One week ago was the 11th anniversary of my arrival in the United States. Last year I didn’t have a chance to mount an exhibition to mark a decade of artistic exploration and experimentation in America. If a person is lucky, he might live for eight or nine decades. I had no idea when I arrived that I would stay this long. Ten years have passed. I’m not sure how much longer I might be here. But ten years is something to celebrate, so this year I have chosen “Ten Years in the U.S.” as the theme for my exhibition.
Recently, we have embarked on a new project––renovation of an old storage building on the grounds of our new home into an art studio. I got into conversation with a carpenter from Turkey working on the project. He told me he enjoys doing construction. Construction is his day job. In the evening, he drives home to Manhattan, washes up, and goes to manage the Turkish restaurant he owns. He has four children––two here and two in Turkey. All rely on his support. He also just bought an apartment in the city and needs to pay the mortgage. He said he had also done art. He used to set up a booth outside the Central Park Zoo, where he wrote on grains of rice with a special pen and sold them to passers by. He wrote people’s names, phrases, sentences. He could write on both sides of the grain. Basically, he was able to open two restaurants (he sold one in Queens) on money made from writing on rice. In his eight and a half years in the U.S. he has accomplished much more than I have in a decade. I was moved by his spirit when I heard this story. I can’t compare!
In Chinese history, Zhuang Zhou (369-286 BCE) occupies an important place in philosophy and literature. The book of his thoughts, the Zhuang Zi, has 33 chapters. Later generations have alluded to his parables and stories countless times. In the Autumn Waters chapter, the story “Learning to Walk in Han Dan” tells of a youth from Shou Ling who admired the gait of people from the capital city of Zhao kingdom. He traveled from his home to Han Dan to learn this way of walking. He not only failed, but also forgot how he originally walked. He could only crawl back home.
This story is concise but rich in meaning. During my ten years in America, I have often thought about it in relation to myself. Feeling sometimes like the young man from Shou Ling, in a strange country I haven’t learned much and have forgotten a lot of what I knew. Language is a clear example.
I left my career in television, with which I was very familiar, to take up fine art at a time when many other artists I knew were seeking other work because it was so difficult to make a living. Some friends said I was “brave;” others said I was “stupid.” Brave or stupid, I have stuck with art for ten years. Often during this period I couldn’t sleep or forgot to eat, thinking about how to improve and develop my art, as much as possible avoiding distractions from outside and creating pure art. I studied Chinese tradition while absorbing the best features of Western and Japanese art and continually experimenting to find my own techniques through use of new materials and tools. As to how successful is the result, perhaps viewers can judge that better than I.
The ability to persevere in my art for ten years is inseparable from the encouragement and support I have received from my wife, daughter and friends. For this I express heartfelt gratitude!
March 2007 Mansheng in New York
For BJ
Once, Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly. A real, living butterfly. It felt just right. He didn’t know himself as Zhou. Later, he awoke, and suddenly he was Zhou. Had Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly or had the butterfly dreamed it was Zhou? Between Zhou and the butterfly there must be a difference. This is called the transformation of things.
This story of Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly was written by the Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zi who lived from about 369 to 286 BC. It was a philosophical consideration of the Dao and the nature of change in the world. In China, this story is well known.
When Hospice of Rockland asked me to participate in the “Butterfly” exhibition and auction, I thought of this story. I was also influenced by it as I created this painting. I tried to illustrate life’s changes, transformations and continuation.
Life, begins in earth, seed, bud, fresh bloom. Petals wilt, then fall, but turn into butterflies and depart with the wind. Life continues in another form.
BJ was my mother-in-law. She was a strong, upright woman who derived happiness from helping others. In the 1940s when she studied at Rice University, she was a skilled fencer. She participated in several National fencing competitions. She might have qualified for the Olympics if it had been possible at that time. During the more than 70 years of her life, she took as her responsibility helping those weaker and less fortunate. She was also concerned with protecting wildlife and the environment, with serving the community. She tutored children and helped disadvantaged students and their families.
