Notes from the Half-Old Study

           

                       Artists can be roughly classified into three categories: those careful  and un-casual, those un-careful 
                       and casual, and those carefully casual. The  first group is rigid and uninteresting; the second, sluttery 
                       and slovenly; the  third group, best for art. The last group has carefulness at the core, and  casualness 
                       at the surface. Carefulness is invisible, and casualness is visible.  Such is like Chinese paintings: the 
                       heavy accumulation of culture betrays  itself in a voluntarily way, a carelessly voluntariness. This is a 
                       level of  creation, a level of ease. As a matter of fact, this is no different from life  and man. A man in life 
                       is really cute if he is carefully casual. 
                       The young favors the beautiful; the grown-up, the bold; the middle-aged,  the simple; the old, the
                       lightness. Simplicity is the soul of beauty. It is not  equivalent to small number; it is free of the fetters 
                       of theories, techniques or  conventions; it is direct expression, as bold as day. Simplicity is the son of 
                       nature itself. The best art form is simple, and the simple is divine. A starred  night is more complicated
                       than a clear night sky.
                       “Xiang” is  simple and unsubstantial; the form, complicated and substantial. What is “Xiang”?  It is like
                       viewing a flower, and the flower is the form. If viewing a flower is  like watching a beauty, then the 
                       beauty is the “Xiang” behind the flower. To  furnish another example. An actor plays the part of Li Bai 
                       the poet. People say  he acts well. Actually nobody has the honor to meet Li Bai, but people share  one
                       image of Li Bai, the “Xiang” of Li Bai. Common sense is for the form, but  sudden realization is for 
                       “Xiang”. The form is brief and mortal, but “Xiang” is  ever-lasting and immortal. It is a long journey from
                       form to “Xiang”. However,  such a journey is the target of art in the best form. The Chinese calligraphy 
                       is a case in point, which is worth exploring for “Chinarization”. 
                       The New needs  two conditions: the old, and finding the new in the old. Or rather, the old and  classic 
                       may have certain vigor in it. It is like a familiar unfamiliarity. It  is also like the new shoots of the old plant, 
                       natural and not more than  excessive expectation. The innovative shoots in Chinese painting can only 
                       grow  out of the old soil of itself.
                       Flowers never  copy each other. The peach is the peach, and the pear is the pear. Anything  deserving 
                       an independent status in the world should claim its own  peculiarities. Trees and grass are growing in 
                       the yard, but they co-exist  peacefully. The peach flowers in blossom light up its environment for they 
                       know  their splendor. Peony, as noble as it is, will never cross others.
                      “One inch  further beyond a 100-feet pole” is a phrase in Buddhism. “A 100-feet pole”  refers to the top 
                       of a temple. The phrase means that if one wants to reach the  top of a higher temple, he should step 
                      down from the first one, and then he can  proceed to climb the higher one. 
                       In painting, we  should also display the character of “fu and gui”, with the former referring  to covering 
                       the universe, and the latter referring to cutting off the rivers. Therefore,  “fu and gui” means unlimited
                       valiance. Painting is art, but it also has its  own universe.
                       Chance is  creativity. The more chances, the more opportunities for creativity. The  materials for 
                       Chinese painting—brushes, rice papers, Chinese ink—none of them  is without chance. They are to 
                       work to their uttermost potentials.
                       Creativity in Chinese  paintings is demonstrated in the peculiar art of induction, distilment and  
                       condensation from the objects. The tools are detached from the independent  sense of beauty of the 
                       form. We claim that Qi Baishi is the most creative  artist in view of these two perspectives. 
                       To paint, one  should learn to appreciate the value of “nothingness”. It is like building up a  house. 
                       Those “things” include doors, windows and walls, which are to be  erected; the space within is the 
                       “nothingness”, the very place for man to live  in.
                       When you finish ten  paintings, there might be just one to your satisfaction. When you finish  twenty,
                       there might be none out of the first ten to your standard. Don’t expect  to select a tall man from a host
                      of dwarfs. Make your choice from a hundred, a  thousand or ten thousand. An artist’s success is rather 
                       reliably measured by  the unsuccessful attempts before he finally makes it.