒䨿㘖㖶 Xutang Zhiyu 嘃➪㘢ヂ Yangtse River 攟㰇 Ye Qianyu 叱㶢Ḱ Yeh Kung-chao (a.k.a. George K. C. Yeh; Ye Gongchao) 叱℔崭 Yi jin (Book of Changes) 㖻䴻 Yi Ying 㖻劙

yin-yang 昘春 Yingxunting (Greeting Fragrance Pavilion) 彶啘ṕ Yongle 㯠㦪 Youqua 䄄␙ Yu Hong ╣䲭 Yu Hui ἁ廅 Yuanmingyuan (Old Summer Palace) ⚻㖶⚺ Yue Minjun ⱛ㓷⏃ Yunnan 暚⋿ Zao Wou-ki (Zhao Wuji) 嵁䃉㤝 Zeng Fanzhi 㚦㡝⽿ Zhang Daqian ⻝⣏⋫ Zhang Sigong ⻝⿅〕 Zhang Yunshi ⻝枣⢓ Zhang Zeduan ⻝㑯䪗 Zhao Boju ␐ỗ楺 Zhao Lingrang 嵁Ẍ䨘 Zhao Mengfu 嵁⬇染 Zhe school 㴁㳦 Zheng Da 惕忼

302

Glossary of Chinese and Japanese Characters Zhiyuan 军⃫ġ Zhongguo meishubao (Fine Arts in China) ᷕ⚳伶埻⟙ Zhongguo meishuguan (National Art Museum of China, Beijing) ᷕ⚳ 伶埻棐 Zhonghai (Middle Sea) ᷕ㴟 Zhonghua liu Fa yishu xiehui (Society of Chinese Artists in France) ᷕ厗 䔁㱽喅埻⋼㚫 Zhu Derun 㛙⽛㼌 Zhu Di 㛙㢋 Zhu Jiahua 㛙⭞槲 Zhuang Su 匲倭 Zhuangzi 匲⫸ Zong Bing ⬿䁛 ġ

AUTHORS’ BIOGRAPHIES

Silvia FOK received her Ph.D. from the University of Hong Kong in 2008. She has published three monographs on contemporary Chinese art, including Life and Death: Art and the Body in Contemporary China (Intellect Books, 2013), Performance Art in China: Site and the Body (ᷕ⚳ 埴䁢喅埻烉幓橼冯⟜➇) (Artist Publishing, 2010), and The Stars Artists: Pioneers of Contemporary Chinese Art 1979-2000 (㗇㗇喅埻⭞烉ᷕ⚳䔞 ẋ喅埻䘬⃰扺 1979-2000) (Artist Publishing, 2007). She is currently Lecturer in Art at the General Education Centre, The Hong Kong Polytechnic University. Noelle GIUFFRIDA is an Assistant Professor of East Asian Art at Case Western Reserve University. Her research interests include the visual and material culture of Ming Daoism and Buddhism, the historiography of collecting and exhibiting East Asian art in the West, as well as visual narratives in the Chinese painting, printed books and sculpture. She has recently published “Transcendence, Thunder and Exorcism: Images of the Daoist Patriarch Zhang Daoling in Books and Paintings” for an edited volume On Telling Images of China (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011) and submitted an article “Manifestations, Miracles, and Interventions: Constructing Visual Narratives for Zhenwu” (under review). Other current projects include a volume of case studies examining Ming representations of major Buddhist and Daoist deities such as Zhenwu, Guandi, Guanyin and Lu Dongbin, as well as an edited volume exploring the historiography of collecting East Asian Art in the West. Mark HAYWOOD is an artist, curator and writer on visual culture, who took his doctorate in the Painting Department of Royal College of Art. He has written on outsiders’ artistic perception of historical locales from picturesque artists’ depictions of the Lake District to colonial painters landscapes of Southern Africa. Mark Haywood has also written about contemporary artists from beyond the West such as Vladimir Arkhipov (Russia), Bodys Isek Kingelez (DRC) and Hema Upadhyay (India). After several years in post-Apartheid South Africa as Professor of Fine Art, Rhodes University, Haywood returned to the UK and helped found

