I have always been fascinated by British artist David Hockney. My Western education has taught me to believe that linear perspective is one of the most important means to describe the experience of space and since the Renaissance, linear perspective, with shadows and vanishing points, has become the predominant way to represent space in a two dimensional medium. Yet with Hockney’s work, perspectives always seem to be off. His paintings are, while spatial, rather flat, abstract and enigmatic. His photo collages directly challenge the fundamental rules of Western perspectives. I always thought his avant-garde approach to be rather unique and perhaps even architectural, only to recently have discovered that this experimentation owes lessons to traditional Asian paintings, particularly Chinese scrolls. Having grown up in China, this connection to my heritage excites me; someone as notable as Hockney acknowledging and promoting the significance of non-linear perspective in traditional Chinese arts, as well as those of other non-European cultures, is uplifting. Yet, besides the technical intrigue of traditional Chinese scrolls, there is much more to uncover. Perhaps, even a different attitude in world-viewing, that traditional Chinese paintings have to offer.
Last summer I watched a 2015 lecture by Hockney at the Getty Center, who was raving over the lack of vanishing points and shadows in many non-European traditional arts. During the lecture, he showed a famous Chinese long scroll painting, The Kangxi Emperor’s Southern Inspection Tour (1691-1693). He first saw scroll seven of the twelve in 1984, for which he produced a documentary with American artist and filmmaker Philip Haas in 1987. The painting described the events of a second southern inspection by the Kangxi Emperor in 1689, with both urban and rural sceneries, spanning a whopping total length of 213 meters. I was not aware of the painting until then. Of paintings of similar subjects, it is not the most famous piece. It was also completed during the last dynasty of imperial China, a period during which the cultural iconography is arguably most mature, and perhaps even stagnant. While its artistic value is much appreciated nowadays, one could argue these scrolls served as visual records rather than artistic creations upon their commission. After all, upon completion, the scrolls were stored in the imperial documental archive, rather than that for the arts.
The scrolls clearly took reference from many great precedents, notably Along the River During Qingming Festival (1085-1145), one of the greatest traditional Chinese long scroll paintings of similar subjects, if not all subjects. Southern Inspection may be more accessible to Hockney due to the fact that it is coloured, making it easy to differentiate and visualize the scenes depicted, while Qingming Festival, a masterpiece in its vivid depiction of all walks of life as well as dynamic and engaging storytelling and composition, is more challenging for firstcomers to traditional Chinese paintings due to its monochromatic nature and heavy reliance on tones and shades. However, if one studies the details and characters carefully, it is not difficult to come to the conclusion that Qingming Festival showcased a much livelier scenery with its subjects. Considering the documentary is aimed at a larger audience, plus Qingming Festival would have been very hard to access at the time (being in the collection of the Palace Museum in Beijing), it is understandable that Hockney focused on Southern Inspection. And despite the difference in styling, both paintings entice many stories to unfold simultaneously, or truly in defiance of the stagnancy of time, as is so common in post-Renaissance paintings.
But what exactly is ‘perspective’ in traditional Chinese paintings, or is there even one in the first place? Traditional Chinese paintings, before the modernization and systematic introduction of Western art in China from the mid 19th to early 20th century, had its own unique structure and characterization for paintings based on subjects (figures, landscape, flora and fauna) for centuries. In fact, the Chinese word for fine arts, (美术, mei shu)1, only emerged during the colonial period of the late Qing Dynasty. Different from Western art’s common proportional canvas, one of the unique form factors of traditional Chinese painting is the scroll format. It allows the viewer to see the painting unfold before them in real time. The act of unrolling makes time an intrinsic dimension of the painting and creates suspense in the story to be told, unifying space and time in the most sensible way, while also serving a practical function of ease of storage. Unlike the Western gaze’s systematic attempt to understand or characterize the issue of perspectives (or lack of thereof) in traditional Chinese painting, it should be understood that each Chinese traditional landscape (山水, shan shui)2 or genre (风俗, feng su)3 painting is supposed to fully envelop the viewer with a constantly shifting point of view. Through the intricate web of controlled scales and blank space, these paintings are about crafting alternate realities where the eyes can roam free and imagination can take full flight. These are worlds within a canvas. Each scroll contains a space of infinity.
