Chang Tsong-zung
(July 2004)
As an independent tradition of art, there is nothing wrong with the practice of Chinese ink painting, contrary to the impression one gets from the lively scholarly debates over its survival. It is true that the sense of national cultural crisis over the past century has prompted numerous attempts to “reform” and “revolutionise” Chinese painting, yet the practice of this traditional style of art has continued to flourish in spite of all its detractors and reformers. The issue facing the study of Chinese painting from within its own tradition would seem to be that of positioning, of tuning into the changing context of contemporary times, rather than defensive retreat and constant self-denial. Creative self-appraisal and renewal is the way forward, and the way to preserve its essential spirit while responding to the diversity of the multi-cultural world. A principal task for guardians of the art of Chinese painting should be that of defining and defending the tastes and artistic aims that have been achieved over its long history.
If one looks at the social and cultural position of Chinese painting today with an eye towards its historically prominent position, one cannot but be disheartened by its constant decline in cultural leadership and social influence. A revealing comparison with traditional painting today would be art of China’s “new wave,” today’s darling of the cultural world. (Throughout this essay the term “new wave” has been used loosely to refer to the entire field of art employing “contemporary” practices, art which positions itself as being more progressive than conventional). No traditional art form has managed to remain at par with the new wave in setting trends, whether in China or in the West, and the Chinese art world should therefore realise that what is at stake here is not a historical cultural problem but the rising order of a different time. The principle issues needing to be addressed are: which specific social and cultural roles and functions have been replaced by the new wave, what are the differences of these roles and functions in the context of their respective histories, and finally, what strategies should traditional painters adopt to redress, or simply to address, the difference.
There are both internal and external reasons for the decline of the role played by traditional art. The main internal reason is the overall decline of the great “literati art” tradition. Modern society and its educational system cease to educate and promote this type of art, which had hitherto always expressed itself in the context of a literati society that wrote poetry and created paintings as civilised social intercourse. It has everything to do with a society bred to write with a brush and communicate through literature. Modern Chinese political systems generally discourage this cultural form, so the issue for those who continue to write and paint today with a brush is that of continuity, or how not to continue. Having lost the social framework that produced such a literary class, other problems of cultural role and artistic identity immediately follow. The external reasons for the decline is of course everything related to the changing times. The more inflexible traditional painting remains in the face of change, the more uncertain it is of its own virtues, the more it will be ignored by the community at large. By contrast, art of the new wave is constantly moving and adapting to shifting currents; it is highly malleable and creative, and therefore has been able to engage with the cultural system of the dominant West and become a player within the international cultural and economic discourse. By contrast, the system of traditional painting is largely nationally based, and is not equipped to engage the international artistic community on an international platform, and it is facing the danger of losing touch. (Here “system” refers to the full machinery of validation that includes critical appraisal, intellectual discourse developing out of the visual arts, private and public collecting institutions, and the art market network). Today the market in China still favours traditional art, but it is already feeling the pressure of contemporary art. If traditional painting remains outside the sphere of international influence where the new wave seems to be able to establish itself, both academic and market interest in traditional painting will slowly shift with the trend. This is the danger lurking around the corner.
The above points are by no means original, being issues that have been debated by numerous specialists in China and abroad. The reason for bringing them up here is to speculate upon strategies and to suggest courses of action. Given the problems, it seems the heart of the matter for traditional Chinese painting is that of positioning, beginning with a re-definition of terms. By re-defining the term used to refer to traditional painting, we can define its special role in art, so as to find ways to strengthen its roots; the final goal is to venture onto an international contemporary platform. One should not shy away from reviving the grand ambitions of traditional literati art, and one should strive to find strategies for bringing its visions to the contemporary art world. To achieve these goals it is necessary to learn from the new wave, to allow the possibility of new blood, to raise the level of scholarship and artistic discourse of traditional painting, and, finally, to seek a role in the mainstream multi-cultural world of art.