304

Authors’ Biographies

CLEAR, the Centre for Landscape & Environmental Research. He currently works for the Open University and divides his time between homes on the Cumbrian coast and southwest France. Michelle Ying-ling HUANG is an Assistant Professor at the Department of Visual Studies, Lingnan University in Hong Kong. She has been visiting scholar at the Victoria & Albert Museum and the Research Centre for Transnational Art, Identity and Nation (TrAIN), University of the Arts London. Her research interests include the collecting and display of Chinese pictorial arts in Europe and North America, cross-cultural art curation, the historiography of Chinese painting, Chinese aesthetics and Western modernism. Her publications include the edited book Beyond Boundries: East and West Cross-Cultural Encoutners (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2011) and articles in periodicals such as The Burlington Magazine, Journal of the History of Collections, and Orientations. Elizabeth KIM is a Ph.D. candidate in History of Art at the Courtauld Institute of Art, where she is also a Visiting Lecturer. She specialises in contemporary art markets and the relationship between economics and the contemporary visual arts. Her ongoing research project analyses the relationship between art criticism and prices for works of art by looking at case studies in art of New York during the 1980s. She obtained her M.A. in Art History at Leiden University and her B.A. in Economics at the University of California, San Diego. Lenore METRICK-CHEN is an Art and Cultural Historian at Drake University. She explores visual art as a language of trans-cultural communication, especially examining the exchanges between Chinese and Western arts. Her book Collecting Objects/Excluding People: Chinese Subjects and American Visual Culture, 1830-1900 (State Univery of New York Press, 2012) explores the effect of the United States Exclusion laws on perceptions of Chinese people and Chinese objects in nineteenth-century America. Her interest in trans-cultural communication in contemporary Chinese/American art extends into the present; as in her paper “Why Look at Each Others’ Art: Ruins in Art in Beijing and NYC 1970-1980,” presented at the Danish Memory Network, Copenhagen in 2012. Memory has become increasingly important in her research; her paper “Chinese Objects Hidden in Plain Sight: Exclusion in the Creation of Cultural Memory” presented at the 2014 Colloquium on Memory, History and Power at Universite Paris 8 studies the role of public memory in public monuments. She has curated numerous exhibitions on cultural intersection

The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures

305

and exchange. Maria Kar-wing MOK is Curator (Modern Art) at the Hong Kong Museum of Art. In the past several years, she has been responsible for the research, curating, publication and acquisition of the Historical Pictures Collection. Recent exhibitions curated include The Chater Legacy—A Selection of the Chater Collection (2007-8), The Ultimate South China Travel Guide—Canton Series (2009-11), and Artistic Inclusion of the East and West: Apprentice to Master (2011-12). She is currently pursuing a Ph.D. degree at Sun Yat-sen University, Guangzhou, focusing on the dating and authentication of Chinese export painting. Lucie OLIVOVÁ is Associate Professor at Palacký University, Czech Republic, where she is lecturing on history of Chinese art and other subjects. She received her M.A. from University of California at Berkeley, and Ph.D. from Charles University, Prague, with dissertation focused on Yangzhou cultural history during the Qing dynasty. Besides, she curated several exhibitions of Chinese art in her country, recently The Landscape of Chinese Paintings (2009) and The World of Chinese Popular Gods: Woodblock Prints from Peking (2013). She has published on a wide topical scope, including nine entries in Routledge Encyclopedia of Contemporary Chinese Culture, edited by Edward Davis (Routledge and Curzon, 2004); “Images of Collectors in Eighteenth Century China” in Autour des collections d’art en Chine au XVIIIè siècle, edited by Michèle Pirazzoli-t’Serstevens and Anne Kerlan-Stephens (Librairie Droz S.A., 2008); “Ignaz Sichelbarth, a Jesuit Painter in China” in Bohemia Jesuitica 1556-2006 2 (2010); “Maps, Landscapes and Flower Paintings: New Foundings from the Chinese Collection of the Náprstek Museum” in Annals of the Náprstek Museum 31 (2010); “Qi Baishi and the Wenren Tradition” in Asian and African Studies XV (2011); “Zhongguo minjian mubanhua zhong de ‘yan’ wenhua” ᷕ⚥㮹 斜㛐䇰䓣ᷕ䘬Ⱦ䂇ȿ㔯⊾ in Nianhua yanjiu ⸜䓣䞼䨞, edited by Feng Jicai ⅗橍ㇵ (Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2012) etc. Michaela PEJýOCHOVÁ is Curator of the Chinese Collection, National Gallery in Prague. In 2003, she graduated in Chinese Studies from the Charles University in Prague. In 2011, she has completed her Ph.D. in History and Culture of the Countries of Asia and Africa at the same institution. Her subjects of interest are history of ancient and modern Chinese painting and old Chinese painting theories. She has published the unique collection of twenieth-century Chinese ink painting housed in the

306

Authors’ Biographies

National Galley in Prague. Most recently, she has been working on the topic of collecting and presenting modern Chinese painting in Europe in the 1920s and 1930s, on which she published several articles. Aaron M. RIO is a doctoral candidate in Japanese Art History at Columbia University in New York, preparing a dissertation on ink painting in fifteenth-century Kamakura. He received his B.A. in East Asian Languages and Cultures from Indiana University and M.A. and M.Phil. in Art History from Columbia. He is currently based in Japan, where he has been affiliated with the Institute for Advanced Studies on Asia at The University of Tokyo and the Department of Philosophy at Gakushnjin University. Clare TAYLOR is Lecturer and Staff Tutor in Art History at the Open University in the United Kingdom. In 2009, she was awarded her Ph.D. for her thesis, “The Manufacture, Design and Consumption of Wallpapers for English Domestic Interiors, c.1740-1800”, with the Department of Art History at the Open University. Her research was supported by a bursary from the Design History Society. Clare’s recent publications include: “Reading the Cards: Trade Cards as Sources for studying the British Eighteenth-Century Wallpaper Trade” in The Wallpaper History Review (2008), and “Chinese Papers and English Imitations in Eighteenth-Century Britain” in New Discoveries: New Research, Papers from the International Wallpaper Conference, edited by Elisabet Stavenow-Hidemark (2009), and “English Wallpaper Manufacture, c.1700-c.1800” in The Quarterly: The Journal of the British Association of Paper Historians 83 (July 2012). Minna TÖRMÄ is a Lecturer in Chinese Art at Christie’s Education in London and at the University of Glasgow; in addition, she is Adjunct Professor of Art History at the University of Helsinki. Her research interests embrace, besides historiography of Chinese art, early Northern Song culture, the art of the netherworld, and history of landscape representations (in different media). Her publications include Landscape Experience as Visual Narrative: Northern Song Dynasty Landscape Handscrolls in the Li Cheng—Yan Wengui Tradition (2002) and Enchanted by Lohans: Osvald Sirén’s Journey into Chinese Art (Hong Kong University Press, 2013). More information may be found at http://mintorma.blogspot.com. Diana YEH is Senior Lecturer in Sociology at the University of Winchester. Formerly Sociological Review Fellow, her publications include the book The Happy Hsiungs: Performing China and the Struggle for Modernity (Hong Kong University Press, 2014) and articles in journals such as Ethnic and Racial Studies and Critical Quarterly.