It makes sense that David Hockney would be so drawn to such paintings, having spent his whole career challenging the very foundation of the perfect perspectival gaze, trying to investigate dimension of time and multi-focal points. Examples of such practice can be seen through his enigmatic and intriguing photo collages, such as Gregory Swimming Los Angeles March 31st, 1982 (1982), where the swimmer at different time stamps, appears in the same pool. In Walking in the Zen Garden at the Ryoanji Temple, Kyoto, Feb, 1983 (1983), the picture is collaged from a moving perspective, referenced with the feet of the artist. Even though Hockney was yet to be exposed to traditional Chinese paintings when these were created, he might already have seen some traditional Japanese paintings (which albeit different, shared similar practices), and started to explore the concept of time through the movement of a single reference, very similar to the moving perspectives in the aforementioned
Chinese scrolls.
Hockney acknowledged the philosophical foundation for moving perspectives in traditional Chinese paintings, namely the Taoist philosophy of being harmonious with nature (for humans are only a small part of a much larger whole), as part of the reason for the formation of such artistic practice. But it has to be pointed out that Hockney still focused primarily on the technical aspect of traditional Chinese paintings and their potential as a tool for breaking the canon of the Western perspective that prevailed since the Renaissance. Perhaps one of the biggest differences between works by Hockney and traditional Chinese paintings is that while Hockney was inspired by the moving perspectives, his work is still predominantly presented from a human gaze, unlike the full detachment of most Chinese scrolls. In a way, Hockney’s photo collages are deconstructing the perspective of a camera in order to reconstruct it to be more akin to the human eyes. Granted, there is great liberty for the eyes to move within his works, and through which he introduced the idea of reverse perspective, but the images are still typically from a single vantage point, describing a single space or object. Hockney took inspiration from the moving perspectives in Chinese scrolls to liberate him from the dogmatic cone of vision, however, his works are still firmly human-centric. In contrast, the charisma of traditional Chinese scrolls is the detachment and liberation of the human self from the objectively physical realm. One could argue that a truly sublime Chinese painting is about the intellectual exercise, rather than a truthful depiction of earthly scenes and events, especially present within traditional Chinese landscape paintings (山水, shan shui).
Landscape has always been an enduring subject in these paintings, perhaps thanks to traditional Chinese scholars’ celebration of self-cultivation. Different from genre paintings like Southern Inspection, which really served as a visual record for the Emperor, landscape is celebrated by Chinese literati as a reference and a vessel to express the inner self, or virtues which the painter aspires to. Landscape in this case transcends objective reproduction to artistic conception. Between accurate forms and artistic conception (形与意, xing yu yi)4, the latter is always deemed as superior. While architecture and human figures are always present in these paintings, they are minute and secondary. The shifting perspective further enhances such detachment from the human gaze. With the absence of linear perspective, these paintings serve as a constant reminder of the dominant power of nature and invites the eyes to wonder, to dwell in the micro, as well as be inspired by the macro. And perhaps Hockney’s A Bigger Grand Canyon (1998) is a nod to that, a similar journey where one’s eyes can traverse and linger into minute details of the vast landscape, while constantly being struck by the breathtaking, almost monolithic scale of the great cliffs beyond.
I would argue some of the lasting intrigues of Hockney’s Los Angeles paintings also bear resemblance to the focus on imagination of traditional Chinese landscape paintings, specifically the art of omission (留白, liu bai)5. One of the great examples of such practice is Angler on a Wintry Lake (1127-1279, exact year unknown), where a single boat, a lone man with his taut rod and pulled line are the only element on the canvas; all the rest is left to imagination. Similarly, Hockney’s Rubber Ring in a Swimming Pool (1971) is strikingly provocative and brilliant in its omission of human actors, leaving only suggestive traces such as a watermark on the ledge, some disturbance in the water, and a single bright magenta rubber ring. One of the reasons why I have always been so intrigued by Hockney’s body of work is the theatrical aspect that surpasses simple depiction of what the eyes can see. And I think traditional Chinese paintings are also a great collection of and a point of reference to the art of distillation.
