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The Spirit of chinese Landscape Painting

LONG before the emergence of Chinese landscape painting, the Chinese venerated the forces of nature. The earliest written documents, the inscribed oracle bones from the ancient Shang capital of An-yang, refer to the spirits of the mountains and rivers, to the deities of heaven and earth, and to the directions. China's oldest poetry, the Shih Ching, or Book of Song, dating from around 1000 B.C., not only shows a keen sense of the loveliness of nature but also relates man to it, as in the following verse:

Gorgeous in their beauty

Are the flowers of the cherry:

Are they not magnificent in their dignity

The carriages of the royal bride.

Another song uses these images:

How the cloth-plant spreads

Across the midst of the valley!

Thick grow its leaves,

The oriole in its flight

Perches on that copse,

Its song is full of longing.¹

Not only the priests and poets of ancient China but also the great philosophers of the Chou period, like Confucius and Lao-tzu, conceived of man as governed by the forces of heaven and earth. Confucius in one place says: "The wise find pleasure in water, the virtuous find pleasure in hills."² And Lao-tzu writes:

Heaven is eternal, the Earth is everlasting.

How come they to be so? It is because they do not foster their own lives,

That is why they live so long.

Therefore the Sage

Puts himself in the background; but is also to the fore.

Remains outside; but is always there.

Is it not just because he does not strive for personal ends

That all his personal ends are fulfilled.³

Here in the words of the ancient sages one finds the very spirit which, centuries later, was to be perfectly expressed in the art of the landscape. In China alone, landscape painting has religious as well as philosophical significance, and for over a thousand years it was regarded as the most important subject matter for the artist. Chinese landscape painting in consequence is one of the great manifestations of the human spirit as well as the most remarkable creation of the Chinese artistic genius. The term "landscape," or shan shut in Chinese, combines the same two concepts which Confucius mentioned, for it consists of the characters for mountain and water. This in itself is deeply meaningful, suggesting as it does the very elements which were considered the most important in rendering nature. The sacred mountains of China have been worshipped from time immemorial, and the Five Sacred Peaks form one of the Shih-erh Chang, or Twelve Ancient Ornaments. Water also was of prime significance to an agricultural people like the Chinese, and it was worshipped in the form of rivers, clouds, mist, and rain, and symbolized by the dragon, one of the most ancient and popular of Chinese sacred animals. Lao-tzu, in yet another passage of his famous Tao Tê Ching, uses water as an illustration of the Supreme, the Tao, when he says:

The highest good is like that of water. The goodness of water is that it benefits the ten thousand creatures, yet it does not scramble but is content with the places that all men disdain. It is this that makes water so near to the Way.⁴

It is no pure chance that Taoist thought exerted such a profound influence on the landscape painters of China, for here was a philosophy which taught man to lose himself in the vastness of nature so that he might find himself, to identify his soul with the Spirit which pervades the cosmos, the Ultimate Essense, the Tao, in order to gain insight into the nature of reality. Taoist mysticism and the closely related Ch'an, or Zen, Buddhism, dedicated to a very similar type of mystic experience, were the primary intellectual and spiritual forces leading to the great florescence of landscape painting during the Sung period. Precisely at that time the merger of these tendencies took place, and it was then that they enjoyed their greatest popularity among the people of education and culture.⁵

Besides mountains and rivers, trees constituted a third element considered indispensable to any true landscape. It is perhaps in representing these that the Chinese artist showed his greatest insight into the structure of nature, for while Western artists were usually content with an exterior likeness, the Chinese painter wished to portray the very essence of the tree. After absorbing their shape and manner of growth and trying to identify himself with their spirit, he was able to give his trees an individuality and expressiveness which no Western artist has achieved. To the painters of China, the tree (or the mountain or the rock) was as important as man himself, and thus it was rendered with equal if not greater care and with so much feeling that its very life is revealed, and even a Westerner, no matter how different his view of nature, will find that he looks at trees with a new understanding after studying Chinese landscape paintings.