1. A Suitable Name
Zheng ming (to find a suitable name) has always been a central Chinese cultural concern. A ‘suitable’ name defines the role and shows the way forward. Calligraphy and painting never needed to refer to themselves as anything other than just ‘calligraphy’ and ‘painting’ until the dawn of the modern period. Since then, a century ago, new terms like guo hua (“national painting”) and shui mo (“water-ink painting”) have been coined; but they all bear the mark of their time. Over the past century, a looming concern for Chinese culture has been that of jiu wang (“fighting for survival”), a concept touted by all political parties before the mid-twentieth century, and still being promoted today. Unfortunately, it has been the view that in the name of jiu wang, all subtle cultural concerns and long-term visions can be brushed aside. “Fighting for survival” may be useful as a short-term political measure, but its political expediency has cast a long shadow over China’s cultural development, carrying its short-sightedness forward into the present day. The cultural programme for jiu wang pre-supposes traditional culture to be outmoded and optimistically accepts the ready solution of the Western classical model of “progress.” While the over-riding concern has been political and national survival, reforming culture is always promoted as a critical strategy. Ironically, in the concept of jiu wang there is no provision for rescuing the threatened Chinese traditional cultural system, a unique treasure of human civilisation. The Chinese world-view, together with all its scientific and cultural establishments, has in fact been considered by “reformers” to be impediments of “progress,” and should rightly be destroyed (or “reformed”). As the representative soul of literati fine art, traditional painting has continually found itself in an awkward position.
How terms such as guo hua (“national painting”), shui mo (“water-ink” painting) or “new literati art” (xin wenren hua) have been used affect how artists position their creative angle. Guo hua was coined at the beginning of the Republic (established 1911) and the term is laden with implications of the modern national state and geographical cultural identity. Guo hua is an especially narrow concept when one remembers the cosmic vision of the literati, the nucleus of which is to seek “order under-heaven” (wang tian xia). Shui mo, a term first used by the Japanese, defines the art by its medium, giving an impression of “objectivity,” when in fact its purpose is simply finding a position alongside that of “oil painting.” With the aim of elevating the theoretical and intellectual level of shui mo, artists and theorists have been preoccupied with explicating the “spirit of shui mo” from the medium of “water-ink” for more than a generation. To look at the cultural-political implications of “spirit of shui mo,” it is instructive to compare the case of American abstract art of the 1950s and 1960s. American theorists and artists joined hands in explicating the issue of “abstraction,” and the resulting “universal” norms such as “abstract expression,” “flatness” and “the grid,” to name a few, were promoted as marks of a new American artistic identity. This identity was also used in the years of optimistic American “internationalism” to make the case for a type of universal, international art. The term shui mo caught the fancy of Chinese artists in the 1950s, and it may be seen in retrospect to fall into the “international” spirit of the times, when a “national” art as enshrined in the term guo hua began to look dated and self-restricting. Shui mo is therefore also a marker of cultural identity; it uses the structural features of an artistic medium to create a new supra-national identity. Like “abstraction”, the “spirit of shui mo” has now run its course. It has served its time under the limelight; today the strategy of avoiding concrete content is not seen to be as highly intellectual as it once was. Furthermore, by refusing to define its substance, shui mo painting becomes increasingly marginalised by the rise of new media and new modes of expression. The other favourite term, “literati art,” or its more recent variant, “new literati art,” naturally has problems of its own in that the “literati scholar” class has been pushed to the brink of extinction by modernisation--the few surviving tottering “literati scholars” are hardly going to make a difference.