Therein lies the beauty of traditional Chinese painting. It is the art of all encompassing, as well as the art of omission, a selective tickle of imagination to realize the hidden meaning of omnipresent. It draws viewers out of a window into an infinite field. It reminds us that we cannot conquer something we are fundamentally a part of. Hockney, through his long-lasting interest in reverse perspective, offered us beautiful glimpses of how Western and Eastern narratives of perspectives could be combined to create something truly subversive. And there’s still much to explore within the vast scrolls, under the seemingly bland veil of ink shades and brushstrokes. ●
Last summer I watched a 2015 lecture by Hockney at the Getty Center, who was raving over the lack of vanishing points and shadows in many non-European traditional arts. During the lecture, he showed a famous Chinese long scroll painting, The Kangxi Emperor’s Southern Inspection Tour (1691-1693). He first saw scroll seven of the twelve in 1984, for which he produced a documentary with American artist and filmmaker Philip Haas in 1987. The painting described the events of a second southern inspection by the Kangxi Emperor in 1689, with both urban and rural sceneries, spanning a whopping total length of 213 meters. I was not aware of the painting until then. Of paintings of similar subjects, it is not the most famous piece. It was also completed during the last dynasty of imperial China, a period during which the cultural iconography is arguably most mature, and perhaps even stagnant. While its artistic value is much appreciated nowadays, one could argue these scrolls served as visual records rather than artistic creations upon their commission. After all, upon completion, the scrolls were stored in the imperial documental archive, rather than that for the arts.
The scrolls clearly took reference from many great precedents, notably Along the River During Qingming Festival (1085-1145), one of the greatest traditional Chinese long scroll paintings of similar subjects, if not all subjects. Southern Inspection may be more accessible to Hockney due to the fact that it is coloured, making it easy to differentiate and visualize the scenes depicted, while Qingming Festival, a masterpiece in its vivid depiction of all walks of life as well as dynamic and engaging storytelling and composition, is more challenging for firstcomers to traditional Chinese paintings due to its monochromatic nature and heavy reliance on tones and shades. However, if one studies the details and characters carefully, it is not difficult to come to the conclusion that Qingming Festival showcased a much livelier scenery with its subjects. Considering the documentary is aimed at a larger audience, plus Qingming Festival would have been very hard to access at the time (being in the collection of the Palace Museum in Beijing), it is understandable that Hockney focused on Southern Inspection. And despite the difference in styling, both paintings entice many stories to unfold simultaneously, or truly in defiance of the stagnancy of time, as is so common in post-Renaissance paintings.
But what exactly is ‘perspective’ in traditional Chinese paintings, or is there even one in the first place? Traditional Chinese paintings, before the modernization and systematic introduction of Western art in China from the mid 19th to early 20th century, had its own unique structure and characterization for paintings based on subjects (figures, landscape, flora and fauna) for centuries. In fact, the Chinese word for fine arts, (美术, mei shu)1, only emerged during the colonial period of the late Qing Dynasty. Different from Western art’s common proportional canvas, one of the unique form factors of traditional Chinese painting is the scroll format. It allows the viewer to see the painting unfold before them in real time. The act of unrolling makes time an intrinsic dimension of the painting and creates suspense in the story to be told, unifying space and time in the most sensible way, while also serving a practical function of ease of storage. Unlike the Western gaze’s systematic attempt to understand or characterize the issue of perspectives (or lack of thereof) in traditional Chinese painting, it should be understood that each Chinese traditional landscape (山水, shan shui)2 or genre (风俗, feng su)3 painting is supposed to fully envelop the viewer with a constantly shifting point of view. Through the intricate web of controlled scales and blank space, these paintings are about crafting alternate realities where the eyes can roam free and imagination can take full flight. These are worlds within a canvas. Each scroll contains a space of infinity.
It makes sense that David Hockney would be so drawn to such paintings, having spent his whole career challenging the very foundation of the perfect perspectival gaze, trying to investigate dimension of time and multi-focal points. Examples of such practice can be seen through his enigmatic and intriguing photo collages, such as Gregory Swimming Los Angeles March 31st, 1982 (1982), where the swimmer at different time stamps, appears in the same pool. In Walking in the Zen Garden at the Ryoanji Temple, Kyoto, Feb, 1983 (1983), the picture is collaged from a moving perspective, referenced with the feet of the artist. Even though Hockney was yet to be exposed to traditional Chinese paintings when these were created, he might already have seen some traditional Japanese paintings (which albeit different, shared similar practices), and started to explore the concept of time through the movement of a single reference, very similar to the moving perspectives in the aforementioned
Chinese scrolls.