INDEX

abstract art, xxxix, 228, 234, 243, 284 Abstract Expressionism, 243, 249 Academia Sinica, Shanghai, 183, 185, 219 advertising, xiii, xli, 137, 164, 178, 279, 281, 282, 283, 284, 291 Aesthetic Movement, 170, 174 Ai Qing, xi, xxxv, 67, 77, 298 Ai Weiwei, 130, 145, 146, 149, 268, 273, 298 Anderson, William, 90, 91, 99, 107, 108, 109, 110 Antoinette, Queen Marie, 124 appropriation, 147, 172, 185, 230, 233, 237, 248, 287, 289 art and life, 67, 174, 237 art education, 180, 241 art market, xxii, xxx, xli, 25, 279, 280, 283, 291, 292, 293, 304 Artner, Alan F., 266, 267, 271 auctions, viii, xix, xxix, xxx, xl, xli, 45, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 285, 286, 288, 289, 290, 292, 293, 294, 295 auction house, xix, xxx, xl, xli, 278, 280, 283, 285, 286, 288, 289, 290 AvalokiteĞvara, xxi, 299 avant-garde art, xxxv, xl, 56, 71, 88, 107, 180, 232, 237, 241, 242, 245, 262, 263, 264 Ayscough, Florence, 120 Azuma Kengiro, 231, 298 Bacon, Francis, 281 Bahr, A. W., xxiv, 104, 105, 108 Baptista, Marciano, 28 Barr, Alfred, 284, 290 Barrow, John, 24, 31, 34, 38, 47

Battison, Eleonora, 267 Beaudesert, xi, 49, 61 BednáĜová, Eva, 75 Berkeley House, xxiii, xxxv, 45, 52, 53, 54 Binder, Ivo, 66 Binyon, Laurence, vii, xxiv, xxv, xxxv, xxxvi, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 189, 190, 217 black diaspora art, 229, 230, 232, 248, 249 Blair Atholl, 49 Boime, Alfred, 143, 148 borders, xxxix, xl, 228, 229, 247, 248 Bordo, Jonathan, 144 Borget, Auguste, x, xxii, 25, 26, 27, 38, 39, 42 Brackett, Oliver, 45, 47, 53, 58 Breerette, Genevieve, 266, 271 British Museum, xii, 89, 90, 91, 92, 94, 95, 96, 99, 101, 106, 107, 108, 109, 111, 112, 113 Britt, Douglas, 269, 271 Bromwich, Thomas, 56 Buddhism, xix, xx, 8, 10, 11, 19, 20, 69, 106, 108, 120, 123, 158, 235, 239, 243, 303 Chan, xx, 2, 3, 12, 239, 298 Zen, xix, xx, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 18, 19, 20, 71, 94, 106 Buhot, Jean, 117, 122 Burke, Edmund, 141, 148 Butsunichian kumotsu mokuroku, 11, 12, 13, 17, 18, 19, 298

308 Cahill, James, xiii, 201, 205, 206, 207, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 217, 219, 220, 222 Cai Yuanpei, 180, 183, 298 Calderara, Antonio, 231, 234 calligraphy, xx, xxv, 11, 66, 69, 71, 72, 132, 169, 218, 243 Chinese calligraphy, xx, xxv, 11, 72, 132, 218 Calvert, Edward, 102 Camden Arts Centre, London, 229 Cao Fei, 258, 268, 298 capitalism, xxix, 141, 167, 269, 286 Cartier-Bresson, Henri, 256, 257 Chambers, William, xxiii, 121 Chen Guangjun, 257, 298 Chen Shuren, 183, 186, 298 Chen Yang, Chaos, 263, 265, 271 Cheng Guanghu, 264, 271 Chiang Yee, xii, xxv, xxvi, xxxii, xxxvii, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 141, 143, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 189, 298 China Institute Frankfurt, 181, 182, 298 Chinese Art Treasures, viii, xiii, xxvii, xxviii, xxxix, 200, 201, 204, 215, 216, 217, 220, 221, 222, 223 Chinese characters, xi, xxiii, 67, 71, 72, 83 Chinese copyists, 31, 32, 48, 97, 159 Chinese discourses, 230 Chinese Exclusion Act, 156 Chinese export objects, 155, 172 Chinese export paintings, vii, xxii, xxxiii, xxxiv, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 46, 58, 59, 155, 166, 172, 175, 305 Chinese Government, xxvii, xxx, xxxviii, 158, 179, 183, 184, 193, 208 Chinese landscape art, vii, xii, xiii, xiv, xxi, xxiii, xxiv, xxvi, xxxvi, 6, 8, 26, 67, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92,

