18th century Chinese artist on life-force and painting

I've been reading The Grove Book of Art Writing edited by Martin Gayford and Karen Wright. It is an anthology of writings by artists, critics, writers and philosophers on topics related to the creative process, viewing art, nature and inspiration and the artist. In it I came across a gem, a text by an 18th century artist from China, Shen Tsung-ch'ien. In this short piece he talks about life-force and the act of painting. There is a lot to take from it. So here goes..

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All matter is formed of accumulated force. Thus even the undulations of the hilltops and every rock and tree are possessed by a life-force inherent in them. They are multifarious, yet orderly, perhaps they exist in small numbers, but they are never dried and dead. Each has its own shape, and together they have a related unity. All things differ in shape and manner, yet all are governed by this life-force and possess the beauty of life. This is what we call shih, force of movement. When people, speaking of the six techniques [the venerable principles of Chinese art, laid down in the fifth century AD], place first the 'lifelike tone and atmosphere', they mean exactly this. When we speak of the force of the brush (pi-shih), we mean that the life-movement of the brush brings out the body posture of the different objects. Only so can the work be called a painting. When one prepares to put ink on paper, one should feel in one's wrist a power like the universe creating life. It flows out from one generously and freely, without obstruction and without deliberation. One puts a dot here and a dash there and the objects take form; anything is possible for one to pick up and carry along. This is the creative moment when hand and mind and brush and ink co-operate. As Wen Cheng-ming says, seize it, capture it at once before it vanishes, for speed is essential to catch that force of movement. ... The forms of hills and forests come from the life-force (sheng-ch'i) of the universe, and the ink marks and tracings of the brush come the spiritual force of the artist's mind and hand. So where the life-force is, the force of movement is also. The life-force makes the force of movement, and the force of movement carries the life-movement. The force of movement (shih) can be seen, but the life-force (chi'i) cannot. Therefore it is necessary to have the force of movement to bring out the life of things. When life-force circulates, the force of movement goes in harmony with it. So this life-force and force of movement come from the same source. Let it pour out and it will flow naturally and in graceful movements. There is no need to work carefully and yet it all fits in beautifully. Is it life-force? Or is it force of movement? Just pour it out. The insight of a moment may be thus committed to eternity, and the artist need not be ashamed of his work. Such pleasures of creation cannot be felt by an artist who slowly builds up his structures.

The moment of inspiration comes by itself, and brushes away all doubts and hesitancies. Like an arrow shooting out from the bowstring, it cannot be stopped; it is unfathomable, like rumbling thunder coming from the earth. One has no idea where it comes from, when it starts, nor wither it goes. It comes just at the exact moment, not a second sooner or later. When this inspiration comes at the moment of painting, a true masterpiece is born. It cannot be repeated by doubled effort, it simply eludes it. For the effort to recapture that moment is born of man (artificial), not of heaven (inspired). Only those possessed of the natural expansive spirit have more of such moments; they can shut out the mental effort and let themselves go soaring in freedom to wherever the spirit may carry them. ...

- Shen Tsung-ch'ien, fl. 1781

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at work in the studio

The fall is giving way to winter here in Maryland. On days like today, the sky is grey, the rain drizzles and the cold turns the water drops on branches into ice. On other days, the sun shines but it gives more light than warmth. The leaves are still dropping off trees. Sometimes they leave the tree gently. There is a decisive moment when the leaf lets go (or is it the tree that lets go?). Sometimes a gush of wind makes the separation a forceful one, sending leaves off trees with a whoosh. It's lovely to see the seasons change. And from my studio window it looks even more lovely. 

Other than enjoying the winter, I've been spending a lot of time in the studio the last couple of months. For the most part, I've been working on a new body of work - a new set of paintings and drawings. I am enjoying doing the work immensely. The great thing about doing abstract work is that you are always surprised. The way I've been working is such that I don't have a plan (see this post about working without a plan). So I work - looking, adding, subtracting, searching and changing - until I come to the point where the composition comes together. Arriving at this point is such a thrill because you don't really plan on getting to that exact place. You can't plan how certain marks, splashes, drips etc will interact with each other. You always stop in your tracks, and for me that seems like the best way to work.

I've also been reading in the studio. These days it's the work of John Cage that I've been reading about. First I read 'Where the Heart Beats - John Cage, Zen Buddhism and the Inner Life of Artists' by Kay Larson. Now I am reading 'Musicage: Cage Muses on Words, Art, Music', which is a series of conversations between John Cage and Joan Retallack. Both books are very interesting and thought provoking. Sometimes I read fiction, but I usually keep fiction for the evening.