Hockney acknowledged the philosophical foundation for moving perspectives in traditional Chinese paintings, namely the Taoist philosophy of being harmonious with nature (for humans are only a small part of a much larger whole), as part of the reason for the formation of such artistic practice. But it has to be pointed out that Hockney still focused primarily on the technical aspect of traditional Chinese paintings and their potential as a tool for breaking the canon of the Western perspective that prevailed since the Renaissance. Perhaps one of the biggest differences between works by Hockney and traditional Chinese paintings is that while Hockney was inspired by the moving perspectives, his work is still predominantly presented from a human gaze, unlike the full detachment of most Chinese scrolls. In a way, Hockney’s photo collages are deconstructing the perspective of a camera in order to reconstruct it to be more akin to the human eyes. Granted, there is great liberty for the eyes to move within his works, and through which he introduced the idea of reverse perspective, but the images are still typically from a single vantage point, describing a single space or object. Hockney took inspiration from the moving perspectives in Chinese scrolls to liberate him from the dogmatic cone of vision, however, his works are still firmly human-centric. In contrast, the charisma of traditional Chinese scrolls is the detachment and liberation of the human self from the objectively physical realm. One could argue that a truly sublime Chinese painting is about the intellectual exercise, rather than a truthful depiction of earthly scenes and events, especially present within traditional Chinese landscape paintings (山水, shan shui).
Landscape has always been an enduring subject in these paintings, perhaps thanks to traditional Chinese scholars’ celebration of self-cultivation. Different from genre paintings like Southern Inspection, which really served as a visual record for the Emperor, landscape is celebrated by Chinese literati as a reference and a vessel to express the inner self, or virtues which the painter aspires to. Landscape in this case transcends objective reproduction to artistic conception. Between accurate forms and artistic conception (形与意, xing yu yi)4, the latter is always deemed as superior. While architecture and human figures are always present in these paintings, they are minute and secondary. The shifting perspective further enhances such detachment from the human gaze. With the absence of linear perspective, these paintings serve as a constant reminder of the dominant power of nature and invites the eyes to wonder, to dwell in the micro, as well as be inspired by the macro. And perhaps Hockney’s A Bigger Grand Canyon (1998) is a nod to that, a similar journey where one’s eyes can traverse and linger into minute details of the vast landscape, while constantly being struck by the breathtaking, almost monolithic scale of the great cliffs beyond.
I would argue some of the lasting intrigues of Hockney’s Los Angeles paintings also bear resemblance to the focus on imagination of traditional Chinese landscape paintings, specifically the art of omission (留白, liu bai)5. One of the great examples of such practice is Angler on a Wintry Lake (1127-1279, exact year unknown), where a single boat, a lone man with his taut rod and pulled line are the only element on the canvas; all the rest is left to imagination. Similarly, Hockney’s Rubber Ring in a Swimming Pool (1971) is strikingly provocative and brilliant in its omission of human actors, leaving only suggestive traces such as a watermark on the ledge, some disturbance in the water, and a single bright magenta rubber ring. One of the reasons why I have always been so intrigued by Hockney’s body of work is the theatrical aspect that surpasses simple depiction of what the eyes can see. And I think traditional Chinese paintings are also a great collection of and a point of reference to the art of distillation.
Therein lies the beauty of traditional Chinese painting. It is the art of all encompassing, as well as the art of omission, a selective tickle of imagination to realize the hidden meaning of omnipresent. It draws viewers out of a window into an infinite field. It reminds us that we cannot conquer something we are fundamentally a part of. Hockney, through his long-lasting interest in reverse perspective, offered us beautiful glimpses of how Western and Eastern narratives of perspectives could be combined to create something truly subversive. And there’s still much to explore within the vast scrolls, under the seemingly bland veil of ink shades and brushstrokes. ●