Index 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 111, 120, 124, 133, 136, 149, 213, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 225, 268, 272, 305, 306 Chinese garden, xii, xxv, xxxvi, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 128, 129, 135 Chinese literature, xxiii, xxv, 65, 68 Chinese museums, xiii, 161, 177 Chinese philosophy, 68, 73, 74, 100, 120, 123, 239, 240, 243 Chinese population, 139, 156, 163, 175 Chinese scripts, xxiii, xxxv, 67, 69, 71, 72, 73 Chinese seals, xxiii, 67, 69, 71, 72, 78, 95, 213 Chineseness, xxviii, 65, 75, 229, 232, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 239, 243, 248 Chinnery, George, xxii, 28, 33, 38 Chinoiserie, xxii, xxiii, xxv, xxxi, 46, 48, 50, 51, 52, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 121, 135, 164, 174 Chippendale, Thomas, xxii, 57 Chuang Shang-yen, 205, 207, 298 Chnjan Shinkǀ, xxxiii, 6, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 298 Chung Chi-kei, Martin, 289, 292, 298 Chytil, VojtČch, 74, 190, 193, 194 Clark, Lygia, 231 Cleveland Museum of Art, xiv, 225 Colefax and Fowler, 55, 59 colonialism, xxiii, 60, 134, 144, 147, 175, 231, 232, 233, 241, 248, 251, 290, 303 Communism, 67, 141, 146, 201, 202, 208, 209, 210, 219, 233, 241, 258, 286 Communist China, 141, 202, 209, 210, 233, 241 concepts, vii, xix, xx, xxi, xxii, xxiii, xxvi, xli, 4, 16, 24, 26, 88, 93, 98,

The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures 101, 107, 124, 132, 145, 193, 214, 230, 231, 232, 234, 236, 239, 247, 248, 256, 279, 282, 284, 285, 286, 289, 291 conceptual art, viii, xxvi, xxviii, 153, 245 contemporary art, viii, xiii, xxv, xxvi, xxviii, xxix, xxx, xxxi, xxxii, xxxvii, xxxviii, xl, xli, 6, 37, 75, 77, 105, 130, 131, 137, 138, 142, 147, 149, 150, 155, 179, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190, 192, 194, 195, 196, 197, 228, 229, 249, 255, 258, 263, 264, 266, 268, 269, 270, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 288, 290, 291, 293, 303, 304 contemporary Chinese art, viii, xiii, xxvi, xxviii, xxix, xxx, xxxi, xxxii, xxxvii, xl, xli, 105, 130, 131, 137, 138, 147, 179, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190, 192, 194, 195, 196, 197, 228, 229, 249, 255, 258, 263, 264, 266, 268, 270, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 288, 290, 291, 293, 303, 304 Cotter, Holland, 269, 271 Cowen, Tyler, 290 Cripps, Charlotte, 268, 271 Cubism, 244, 284, 287 Cultural Revolution, xxxi, 262, 263 Cynical Realism, xxx, 283, 284, 288 da Vinci, Leonardo, xxix daguerreotypes, 25 Daoism (Taoism), xxiii, 73, 74, 89, 104, 106, 120, 123, 133, 145, 147, 235, 239, 303 De Cruz, Gemma, 268, 273 de la Rue, Sir Evelyn, 51 DefoeĭġDaniel, 133, 149 Demand, Thomas, 268 Deng Xiaoping, xxix, 298 Ding Wenyuan, 181, 182, 298 Documenta, xxix Dong Qichang, 94, 298 du Bocage, Marie Anne Fiquet, 44, 47

309

Dunn, Nathan, xxvi, 160, 161, 162, 173 Dunn’s Museum, xiii, 176 Edwards & Sons, 55 Edwards, Richard, 211, 218 Engakuji, xxxiii, 3, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 18, 19, 298 Entwisle, E. A., 46, 48, 49, 53, 58 Erickson, Britta, 262, 271, 290, 291 Eschenburg, Madeline, 269, 272 ethnonationalism, 229 Eumorfopoulos, George, xxv, 90, 108, Euro-American, 228 Eurocentrism, xxviii, 92, 159, 230, 234, 248, 249 European art, xxii, xxiii, xxv, xxxvi, 24, 25, 26, 27, 92, 93, 101, 116, 121, 122, 124, 125, 126, 156, 162, 168, 169, 172, 180, 181, 191 Exhibition of Contemporary Chinese Painting, Berlin, 186 Falankefu Zhongguo xueyuan, 181, 298 Fan Kuan, xii, xiv, 95, 112, 212, 214, 226, 298 Fang Lijun, 284 Feaster, Felicia, 226, 272 Felton, George, xli, 282, 283, 288, 291 Feng Boyi, 281, 291, 298 Feng Mengbo, 264, 298 Fenollosa, Ernest, 171, 174 Finkelpearl, Tom, 265, 272 First World War, xxxiv, 45, 103 Fleming, Roland, 49, 50, 57, 59 Flynn, Paul, 256, 270, 272 folk art, 243, 255 Fong Wen, 211, 213, 217, 218, 219, 221, 298 Fontana, Lucio, 231, 234 Forbidden City, xxvii, 69, 119, 164, 220 forced elaborateness, 183 foreign factories, x, xxii, 25, 27, 34, 42