Among the trees painted, the pine is the most beloved, for the pine, with its "straight-stemmed trunk and gnarled and twisted branches, typifies the scholar-official who may be shaken by the wind of calumny and misfortune, but remains erect and steadfast, his character rooted in the unchanging principles of Confucian virtue."⁶ A great variety of pines and other evergreens are found in the landscapes, represented singly or in groups, silhouetted against the sky or seen on mountains. Next to the pine in popularity is the bamboo. In fact, a whole branch of Chinese painting is devoted to this beautiful tree. Like the pine, the bamboo has a symbolic meaning for the Chinese, standing "for lasting friendship and hardy age, but especially for chü-jên (a gentleman), for it bows to the storm but rises again when the storm has abated."⁷ These two trees, together with the blossoming plum tree, which was thought of as a harbinger of spring, are referred to as the three friends of the cold season. Other trees often represented are the willow, which is especially popular in Sung painting, the arborvitae, catalpa, oak, elm, mulberry, and a generalized type of tree which cannot be identified with any particular genus.

Though mountains, water, and trees are the main elements of landscape painting, this does not mean that the artist restricted himself to these. Rocks also played an important role, and some of the early Ch'ing painters, such as Shih-t'ao, were famous for their wonderful rendering of picturesque stones. Besides these, many different kinds of grass, moss, bushes, and flowers are represented, and romantic waterfalls and gorges were much admired, emphasizing as they do the grandeur and wildness of nature. In the midst of these natural phenomena, the artist, especially in the Sung and Ming periods, placed a tiny hut and a sage or two lost in rapt admiration of the vastness and beauty of the landscape. The onlooker, in turn, was supposed to identify himself with the tiny figure, letting his spirit dwell in the imaginary scene so that he too might find peace in the contemplation of nature.

The mentality of the gentleman-scholar who devoted himself to landscape painting is perhaps best expressed in Kuo Hsi's famous "Essay on Landscape Painting," which, although written in the eleventh century, served as a model and source of inspiration for all subsequent Chinese landscape painters. In it the author, himself a famous painter, says:

Why does a virtuous man take delight in landscape? It is for these reasons: that in a rustic retreat he may nourish nature; that amid the carefree play of streams and rocks, he may take delight; that he may constantly meet in the country fishermen, woodcutters, and hermits, and see the soaring cranes, and hear the crying of the monkeys. The din of the dusty world and the locked-in-ness of human habitations are what human nature habitually abhors; while, on the contrary, haze, mist, and the haunting spirits of the mountains are what human nature seeks, and yet can rarely find. When, however, in the heyday of great peace and prosperity, the minds, both of man's sovereign and of his parents, are full of high expectations of his services, should he still stand aloof, neglecting the responsibilities of honor and righteousness? In face of such duties the benevolent man cannot seclude himself and shun the world. He cannot hope to equal in spirit virtuous hermits such as Chi Tzu and Yin Hsü-yu or share the name of Hsia Huang-kung and Ch'i Li-chi.⁸

Since in doing his duty to society the lover of landscapes is cut off from the joys of nature, it is to the painting of landscapes that he must turn in order to participate, in spirit at least, in these delights, and Kuo Hsi goes on to say:

Having no access to the landscape, the lover of forest and stream, the friend of mist and haze, enjoys them only in his dreams. How delightful then to have a landscape painted by a skilled hand! Without leaving the room, at once, he finds himself among the streams and ravines; the cries of the birds and monkeys are faintly audible to his senses; light on the hills and reflections on the water, glittering, dazzle his eyes. Does not such a scene satisfy his mind and captivate his heart? That is why the world values the true significance of the painting of mountains. If this is not recognized, and the landscapes are roughly and carelessly approached, then is it not like spoiling a magnificent view and polluting the pure wind?⁹

Thus the onlooker, reverently unrolling a painting, was invited to identify himself with the tiny figures wandering about the valleys, standing at the water's edge, or contemplating the scenery. Kuo Hsi, discussing the different types of landscape, talks of those in which one can travel, those which can be gazed upon, those in which one can ramble, and finally, those in which one can dwell, stressing that it is the last two which are most praiseworthy. Few, he says, will ever achieve this effect, but these beautiful works arouse in the superior man the yearning for forest and stream. This emphasis on the landscape itself is peculiar to Chinese painting: in most Western art, the landscape is merely a backdrop for human activity, while here the reverse is the case, and man is subordinate to the immensity of nature.