However, if we need to find a suitable term for traditional painting, there is no escaping the cultural sphere of the literati. In the search for a term that refers to a “fine art” tradition that can stand up to the great traditions of Western and Middle-Eastern fine art, it is essential to remember that the literati scholar tradition is China’s greatest asset. (One caveat: it is probably not a good idea to resurrect the term “new literati art”, as it conjures up images of the Nanjing-based “New Literati” painters of the 1980s, a decadent and sheltered movement that faded away). A suitable name can only come from understanding the mission of literati culture. A comparable term to literati art, or wen ren hua, is shi ren hua or shi hua (literally, “scholar’s art,” the term shi being another word for a scholar with political aspirations). Perhaps an even better solution is to revive the old traditional term shu hua (“calligraphy-painting”), which refers to the parallel practice of calligraphy and painting. Shu hua also hints at the calligraphic nature of painting if the word shu (calligraphy, writing) is subordinated as an adjective of hua (painting), taking the term to mean “calligraphed painting”.
2. Cultural Role of Shu hua
Without the aspirations of the traditional literati scholar, Chinese traditional painting would not have developed as far as it did. By the same reason, if shu hua is simply defined as an artistic skill without commitment to literati aspirations, then the field of Chinese painting would lose its broad vision and simply would not deserve the deep attention it still gets in certain quarters. The most honourable aspect of the traditional Confucian scholar is his commitment to a world order (wang tian xia or “kingdom under-heaven”), which is attended by a global vision (tian xia xing or “under-heaven vision”). The aspiration of the Confucian scholar is to become a shi of the world (tian xia shi or “under-heaven scholar”), with moral strength that transcends nation and emperor, time and country. The fact that we find in China today academic symposia with the theme of “ink painting in the global context” may be said to reflect the contemporary expression of such a tian xia (“under-heaven”) vision; of course from a negative angle it may be interpreted as the mentality of a marginalised culture seeking a niche in the international context. Whatever the mentality, the traditional literati vision has provided an ambitious scope to the field of shu hua. A tian xia shi is comparable to a modern-day “intellectual” in his profession of learning, but the two are ultimately different concepts. The shi was steeped in the traditional version of a liberal education, but was often impractical in “pragmatic” matters; his strengths were in moral rectitude and political leadership, historical perspective and cosmic vision. The shi also had a unique relationship to political power in traditional Chinese society, which the modern intellectual generally lacks. The modern intellectual is defined by his intellectual assets; he is a member of the “working class” of learning. Where the shi and the intellectual may fairly compare is in their common sense of responsibility to society.
If the highest values of the tian xia shi are held up as the ideals for this literati art of shu hua, then values for moral historical decisions and strategies for political coexistence as delineated by Confucius and his followers in the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chun Qiu) should also apply. Some of the principles that may be useful when adapted as cultural strategies include: the provisions made for preserving an old political order while a new order takes over; the strategy for co-existence (or merging) of diverse non-Chinese cultures into the central schema; and the embracing magnanimity of ‘Way of the King’ (wang dao). From the Gong Yang School of the Spring and Autumn Annals one finds the stipulation for the preservation of the “three lineages”, which not only provides for the preservation of the rites of a previous dynasty, but also recommends proper measures for absorbing foreign cultural practices. The unity of a great order may only be achieved when different cultures, and political and cultural orders old and new, can all communicate in a manner fitting for each one’s position.
3. The Social Identity of Shu hua
The social identity of a practioner of shu hua today is simply that of “artist” (rather than of “literati artist”) or “intellectual artist,” and more specifically an artist representing a conservative position paying homage to historical lineage. As such, it compares unfavourably with the new wave as champion of the “critical spirit,” “cutting edge,” “mirror of the times,” and other urgent causes. To put shu hua in perspective in light of such lively qualities it is necessary to review its social identity in Chinese history.