Writing is another thing I do when in the studio. Sometimes I write before I start painting. It allows me to quieten down. Writing also helps to gain clarity. Sometimes putting things down on paper is all it takes to really see something. But usually I write because I have a thought and I want to explore it. And when I write I use a pen and a diary. I'm not a typer-writer really.

The painting, reading and writing, all happen in the studio. Here they all come together, one flows into the other. Sometimes when there is a lull in drawing or painting, I look to writing or reading to refresh me. But you know, sometimes just sitting doing nothing is good too. At that time it's the studio itself that provides inspiration. The easel, paints, brushes, inks and pencils present a scene full of possibilities. I have on the walls a few of my works, a linocut and a monoprint. On the table and windowsill I have my collection of leaves and stones and such. And of course there is always the window to look out from.

I'll end here with some photographs I took this morning in the studio. Enjoy!

inspiration in the studio

When I am in my studio, I often look up at my wall for inspiration. Stuck on it are cuttings, pictures, small drawings, reminders and beautiful objects which revive me, push me to do more and often give me sound advice. Advice comes from some of the people who have inspired me immensely - Georgia O'Keeffe, Virginia Woolf, John Muir, Maya Angelou, Henry David Thoreau, Vincent Van Gogh.

When I am frustrated with a painting, Georgia O'Keeffe says,
"Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant, there is no such thing. Making your unknown known is the important thing." 

To be true to myself, Virginia Woolf says, "This soul, or life within us, by no means agrees with the life outside us. If one has the courage to ask her what she thinks, she is always saying the very opposite to what other people say."

That art is not separate from the rest of life, is what John Muir says, 
"When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe."

Courage comes to me from Maya Angelou who says,
"Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently."

Henry David Thoreau reminds me to persevere,
"Do what you love. Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still."

And finally, Vincent Van Gogh sternly tells me to have faith, 
"Painting is a faith, and it imposes the duty to disregard public opinion."

Who inspires you?

creative abandon - lessons from the chauvet cave paintings

Rhinos (Chauvet Cave painting)

Last night I watched a documentary titled 'Cave of Forgotten Dreams', a film by Werner Herzog on the Chauvet Cave paintings in France. The Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc Cave is home to the oldest known cave paintings, some 32000 years old. When it was discovered in 1994 by three speleologists (read cave explorers) Jean-Marie Chauvet, Eliette Brunel-Deschamps and Christian Hillaire, the cave entrance was completely hidden because of landslides. A large boulder sealed the natural entrance, creating what Werner Herzog mentions in the film, a natural time capsule.

Can you imagine, coming upon this hidden landscape, these forgotten paintings alive with herds of horses, rhinos, lions and other animals on its walls? The silence of the cave, the stalagmites and stalactites, the bones of animals, the absence of light... Time went by one second at a time and there stood those paintings waiting for thousands of years.

The documentary tells us a lot about the cave, about how it's being studied and preserved for future generations. But what I loved most is how well the paintings were shown. The light moving slowly across the timeless creation, while the thick darkness enveloped the rest. One can imagine the fire burning in that cave 32000 years ago, throwing its light on the walls. The dancing flames giving the drawings a life of their own and those ancient people looking at the animals drawn along the curves of the cave wall. They would have seen what we see - visually engaging works of art. What were their thoughts looking at the work?

Horses (Chauvet Cave painting)

What I found interesting was how the artists visualised movement - the bison with eight legs, or the rhino's horns drawn repeatedly in front and above its head. The two rhinos fighting seem locked with brutal force. Then there is the herd of horses, drawn obliquely, each horse unique in its rendition. It almost seems like the horses are galloping side by side. And one of the artists made a series hand prints with some kind of red pigment and another with the hand used as a stencil. The artists used various methods to accentuate the drawings - grooves, shading and repeated lines. Further reading told me that before the artists started drawing in earnest, they scraped the cave walls for a lighter coloured wall and a smooth texture. Such ingenuity! Another interesting thing is that the paintings were not done at the same time period. Some of the paintings were made some 5000 years after the first series. The mind boggles! What did those individuals find in that cave and what did those 'new age' artists think of the paintings on the wall? How did they add to what was already drawn? How old did they think those drawings were?

You can't help but feel a sense of awe looking at these works of art. It is a beautiful reminder that the need to express ourselves is part of who we are. We have always created and always will, no matter how our language changes.

'Cave of Forgotten Dreams' is an interesting watch - you can see the trailer of the documentary here. I bet you'll be inspired by the ancient lines drawn with an abandon we all aspire to. Enjoy!