310 Foujita Tsuguharu, 241, 298 Fowler, John, 50, 55, 59, 60 Fox, Catherine, 266, 272 Frankfurt Art Association, 181 Frankfurter Kunstverein, 181, 195 freedom, xxiv, 27, 67, 100, 106, 148, 228, 235, 236, 241, 247, 248, 262 Freer Gallery of Art, xii, xiii, 89, 96, 97, 106, 108, 110, 114, 205, 209, 224 Freer, Charles Lang, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 107, 108, 110, 205, 209 Friedrich, Caspar David, 143 Fry, Roger, 101, 102, 103, 108 Fu Lei, 180, 181, 298 Gamboni, Dario, 285, 291 Gao Brothers, 264 Gao Qiang, 264, 298 Gao Qifeng, 183, 186, 298 Gao Zhen, 264, 298 Geiami, 4, 5, 19, 298 Gengzhitu, 30, 298 Gerber, Louis, 268, 273 Gidǀ Shnjshin, 2, 3, 12, 13, 17, 299 Giles, Herbert, 92, 94, 98, 107, 108 Giuseppe Castiglione (Lang Shining), xxi, 67, 299 Glueck, Grace, 266, 272 Goldin, Nan, 264 Gothic, xxii Goupil Gallery, London, 102 Goya, Francisco de, 287 Gravenkamp, Curt, 181 Gripp, Anna, 257, 272 Grosvenor Gallery, London, 232 Gu Weijun, 189, 299 Gu Zheng, 262, 267, 272, 299 Guan Lianchang, 25, 301 Guangzhou Triennial, 290, 291 Gugong minghua sanbai zhong, 204, 218, 299 Guo Taiqi, 189, 299 Guo Xi, xiv, 93, 94, 136, 212, 226, 299 Guo Moruo, xxxv, 67, 68, 299 Gursky, Andreas, 268

Index Gyokuen Bonpǀ, 14, 18, 299 gyomotsu no sekai, 19 Hampden House, xi, xxiii, xxxv, 45, 56, 57, 64 Hampden, John VIII, 56 Han Lih-wu, 201, 299 Hanart TZ Gallery, Hong Kong, 283, 291 Harper, F. C., 52, 53, 57 Hejzlar, Josef, 75 Hendrikse, Cees, 279, 290 Hendrikse, Melle, 279, 290 Herain, Karel, 198 Herni, Matisse, 189 hierarchies, 242, 247, 248 Hilleström Older, Pehr, 121 Hirst, Damien, 281, 293 Hǀjǀ Tokimune, 11, 12, 299 Hǀjǀ Tokiyori, 11, 299 houédard, dom sylvester, 232, 238 Hsiao Chin, 231, 233, 242, 243, 244, 245, 249, 299 Hu Shih, 201, 299 Huang Junbi, 105, 299 Huizong, 12, 91, 299 Hutton, Edward, 122 hybridity, xxi, xxxi, 37, 234 hybrid, vii, xxii, xxv, xxviii, xxxiv, 23, 24, 28, 30, 31, 34, 37, 207, 230 hybridisation, xxi, xxii hypervisibility, 232 identity, xix, xxi, xxiii, xxv, xxviii, xxxix, 37, 48, 60, 72, 138, 146, 147, 228, 229, 240, 241, 242, 249, 251, 259, 261, 262, 263, 268, 304 politics of identity, xxxix, 228 Il Punto, xl, 228, 231 imitation, 25, 56, 59, 211, 233, 243, 244, 306 International Exhibition of Chinese Art, London, xxvii, 132, 190, 201 Ionides, Basil, 51, 52, 54, 58 Japanese art, xxv, xxxvi, 2, 4, 6, 19, 75, 76, 90, 91, 92, 95, 97, 99, 107, 108, 115, 117, 118, 155, 162, 165,

