The Ming dynasty came into power on the wings of national feeling. China
rallied her forces and expelled the foreign tyrants. Without doubt the
nation cherished the illusion of rebuilding itself upon the model of the
past, and the first emperors of the dynasty believed that the empire could
be re-established upon an unshakable foundation. But the Ming dynasty, in
reality, was but the heir and follower of Yuean. The latter itself had been
only a connecting link. It had changed nothing, but had tended rather to
absorb into the Chinese system the Northern barbarians, who up to that
time had been foreigners. It had unwittingly achieved unity for China,
despite itself and against its own inclination. In the administration of
the empire, it had finished the program of conservation which the Sung
dynasty, through impotence, had been unable to carry to completion.
The Ming dynasty inherited the work of the Mongols and consolidated it. It
survived under their reign and under that of the Ch'ing rulers until the
final disintegration, of which we have but recently seen the results.
The peaceful ideals of the Ming dynasty, the marked predominance of
Confucianism as a code of ethics, with certain modifications by Chu Hsi,
combined to form an ensemble that was apparently perfect and which made it
possible to have faith in the excellence of the principles laid down by
the monarchy. Thus a school was formed which had its own philosophy,
manners and ideals, all of them cold, stiff and without spontaneity. It
was an over-perfect machine which went like clockwork. The world was
judged with a narrow and somewhat stupid self-confidence. The ideal dwelt
in the word of Confucian writings, divorced from their true meaning, and
so badly interpreted that they ceased to be understood aright. The
meticulous, bureaucratic and hieratic administration of the Tartars was a
perfect system of government. The machine was still new and worked well,
whence arose a false impression of permanence which added still further to
the complacency of the conservative mind. An art was necessary to this
China. She had it. It was academic painting.
[Illustration: PLATE XIX. EGRETS BY LIN LIANG
Ming Period. Collection of Mrs. John D. Rockefeller, Junior.]
Side by side with this and yet apart, other influences were at work.
Notwithstanding the prohibition of books on heterodox philosophies in
schools, accompanied by the widespread decadence of Buddhism, and the
complete downfall of Taoism owing to gross practices in popular magic, and
despite the disdain of the official world, another element in China was
preserving the spirit of the past, the restless spirit that craved
novelty. In all probability its obscure workings did not appear
immediately upon the surface, concealed as they were by the strictly
prescribed screen of official China. They were sufficiently strong,
however, to give rise to an art which differed essentially from academic
art, and which numbered masters who were comparable with those of the
past. In spite of adverse circumstances and the weight under which these
movements were buried, they made themselves felt in violent upheavals.
First let us draw a picture of the decadence of an art and later we shall
return to activity and life.
Official painting in the Ming period rapidly stiffened into convention. To
understand how it took shape, we must go back to the time of Hui Tsung and
observe the method of recruiting talent in the Academy which he founded.
That painting was allied to philosophic and poetic thought is already
known. It was always a refined diversion of poets and painters to unite in
a quest for the beautiful. The poet wrote verses and the painter painted a
picture suggesting, sometimes remotely, the thought enshrined in the poem.
Such were the conditions upon which Hui Tsung instituted examinations,
following which the doors of the Academy were open to the victor. He gave,
for example, as subject for a competition a verse saying, "The bamboos
envelop the inn beyond the bridge," which suggested a landscape with
flowing water, a rustic bridge thrown across the stream, a cluster of
bamboos on the bank, a "winehouse" half hidden in the verdure. All the
competitors, the records say, set to work drawing with minute care the inn
which they made the essential feature of the picture. Only one implied its
presence by showing, above a dense cluster of bamboos, the little banner
which in China denotes the presence of a "winehouse." Two verses of
another poem in which allusion was made to the red flowers of spring were
interpreted by the representation of a beautiful young girl dressed in
red, leaning on a balustrade, for according to Chinese ideas, the thoughts
of young men in spring turn there, as elsewhere, toward thoughts of love.
[Illustration: PLATE XX. FLOWERS AND INSECTS
Ming Period. Collection of R. Petrucci.]
We have here an example of the subtle allusions, at times profoundly
poetic, with which Chinese painting abounds. But these things retain their
value and charm only in so far as they depend on a free play of mind or
upon personal, living sentiments. As accepted conventions regulated in an
academic competition, repeated with sustained effort and without
enthusiasm, their rigid monotony becomes intolerable. Such was the
ultimate fate of that ability to express by half meanings, to suggest
without directly stating, to which the Sung painters attached so great an
importance. The day it was understood that a little banner fluttering over
bamboos indicated the presence of a "winehouse" in a sylvan retreat, or
that a young girl dressed in red symbolized the crimson blooming of a
garden pink in springtime, banners and young girls dressed in red were
seen in paintings innumerable to the point of satiety.