In selecting a particular motif, the artist often drew upon traditional subjects, especially scenes which had been celebrated by the poets of the past, such as Li Po or Tu Fu. There is a Chinese saying that poetry is a picture without form and painting a poem with form, and a few lines from a lyric often served both as inspiration and subject matter. Kuo Hsi, discussing poetry, wrote: "The beautiful lines give full expression to the inmost thoughts of men's souls, and describe vividly the scenery before men's eyes."¹⁰ One of the most popular subjects was the group of eight views of the Hsiao and Hsiang Rivers, each of which represents a scene from the shores of Lake Tung-t'ing that Li Po had celebrated in the following famous poem:

On the Tung-t'ing Lake

Westward from Tung-t'ing the Chu River branches out,

While the lake fades into the cloudless sky of the south.

The sun gone down, the autumn twilight steals far over Chang-sha;

I wonder where sleep the lost queens of Hsiang of old.¹¹

The very titles of these views are deeply suggestive of the spirit of this kind of landscape painting: The Evening Bell from a Distant Temple, Sunset Glow over a Fishing Village, Fine Weather after Storm at a Lonely Mountain Town, Homeward-Bound Boats off a Distant Coast, The Autumn Moon over Lake Tung-t'ing, Wild Geese Alighting on a Sandy Plain, Night Rain on the Rivers Hsiao and Hsiang, and Evening Snow on the Hills.

Other paintings show the valley of the Yellow River, a fisherman in a boat, a hermit in the mountains, a sage gazing at the moon or visiting a friend in his retreat, mist over the mountain tops, and many similar scenes. The overwhelming aspect of nature, especially of mountains, and the minuteness of man contemplating this majesty are the ever-recurring subjects of Chinese painting. In depicting such scenes, the artist was taught that he must first of all identify himself with the landscape and become one with the Tao which pervades all of nature, for only then could he begin to do justice to his theme. He was not concerned with that outward appearance of nature which absorbed the French Impressionists, but rather with its innermost spirit. Thus, he concentrated on the essentials, for only in so doing would he be able to present the soul of the cosmos. We are told over and over again how the great painters of China would spend months and even years wandering through mountain landscapes, immersing themselves in the forms of nature until they had discovered their true being; and then, and only then, would they take up their brushes and record their impressions. Preparatory sketches of the type common in our civilization are almost unknown in Chinese art, and painting directly from the scene itself was very rare, for the artist, after having achieved a mystical identification with the spirit of nature, recreated the vision from within himself.

Although the landscapes are often identified by name, and certain famous motifs are done again and again, this does not mean that these paintings are to be thought of as realistic versions of particular scenes, painted the way a Courbet might have painted an actual place, but rather that these traditionally admired sights were considered ideal landscapes. These scrolls were the expression of a cultural ideal which during the Sung period and after dominated the artistic output of the Chinese painter-scholars. During later periods, such as the Ming and Ch'ing dynasties, artists often derived their inspiration not from an actual scene but from a celebrated scroll by some painter whom they particularly admired, usually one of the great masters of the T'ang, Sung, or Yuan periods. This is not to say that these works were outright copies but rather that they were painted in the spirit of the artist who had inspired the work, so that the earlier painter became a kind of godfather to the later one. This, in a way, assured the continuity of the great artistic tradition of China, but at the same time it often had a stultifying effect upon the output of later periods, when a dead academicism replaced the vital artistic spirit which had prevailed in earlier times. This attitude also creates particular problems for the historian and the connoisseur of Chinese painting, since it becomes next to impossible to determine with certainty which scrolls are by the artists to whom they are ascribed and which are no more than copies of originals or works inspired by some famous masterpiece of one of the great painters of the past.