The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures 166, 171, 174, 180, 208, 235, 243, 244, 306 Jarman, Derek, 141, 149 Jenyns, R. Soame, 46, 51, 58 Jiao Bingzhen, 30, 299 John “Warwick” Smith, 137 John Line & Sons, xi, 51, 62 Jourdain, Margaret, 45, 46, 51, 58 Jullien, Alain, 269, 272 Kabát, Karel, 198 Kandinsky, Wassily, 243, 244 Kang Youwei, 180, 299 Kannon (Guanyin), x, xxi, xxxiii, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 19, 22, 299, 303 Kantǀ suibokuga, 4, 6, 18, 20 Kearney, Denis, 164 Keebles, 49 Keisǀ, 8, 15, 16, 17, 18, 299 Keison, 7, 8, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 299 Kelmarsh Hall, xi, xxiii, xxxv, 45, 63 Kenchǀji, x, xxxiii, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 19, 20, 21, 22, 299 Kenkǀ Shǀkei, x, 5, 8, 14, 15, 16, 22, 299 Kiefer, Anselm, 146, 149 Kielstra, Martijn, 279, 290 Kimberley Hall, 55 Kindleberger, Charles, 280, 291 Kingman, Dong, 164, 234, 298 Kǀboku, 8, 299 Kokka, 19, 20, 91, 93, 94, 299 Koo, Wellington, 189, 299 Krebsová, Berta, xi, 73, 74, 84 Krewitt, de Gebhard, 257 Kuba, Ludvík, 74 Kwong, Kevin, 269, 272 Kyoto National Museum, xx Lam, Bourree, 267, 269, 272 Lamqua, xxii, xxxiv, 23, 29, 30, 33, 34, 38, 299 Lancaster, Nancy, xi, xxxv, 54, 55, 56, 57, 59, 63 Laozi, xxiv, 68, 73, 90, 93, 100, 106, 243, 299

311

Lee, Darlene, 262, 263, 266, 272 Lee, Sherman, 211, 213, 216, 218, 219, 221 Levertin, Oscar, 121 Lewis, Wyndham, xix, xxxi, 101, 110 Lexa, František, 198 Li Chu-tsing, 204, 211, 214, 219, 299 Li Chun Shen, 241, 242, 243, 244, 250, 299 Li Di, 12, 90, 299 Li Keran, xi, xxxv, 67, 77, 299 Li Lin-ts’an (Li Lincan), xiii, 205, 206, 213, 215, 219, 222, 299 Li Madou, xxi, 299 Li Tang, 90, 99, 217, 299 Li Xianting, 283, 291, 299 Li Yuan-chia, xiv, xxviii, xxxix, 228, 236, 243, 245, 246, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 299 Liang Long (Lone Liang), xiii, 192, 198, 299 Lin Fengmian, xxvii, 180, 187, 188, 192, 300 Lin Sen, 185, 300 Lindsay, Harry, xi, 49, 61 Lippe, Aschwin, xiii, 158, 202, 203, 205, 206, 207, 209, 210, 211, 216, 219, 220, 222 Lisson Gallery, London, 232, 236, 250 Liu Haisu, viii, xxvii, xxxviii, 179, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 300 Liu Hu, 181, 300 Liu Songnian, 90, 300 Liu Wendao, 183, 300 Liu Xiaodong, 268, 300 Lodge, Sidney, 49 Loehr, Max, 205, 211, 213, 214, 219 Longden, Alfred A., 105 Luman, Stuart, 265, 272 Lü Peng, xxix, xxx, 300

312 LYC Museum and Art Gallery, Cumbria, xl, 228, 246, 247, 250 Ma Lin, 104, 212, 300 Ma Yuan, xii, xx, 94, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 107, 114, 300 Macartney, Lord, 24, 47 Macartney Mission, 24, 31 Macdonald, Fiona, 268, 272 Maejima Sǀynj, 7, 8, 300 Maerkle, Andrew, 269, 272 Malevich, Kazimir, 234 Manet, Edouard, xv, 287, 289, 292, 296 Manzoni, Piero, 231 Mao Zedong, 262, 300 Mathesius, Bohumil, 68 Mayo, William, 53 Meccarelli, Marco, 263, 265, 273 Medalla, David, 231, 232, 234, 235, 238, 240 Meng Chih, 201, 300 Metropolitan Museum of Art, xxxii, xxxviii, 104, 140, 142, 150, 167, 174, 175, 201, 202, 218, 219, 220 Mi Fu, 93, 300 migration, xxvi, xxvii, xxxviii, 154, 155, 156, 164, 171, 175, 245 Millet, Jean-François, 103 Milton, John, 103 modernism, vii, xxiv, xxx, xxxvi, xxxviii, xli, 88, 89, 106, 179, 180, 187, 194, 233, 242, 249, 250, 251, 265, 279, 286, 290, 304 modernity, viii, 52, 59, 103, 109, 138, 150, 228, 230, 234, 238, 243, 268, 269, 272, 306 Mondrian, Piet, 234, 235 Montagu, Elizabeth, 45, 48, 58, 59 Morrison, Arthur, 94, 95, 109 multiculturalism, xxviii, 229 multiples, xxxiv, 30, 208, 232, 236, 237, 249, 250, 290 Muqi Fachang, vii, x, xx, xxi, xxxiii, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 21, 91, 103, 300