The new wave and the contemporary intellectual see themselves as members of the same class in society. Comparing the “intellectual” with the traditional “literati” in whom the shu hua artist finds kinship, there emerges a critical difference even though both groups represent the educated elite of their respective society. The difference lies in being zai wei (“in position, in power”) or not. The literati scholar has traditionally been the most socially concerned class in Chinese society, and this is because he is part of the same class who constitutes the governing administrative officials. The sweeping vision of the Confucian literatus as a tian xia shi (“under-heaven scholar”) and his sense of responsibility are shaped by his aspirations, which presume the eventuality that someone of his constitution may bring such vision to reality as a government official in power. A shu hua artist, whether he has political ambitions or not, is cultivated under the same milieu of “official in reserve”, and therefore shares similar aspirations. Because shu hua artists and literati scholars consider themselves “officials in reserve”, they share similar concerns as those in position and consider themselves on the same side as the government. Because of their common outlook, the communication between scholars “in position” and “not in position” does not need to take the form of confrontational critique as is the case with the contemporary “intellectual”. Instead their social intercourse develops into a style of amicable social exchange typified by exchange of poetry and sharing of artistic, poetic and cultural insights that have left the great legacy of what we now call “literati art”. Critique and political comments are presented in a polite and oblique manner, as one would admonish friends and colleagues. This roundabout manner of political criticism has in China been refined to a high art, but unfortunately in later dynasties, especially the Qing dynasty when the Manchu minorities instituted for the first time in Chinese history a class system based on race, political criticism was also vigorously purged, seriously damaging the tradition of political dynamics through intellectual interchange. This does not diminish the value of traditional artistic and cultural discourse between literati scholars both in position and otherwise. The fact that they represent the same class sharing similar sense of responsibility for governmental action means that social-political comments need not descend to the level of antagonistic public drama before results may be achieved.
The contemporary intellectual, on the other hand, is not of the same interest group as that in power politically. Even in democratic societies, the collusion between political and economic interest has largely kept “intellectuals” out of the arena of power. The class that is zai wei (“in position”, “in power”) is the financially affluent class. Intellectuals are not zai wei: their principle political function is to be the conscience of society. Thus they critique the system from outside the protected circle of power, and their manner of critique is confrontational, and often antagonistic, by necessity.
4. Lineage of the Way and Affirming the Roots
Realistically, the immediate crisis facing shu hua is the lack of paradigmatic masters. The present generation of shu hua practitioners is already quite a long distance away from the literati scholar tradition; even among them they represent a variety of socio-cultural positions. Under the circumstances, the task of maintaining the lineage with the past, and preserving a continuity of new paradigmatic models become the most urgent missions for the survival of shu hua. Since lineage is the primary concern, the canonisation of new paradigms would better fail by being conservative than by being too radical. Radically original masters will appear at their own time, and at their own accord. The call for conservatism here is based on the concern for preserving the historical link of shu hua in order to keep distinct its cultural identity. Without paradigmatic models there will be no point of reference, whether to extend support or to rally against.
The champions of shu hua should be sought from among “intellectual” artists with aspirations congruent to those of the tian xia shi. Only after this comes considerations of style, subject matter, brush-and-ink quality, temperament and other artistic issues. The task for critical study should be the continuous re-defining of the spirit and ethos of shu hua, so as to keep the literati scholar’s spirit alive in this age of constant change. One feature of the shu hua tradition which this author would like to emphasise is the special sensitivity to “alive-ness” and “chance” (or, more literally, “chance to live”, sheng ji). The positive concern with life and possibilities for life is a lesson shu hua may impart to contemporary art practices. Vocabulary with phrases concerning life and liveliness abound in the practice of painting and calligraphy: criteria such as “lively brushwork” and “moving qi’” remain foremost in the mind of the artist. This emphasis on being alert to the quickness of life, and being constantly made aware of the living communion between man and nature, artist and audience, is also behind Dong Qichang’s distinction between painters of the Southern and Northern Schools based on the spirit of Southern Zen, which teaches one to grasp the living moment. It is also the same spirit of respect for life that one finds in Confucius and the Daoists; life-before-death and life-after-death are less important issues than strategies for giving full worth to the present. Implied in this attitude is respect of the living world, learning to provide for the world to revitalise itself and to grasp the moments of quickness that invigorate heaven and earth.