The landscapes represented were shown in a variety of moods depending upon the time of day, the weather, and the season of the year. There were morning or evening views, rainy or sunny scenes, tempestuous or tranquil ones, each represented in its own peculiar manner. As Kuo Hsi had said:

The spring mountain is wrapped in an unbroken stretch of dreamy haze and mist, and men are joyful; the summer mountain is rich with shady foliage, and men are peaceful; the autumn mountain is serene and calm, with leaves falling, and men are solemn; the winter mountain is heavy with storm clouds and withdrawn, and men are forlorn.

The sight of such pictured mountains arouses in men exactly corresponding moods. It is as if he were actually in those mountains. They exist as if they were real, not painted. The blue haze and white path arouse a longing to walk there; the sunset on a quiet stream arouses a longing to gaze upon it; the sight of hermits and ascetics arouses a longing to dwell with them; the rocks and streams arouse a longing to saunter among them ... the meaning of these pictures is wonderful.¹²

In painting these scenes the artist was not expected to give a life-like and detailed view, but rather a general impression which would convey to the onlooker a feeling of the scene as a whole. Too many intricacies would only interfere with his vision, for, as Kuo Hsi wrote: "When the artist succeeds in reproducing this general tone and not a group of disjointed forms, then clouds and atmosphere seem to come to life." Perhaps this ability to bring many details together into a unified and expressive whole, alive with the very spirit of nature, is the quality which distinguishes the great masters of Chinese painting from their many imitators and followers. These lesser men might be able, technically, to render every detail as the painter's manual had prescribed it, but they could not fuse these elements into a meaningful whole, and the result is an art both academic and eclectic, without any of the mysterious power which so pervades the masterpieces of Chinese painting. It is this that Hsieh Ho, the great fifth-century critic, had in mind when he made his first principle of painting the rendering of the "spirit-resonance and life-movement," or ch'i-yün sheng-tung in Chinese,¹³ a principle that lies at the very core of the Chinese conception of art. If the painter possessed this, he was, through inspiration, able to grasp the mysterious quality of nature, while if he lacked it, then the greatest technical virtuosity was as nothing. In a critic like Hsieh Ho, the dual nature of the Chinese mind is clearly revealed, and, as in Confucius and Lao-tzu, the rational and the emotional, the practical and the mystic both find expression. Thus Hsieh Ho in his six canons lists five which are basically technical. The second principle is the "bone manner," or structural use of the brush, while in the third he tells the artist to conform with the objects to obtain their likeness. The fourth says that the colors should be applied according to the species; the fifth deals with composition, which Siren has translated as "plan and design, place and position"; and the sixth says to transmit models by drawing.¹⁴ However, he begins with the first and most important, the ch'i-yün shêng-tung, which is as elusive and profound as the writings of Lao-tzu. Yet both are essential to Chinese art, and they must exist side by side, for in any really great work technique and inspiration are inseparably united. In the last analysis, even the greatest inspiration is worthless if the artist does not have the skill to give expression to it, and on the other hand, even the greatest technical ability is of little value when the artist lacks inspiration.

A unique feature of Chinese painting which distinguishes it from that of the West is its close relationship to calligraphy, a relationship that has certainly existed since Han times, that is, for at least two thousand years. The great artists of China were often as highly esteemed as calligraphers as they were as painters, and the skillful and artistic use of the brush played an essential role in the training of every person of education. Another difference between China and the West is that the Chinese artists were, more likely than not, gentlemen-painters rather than professionals, many being officials, statesmen, or even generals and emperors. This cultural ideal of the gentleman-painter, who is an amateur in the best sense of the word, is aptly described in the introduction to the catalogue of the collection of the most famous of all the gentlemen-painters, the Emperor Hui Tsung of the Sung dynasty, an artist of considerable talent who assembled one of the most magnificent collections of Chinese painting ever known. In the catalogue he says that the famous landscape painters from the T'ang to the Sung period were by and large not professionals but high officials and scholars who carried their vision of hills and valleys in their hearts, were in love with springs and stones, and had a great weakness for mists and clouds. He ends by saying that landscape paintings cannot be sold in the street, for they do not correspond to the taste of the common people.¹⁵