Index Museum of Decorative Arts, Prague, xiii, 191, 192, 193, 196, 198, 199 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, xiii, xx, xxxviii, 16, 167, 168, 171, 173, 174, 175, 178, 201, 202, 205, 209, 210 Na Chih-liang, xiii, 205, 222, 300 N-Group, 231 Náprstek Museum, 75, 305 Nash, Margaret, 102, 104, 109 Nash, Paul, vii, xii, xxiv, xxxv, xxxvi, 88, 89, 95, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 114 national art histories, xl, 229, 248 National Art Museum of China, xxxv, 68, 256, 257, 269, 302 National Gallery of Art, xiii, xiv, xxvii, xxxix, 200, 208, 222, 224, 226 National Gallery, Prague, 72, 75, 195, 305 National Museum of Scotland, 89, 90, 108 National Palace Museum, Taipei, xxxix, 18, 95, 99, 200, 201, 215, 216, 217, 218 Nelson-Atkins Gallery of Art, 209 Nieuhoff, John, x, 26, 41 Nǀami, 3, 4, 5, 17, 19, 300 Nomura Yozo, 118 Novotný, Kamil, 198 Oberthor, František, 192, 198 Odawara Kano, 8 Oiticica, Hélio, 231 Okakura Kakuzo (Okakura Tenshin), xxiv, 209, 300 Ollier, Brigitte, 263, 267, 272 Oman, C. C., xiv, xxiv, xxxvii, 45, 48, 50, 53, 54, 55, 58 opium trade, 158 Oriental Institute, Prague, 73, 190, 191 Orientalism, viii, xxv, xl, 45, 55, 59, 70, 73, 89, 92, 93, 107, 109, 116, 122, 131, 132, 134, 175, 220, 228,

The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures 229, 234, 235, 237, 239, 241, 242, 248, 249 Osaka City Museum of Fine Arts, xx Pablo, Picasso, xv, 189, 241, 287, 297 Palace Museum, Beijing, xi, xxvii, 69, 78, 200, 206, 207, 209, 213, 217, 220, 221 Palace collection, xxxix, 200, 201, 202, 209, 215, 216, 219 participatory art, 231 Peabody Museum, 25, 174 People’s Republic of China, xxix Percival, McIver, 45, 47, 49, 50, 52, 58 Perkins, Vincent, 53, 158 Perry, Commodore, 162 Peters Museum, 175 Peters, John R., xiii, xxvi, 161, 177 Phillips, Christopher, 265, 272 Phillips, Robert Randall, xi, 51, 52, 58, 63 Pilo, Car Gustaf, 121 Piper, Fredrick Magnus, 122 pith paper, 35, 36 plaster casts, 156, 168, 169, 172 Pollack, Barbara, 266, 273 Pope, John Alexander, xiii, 205, 206, 207, 209, 210, 220, 222, 224 postcoloniality, 230, 232, 242, 248 Pourazar, Ghaffar, 260, 261, 273 Prague School of Sinology, 195 PrĤšek, Jaroslav, 74, 195 Prussian Academy of Art, Berlin, 183, 186 Pu Ru, 119, 187, 300 Qi Baishi, 74, 187, 300, 305 Qianlong, 69, 95, 204, 206, 300 qingbai ware, xix, 300 Rathbone, Perry, 209, 210 Read, Herbert, 132, 134, 230 Redfern Gallery, London, 232 Ricci, Matteo, xxi, 299 Rice, Shelley, 269, 273 Riu Cheng Chai, Peking, 96 Rococo, xxv, xxxvi, 60, 121, 125

313

Rong Rong, 258, 260, 300 Rorimer, James, 204, 205, 206 Rothenstein, William, 101 Ruskin, John, xxvi, 155, 165, 170, 171, 172 Saatchi, Charles, 284 Salgao, Sebastião, 257 Sassoon, Sir Philip, 54, 55, 57 Schendel, Mira, 231 Second World War, xxxvi, 65, 116, 122, 125, 146, 187 Second Taiwan Strait Crisis, 203 Sekishǀ Shǀan, 8, 300 Šerých, Jaroslav, 75 Sesshnj Tǀyǀ, 4, 92, 300 Sesson Shnjkei, 7, 300 Settǀ, 7, 8, 300 Shanghai Academy of Art, 179, 180 Shikibu Terutada, 7, 20 Shiller, Robert, 280, 291 Shoeni Gallery, Hong Kong, 281 Shnjjirǀ Shimada, 19 Sickman, Laurence, 209, 211, 212, 214, 219, 220 Sigg, Uli, 280 Signals Gallery, London, 231, 249 Simon, Trevor, 281, 286 Sinebrychoff, Paul, 121 Sino-Japanese War, 135, 247 Sirén, Osvald, viii, xii, xxiv, xxv, xxxvi, 104, 105, 108, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 213, 221, 306 Sitwell, Sacheverell, 44, 45, 47, 48, 58 SklenáĜ, ZdenČk, vii, xi, xii, xxiii, xxiv, xxv, xxxv, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85 Soane, Sir John, 49 Society for East Asian Art, Berlin, 183, 185, 187, 196 Society of Chinese Artists in France, 181, 302