5. To Learn from the New Wave
For worldly success and influence, shu hua should measure itself against the model of the new wave. Identifying features that make the new wave attractive to the intellectual world, shu hua should find parallel precedents in its own history, with the aim of either reviving them in its own manner, or at least positioning itself more favourably in the eyes of current ideologies.
A prominent feature of the new wave is its rebelliousness. Unlike shu hua, the new wave is subversive to tradition and consciously seeks a voice that stands apart from the norm. It is instructive to consider shu hua tradition in this light. The literati scholar is known for the ideal of moral rectitude (jie chi) which, although not intentionally subversive, preserves him against the vagaries of opportunism. He is neither “rebellious” nor “subversive”, yet he is respected for his devotion to a set of higher principles that are grounded in ideals of the “ancient sage kings”(fa sheng wang). The literati scholar has a long tradition of bringing critical stances to current politics, and the traditional strategy is “criticising the present through examples of the ancients” (yi gu fei jing). With this tradition in mind, an academic appraisal of historical literati art’s critical tradition and methodology should be an instructive exercise for current shu hua practitioners.
Again, bringing modern sensibility to the ancients, one could look at “seeking hermitage” (ying yi), a common pretext of literati scholar-artists for expressing dismay at the current state of affairs, as a response to social ills comparable to the dissent of the new wave (allowing, of course, for the different cultural context). Nevertheless, how far one may push passive escapism to represent the critical stance, and how far one can claim that the “indulgence” (ji qing, “depositing one’s sentiments”) in a rarefied land of landscape and flower-and-bird art in fact comments on the turbulence of current affairs, are issues that probably deserve to be properly studied if we wish to bring traditional literati art back to the “floating world.”
To reiterate a point made in the above section, the special relation literati scholars had in dynastic days with the power circle made for a different manner of articulating disapproval and criticism. The contemporary social identity of a shu hua artist, as both an “intellectual artist” and a bearer of the lineage, puts parameters around its creative range, and so it is through appreciating its historical relation to circles of influence that shu hua artists may address its present possibilities. One may fairly claim that a contemporary artist of “fine art” tends to be more engaged with society and current affairs, but in a historical context the literati scholar-artist was already part of the reserve base for officialdom, and his “indulgence” or “retreat” take on a socio-political significance that cannot be found in the action of a contemporary artist.
The cultural milieu and ideological framework of the new wave are essentially based on intellectual discourses originated in the West, and its current influence is dependent on continued intellectual vigour that centres round the Western intellectual world. In Mainland China, the most powerful experience of “modernity” has been brought about by the programme of communism, which has shaped the world-view of artists of the 1980s and 1990s. This experience of modernity is of course also an experience based on Western ideological thought. In recent years the cultural tide has been gradually changing; increasingly, non-Western new wave artists have tended to return to indigenous experience and local history for inspiration. Here is an excellent opportunity for confluence between new wave and shu hua since the historical identity of shu hua may be turned into an important asset for new art.
Given the present situation, shu hua should creatively reinterpret its position to broaden its reach within current artistic discourse. It should do this, moreover, with an eye to providing a base camp for the new wave to retreat to, so that shu hua may be seen as a pool of resources for future new wave creativity. The historical experience of literati art shows that it is an elegant cultural tool that can engage with affairs of the state when the opportunity presents itself, and can equally be content when obliged to retreat. In retreat the literati artist excels through the pursuit of self-cultivation. This is also a lesson that is particularly valuable for the new wave; which is to provide for those who either fail to make the stage or are in the process of retreat.
6. To Respond to the Time and To Recruit Fresh Talents
Contemporary art faces a range of challenges today; not only does it need to deal with the rich diversity of multiple cultural traditions, it must also respond to a social reality rapidly altered by new technology and new economic frameworks. In response to such a complex situation, the marginal stance of the new wave and its guerrilla strategies of criticism accord great flexibility and scope for originality.