In the last weeks of her life, she benefited from hospice help and care. It was through this experience that I, a Chinese, learned something about hospice. This is one reason I was willing to participate in the exhibition.
Mansheng Wang February 2007
ART AND ARTLESSNESS
I saw a statue of Confucius in Manhattan Chinatown’s Confucius Plaza on my first visit to the United States. This came as a surprise, as I was not used to finding Confucius in a public place. Traditionally, the image of Confucius was everywhere in China, a temple to Confucius in every city, but that all disappeared during the Cultural Revolution and the campaign to criticize Lin Biao and Confucius. I had never imagined encountering a tribute to the Sage on this side of the Pacific. It was unexpected to find him standing there, large as life, watching the traffic come and go.
Confucius, born in 551 B.C., was truly one of the greatest Chinese. His philosophy was not well received while he was alive, so he was not particularly successful in politics. As a result, most of his effort went toward teaching and organizing the writings of the past. He described himself as “never bored with learning, never tired of teaching, so absorbed I forget to eat, so content I cannot recall worries. I don’t notice I’m getting old.” His spirit and thought have been admired for over 2,500 years.
There is little mention of art in his writings and the writings of others about him. In the Analects, he wrote: “Before you paint, you must have a blank surface on which to begin.” Elsewhere he stated, “Wildness results when nature overpowers adornment. Superficiality results when adornment overpowers nature. One can only become a gentleman when adornment and nature are balanced.” In this, he was reflecting on how to be a person, but I think the statement applies equally to art.
I enjoy reading the Analects because, although the sayings are short and simple, they are rich in meaning. They make me think about how to be a person and how to do my art, balancing adornment and nature, art and artlessness.
2004 Mansheng Wang
Studies of Buddha
Buddhism entered China from India close to 2,000 years ago. Over the course of two millennia, it joined Confucianism and Daoism as one of the major Chinese belief systems. Every period and dynasty witnessed the construction of Buddhist temples and cave complexes. The creation of Buddhist images was widespread, particularly during the Northern Wei (386-534). Monumental figures were carved into rock faces and cliffs. Small statues of no more than a few inches could sit on a table or fit in the palm of a hand.
Images were made for the dead and for the living, created for different purposes. Patrons had prayers inscribed on a statue’s base – for parents who had passed away, for themselves and their families – entreaties for a peaceful life, good fortune, the removal of hardships, protection from disaster, rebirth in the Western Paradise. A patron could be an individual, a family, a village. The imperial court, the aristocracy, high officials paid for the best quality work.
The earliest figures of Buddha were simple rock carvings and sculptures. Later images were made from wood, bronze, lacquer, and clay, and adorned with paint and gold leaf. We now view these images as art. But the fervency of Buddhist activity at the time of their creation could influence the economics, the politics, even the fortunes of a state. Young men flocked to monasteries. Believers spent their wealth seeking merit. A state’s resources could be depleted.
If one today travels to temples and cave sites, there are still countless images of Buddha. Yet few remain intact. They are broken, missing hands and heads, literally defaced. Numerous anti-Buddhist movements took place throughout Chinese history, the most famous during the reigns of Zhou Wudi (561-78) and Tang Wuzong (841-46). Although their reigns were short-lived, destruction of temples and sculptures was severe. Wars and natural disasters added to the devastation. The 19th and 20th centuries also took a toll as foreign adventurers and explorers carted images off to their countries. When a figure was too large to carry, they took a hand or a head. During the Cultural Revolution, youth in their teens and early 20s with no understanding of history or art ranged like wild dogs, smashing the “Four Olds” of traditional culture. Even now, antiques dealers and collectors steal, smuggle, sell.
When I worked as a television director, I visited Huo County, Shanxi Province at the invitation of officials eager to showcase the county in connection with their bid for city-level status. On a trip to Thousand Buddha Cliff I watched in utter disbelief as, only yards from Buddhist sculptures dating from the Tang (618-907), people used dynamite to quarry stone for lime. Many of the statues were riven with cracks as a result of the explosions.