314 Soper, Alexander, 211, 212, 213, 214, 219, 220, 221 Sotheby’s, xxix, xxx, xli, 49, 278, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288, 293 Soto, Jesus Raphael, 231 Soviet Red Army, 187 Splendours of Imperial China: Treasures from the National Palace Museum, Taipei, 216 Spoilum, 33 Štech, Václav Vilém, 193, 196 Stewart-Greene, W., 46, 49, 59 Stretti-Zamponi, Jaromír, 198 Su Shi, 90, 300 subversion, 55, 230, 234, 237 Sui Jianguo, 268, 300 Sullivan, Michael, v, xvi, xvii, xviii, xxxii, 89, 136, 180, 187, 196, 211, 212, 221, 239, 251 supu tianqu, 183 Surrealism, 65, 243, 267 Symbolism, 104, 106, 234, 240 Taipei Fine Arts Museum, xxviii, 250 Taki Seiichi, xxiv, 93, 301 Takis, Vassilakis, 231 Tate Britain, 229 Tate Modern, xxviii, 130 Taylor, Francis Henry, 201 T-Group, 231 The League of Nations, 182 The Monkey King, 65, 68 The Other Story, 229, 232, 249 Thomas Nast's cartoon, xiii, 163, 177 Thornton Smith, Walter, 50 Three Hundred Masterpieces of Chinese Painting, 204, 207, 218, 299 Tiananmen Square demonstrations, 1989, 284 Tillman, Wolfgang, 260, 273 Tingqua, x, xi, xxii, 25, 26, 27, 29, 40, 43, 301 Tobey, Mark George, 68

Index Ton Fan Exhibition, xxxix, 228, 301 total environment, xxviii, 231, 237, 238 translocality, viii, xxviii, 228, 229, 238, 248, 249 Trautmann, Oskar P., 185 Trent Park, 54, 58 Tseng Hsien-ch’i, 205, 210, 221, 301 van Dyke Walden, Janice, 269 van Gogh, Vincent, 243 Vantroyen, Jean-Claude, 269, 273 Venice Biennale, xxix Victoria & Albert Museum, xx, 38, 45, 57, 90, 108, 132, 263, 304 Vine, Richard, 149, 258, 260, 264, 265, 267, 269, 270, 273 von Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, 141, 148 Waley, Arthur, 97, 98, 101 Walker, John, 3rd, 204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209 Wall, Jeff, 142 wallpapers, Chinese, xxiii, 45, 46, 47, 49, 50, 51, 52, 55, 58, 59 wallpapers, English, 58, 60, 306 Wang C. C., 205, 211, 301 Wang Jiyuan, 181, 301 Wang Mo, 105, 301 Wang Shih-chieh, 204, 205, 206, 208, 301 Wang Xianzhi, xx, 301 Wang Xizhi, xx, 301 Warhol, Andy, 281, 288 Warner, Langdon, 209 Watteau, Jean-Antoine, 56 Wegener, Olga-Julia, 94, 95, 109 weixin lao, 183 Weng Fen, xii, xiii, xxv, xxvi, xxxvii, 130, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 149, 150, 151, 152, 301 Weng Peijun, xxv, 144, 149, 150, 301 Whistler, James McNeill, 170, 173 Whistler, Rex, 50, 59, 60

The Reception of Chinese Art Across Cultures Whitechapel Art Gallery, London, 190 Wood, Gaby, 263, 273 Wordsworth, William, 100, 132, 145 Worringer, Wilhelm, 106, 110 Wu Hung, xxix, xxxii, 262, 273, 291, 301 Wu Kaisheng, 182, 301 Wuzhun Shifan, 3, 11, 301 Xia Gui, xii, xxi, 6, 8, 16, 95, 98, 99, 105, 113, 114, 212, 301 Xiao Lu, 269, 301 Xing Danwen, viii, xiv, xv, xxix, xl, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 301 Xu Beihong, xxvii, xxxviii, 105, 180, 183, 187, 188, 190, 192, 301 Xu Bing, 136, 149, 273 Xu Zhiwei, 260, 301 Xuechuang Puming, 14, 301 Yang Shaobin, 284 Yeh, George K. C., xiii, 205, 206, 207, 221, 224, 301 Yi Ying, 289, 291, 301 Youqua, xxxiv, 23, 34, 301

315

Yu Hong, 268, 301 Yuanmingyuan artists’ village, 284 Yue Minjun, viii, xv, xxx, xli, 278, 279, 280, 281, 283, 284, 286, 288, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296, 301 Zao Wou-ki, 232, 234, 301 Zen, xix, xx, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 18, 19, 20, 71, 94, 106 Zen temples, xix, xx, 5 Zeng Fanzhi, xxix, 301 Zero Group, 231 Zhang Daqian, 105, 232, 301 Zhang Sigong, 9, 10, 301 Zhang Yunshi, 181, 301 Zhang Zeduan, 91, 301 Zhao Boju, 90, 104, 301 Zhao Lingrang, xii, 93, 94, 111, 301 Zhe school, xx, 92, 99, 105, 301 Zheng Da, xxv, xxxii, 134, 149, 301 Zhongguo meishuguan, xxxv, 68, 256, 302 Zhonghua liu Fa yishu xiehui, 181, 302 Zhu Derun, 212, 214, 302 Zhu Di, 96, 302 Zhu Jiahua, 183, 302 Zong Bing, 120, 302