Generally speaking, today all traditional arts using visual images are facing the challenge of technology; the power of new image-making technology overtakes any traditional technique. The rise of new technology of image-making has also changed the habit of image consuming, so that the new generation today increasingly understands reality through their grasp of images manipulated by digital and keyboard control. The manipulation of images, and the engagement with virtual reality, is replacing actual experience. This is the challenge presented to all professions that handle images as their career; everything pales in comparison with digital technology when it comes to the power of virtual image making.
And yet, it is precisely here that an art such as shu hua may show its advantage. Compared with most other artistic traditions, Chinese painting and calligraphy have set rather less store by iconographic content or imagery. Instead, shu hua excels by emphasising personality, taste, and the direct expression of the heart. The traditional emphasis on “brushwork” and “ink-play” serves to break the barrier between objective description and personal expression. This form of art that operates on the fringe of form and icon may well be an important resource for the development of painting in the future.
Apart from hermeneutic revitalisation of its own heritage, and deep structural analysis of its artistic constitution (both undertaken for the purpose of preserving its uniqueness and identity), shu hua should venture farther afield to keep its creative instincts alert. The shu hua circle must open up to new blood strategically. The most effective way to achieve this is by recruiting from the ranks of the new wave. For example, one obvious quarter to look is contemporary art using the Chinese written word: through proper explication these artworks may be structured as part of the naturally extended realm of shu hua. To open up the field to new talents, given suitable opportunities one should even be prepared to abandon the brush, or even ink and paper. Here I am looking ahead at the world of electronic message communication systems, such as computer emails and mobile short-message (SMS). In the world of such new technological communication one occasionally finds the poetic spark and quick wit reminiscent of traditional poetic parlance; perhaps here is room for the future generation of scholars literati. If the tool of trade of the literati may be extended electronically in this direction, perhaps the literati’s visual arts should follow. After all, the historical significance of calligraphy, and by extension the traditional taste for a calligraphic touch in painting technique, is partly a result of the writing brush’s prestige as the working tool of the literati. One leaves such speculations to the talents of theorists and curators.
Recruiting from local ranks of the new wave is perhaps not enough. It is not enough if the world of shu hua truly believes in its mission as successor of the tian xia shi (“scholars under-heaven”), and therefore its worth to humanity as a whole. Here one should remember the example of European art. In the 19th century, as western culture convinced the world of its superiority through the exploits of industrialisation, oil painting (of the classical academic tradition) also came to be identified as the paradigm of “progressive” art for all countries aspiring to modernise. Oil painting was seen to be representative of international high art by riding on the crest of western political and economic strength. Now that the interest in cultures East and West have finally begun to cross-pollinate, and Western interest in Chinese art has genuinely begun to spread, the Chinese shu hua circle should seriously try to take advantage of this turn in national fortune. As the historical representative of Chinese fine art, the shu hua circle ought to re-invent itself as an international forum that accommodates non-Chinese practitioners. To achieve this, academic criteria and critical studies must aim for even greater rigour and creativity; critical appraisal should be structured around more organised frameworks; rewards of exhibition and recognition must be instituted with an open mind to accommodate all interested parties. Only by turning itself into such an international host may shu hua truly claim to have succeeded in fulfilling its historical mission.
While shu hua is preparing itself as host it should also think of ways to get accepted onto the current international platform of contemporary art. The machinery of validation that operates on such public platforms as the biennials and the Western contemporary museum circuit has so far left out arts with strong “national” colour or “traditional cultural” reference. However, the tendency is changing. Art that champions regional cultural character is increasingly getting its due respect, and shu hua can certainly find more and more sympathetic support under this trend. What strategies to adopt, how best to present itself on such platforms, are issues the shu hua circle should seriously investigate.
Coming back to the vision of tian xia shi, the purpose of seeking an international platform is strategic. The West today still leads the mainstream, and through its platforms shu hua may gain the audience and the right to validation within art circles worldwide. This may also be the most expedient path to arrive at a world stage that is truly capable of accommodating a vision as broad as that of the traditional literati scholar.