Like the Buddha at Bamiyan, a creation existing for a thousand year or more can be destroyed or vanish in an instant.
Regardless of what one feels about the influence of Buddhism on Chinese culture, I am saddened to think that this careful work from the hands and hearts of generations of stone carvers and artisans might not be seen by future generations. Thus I have done this series of studies.
2004 Mansheng Wang
CULTIVATING SPIRIT Mansheng Wang Piermont Flywheel Gallery August 4-21, 2005
I have journeyed to many places seeking good mountains. I have studied the landscape paintings and writings of the masters of the Song period (960-1279 CE) for clues to improve my brush technique. Real mountainscapes and those in works of art merge in my mind. Finally, when I create landscapes, I paint from imagination.
An artist always hopes his work will have the power to move the viewer. But first, he must himself be moved. I was often thrilled by the scenes that slowly revealed themselves as I painted this series of mountains and water. Using brush and ink to create landscapes, the process of creation, in turn, encouraged and inspired me. It was a way to nourish my inner spirit, increase my understanding of the natural world, and clear my mind.
The Chinese thinker Mencius (372-289 BCE) wrote, “I am skillful at cultivating a grand spirit.” He explained this spirit as “great, upright and steadfast, filling the space between the heavens and earth.”
I carved a seal with the four characters以養吾氣 (Using this to cultivate my spirit) and gave the name to this series of paintings.
Chinese treatises on painting have, throughout history, used the phrase “mountains and valleys within the breast.” Westerns scholars sometimes translate this as “landscapes of the mind,” referring to something between reality and imagination. There are many styles of Chinese landscape painting (scenes of mountains and water). I strive for a concentration of grandeur and substance, solemnity and silence.
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Painting botanical subjects and landscapes is quite different. In China, painting was traditionally categorized by subject matter, each category with its own recognized techniques and masters. I try to take brush techniques from each form to use in the other, and feel there are advantages to this. Using botanical painting methods in landscapes enhances the natural appeal. The brushwork becomes more graceful and elastic. Landscape techniques render botanical subjects more tight-knit, more solid.
I have had a long-standing interest in photography. As with painting and calligraphy, I am self-taught in this form of art. When I made television documentaries for a living, I got into the habit of taking a camera on my trips to record what I saw. I have accumulated many images over the years but, until this show, have never exhibited them as a part of my artwork.
Buddhist sculpture is a rich subject for study and of great interest to me. I have traveled to many temples and cave sites to view Buddhist figures. This group of photographs is from the Yungang cave temple complex at Datong in my home province of Shanxi, China. The figures were carved as early as 453 CE during the Northern Wei (386-534 CE). Many consider this period the pinnacle of Buddhist sculpture in China, and the best examples at Yungang.
In 1993, I visited the town of Zhongdian in southwest China’s Yunnan Province to film a documentary. I fell in love with the scenery and people. These images are from a return visit in 2004.
ABOUT PAPER
I like to collect and study paper, and finally, to use paper. Over the years, I've collected almost 100 types. Among them, many were a gift from Nancy Tomasko. She is an expert on Chinese papers and has visited paper factories and papermakers throughout China. Her research focus is handmade papers and traditional bookbinding methods. On each visit, she obtains examples of papers and has an extensive collection. She sometimes gives me samples to try out with brush and ink. I jot down my thoughts on the paper's characteristics and receptiveness to ink to share with her.
Because different papers give different results, paper selection is important for the effect I want to achieve in a work. Research and experimentation is the only way to learn about a paper's properties. I use other materials besides paper, such as cardboard, wood panel and canvas, which requires adjustment in the way brush and color are applied. The outcomes are naturally different but allow me to find new ways to create the images in my mind. Between 2005 and 2006, I worked on a group of paintings on cardboard that imagine endless layers of mountains, in the quiet of night, when light snow is falling or just after a snow. The eye moves across peak after peak, dusted with snow, receding into darkness until all that remains is night. I call this series "Snow Night in the Mountains."