Thus were established those dry conventions of a somewhat stupid erudition
which were so much the fashion in the academic painting of the Ming and
the Ch'ing periods, and whose great success repressed the artistic
aspirations of a people. Under these influences was rapidly assembled a
complete arsenal of allegories, allusions and symbols that gave birth to
an art which was possibly very learned, but which was inartistic to the
last degree. An academician of the Ming period would have thought himself
disgraced if he had not proven by complicated compositions the extent of
his knowledge of things of this character. Art was no longer anything but
a kind of puzzle. Furthermore, the decadence of eye and hand followed that
of the mind, and there next appeared a taste for brilliant colors,
overladen compositions, and fine and meticulous lines, culminating in an
unbearable nicety. The work of the Academy is summed up in these words.
Let us turn aside from an art that is inert. It robbed things of the
creative spirit that animated them. We shall now see what was achieved by
those who followed in the steps of the old masters.
The fifteenth century in China witnessed a continuance of the style
prevalent during the Sung and Yuean periods. Chou Chih-mien, for example,
was true to that profound feeling for form, that delicacy of coloring,
and rhythm in composition which were the endowment of the greatest
masters. Shen Chou belonged entirely to the Yuean school, and to prove that
the old ideals were not dead, we have in the fifteenth century the
magnificent group of painters of the plum tree, with Lu Fu and Wang
Yuean-chang at their head.
As before stated, a special philosophy was associated with this tree and
its flowers. The white petals scattered on vigorous branches had long
typified an inner soul, whose purity was the very likeness of virtue and
of tenderness. Chung Jen, who in the eleventh century wrote a treatise on
the painting of the plum tree, explains in his chapter on "the derivation
of forms" that it is a symbol, a concentrated form, a likeness of the
universe. The great fundamental principles mingle harmoniously within it;
they express themselves in its shape and reveal themselves through its
beauty. Similar to this was the philosophy associated with the bamboo,
which endured up to the fifteenth century. The subtle monochromes of Lu Fu
show branches of flowering plum swaying in the breeze. In the great works
of Wang Yuean-chang trunks of old trees, still bearing hardy blossoms,
stand proudly in the magical radiance of the moon. Vibration and power,
grandeur and majesty, such are the qualities which were still sought
amidst the severe conditions imposed by the use of black and white. Here
we feel that the creative force is not yet spent. We find it equally
fresh and vigorous in the ink bamboos of Wen Cheng-ming in the sixteenth
century.
In landscape, however, new elements appear which mark a decline. I have
already laid stress on the overladen composition which developed in the
Yuean epoch. This was still more noticeable in the Ming period. When
pictorial art has had a long series of masters, a certain eclecticism is
infallibly produced. This leads to the rejection of the direct study of
nature, in favor of viewing it only through the eyes of the old masters.
This phenomenon appeared in China as well as in Europe. The landscape
painters of the Ming period studied the technique of the T'ang and the
Sung epochs and codified their system of lines, arranging them in series
according to types and schools; in short, they drew from these a
ready-made technique by which they were controlled. Turning from nature
they yielded to imagination. They delighted in painting fanciful
landscapes and were inclined toward images that were more external and
less inspired than in the past. Their works, however, were invested with
great charm, and the impossible disposition of their clustering peaks and
oddly cleft rocks cannot but appeal to the imagination.
In these overladen compositions the unity of the picture is lost. We are
no longer in the presence of a simple and forceful idea, but behold a
thousand incidents, a thousand little details, exquisite in themselves,
but which require a search. It is a new conception of landscape. We may
possibly prefer the gripping formula of Sung and Yuean art, but we are
forced to acknowledge that this later work has great charm and extreme
refinement.
[Illustration: PLATE XXI. LANDSCAPE
Ming Period. Bouasse-Lebel Collection.]
To this general trend was added a new taste in color, which became
brilliant and complex like the composition itself, harmonious and graceful
in the paintings of the masters and always charming in the work of
painters of the second rank; but this was the herald of a blatant and
vulgar manner which gradually gained ground until it came to be generally
adopted by the artisans of the Ch'ing period.
While landscape under the Ming painters was assuming a different guise,
and, forgetful of the observances of the past, was beguiling the mind by
its charm and delicacy, a new type of figure was also developing. Here we
must pause for a moment.
We have seen that figures were treated before landscape by the painters of
periods preceding the T'ang dynasty. This early tradition had submitted to
the influence of Buddhist art and, while certain of its elements were
revived in the work of a few masters, there is no doubt that figure
painting from the seventh and eighth centuries on, was absolutely
revolutionized. The inevitable result was a new type in the sixteenth
century. Painters studied the line for itself, determined its proportions,
and analyzed features and drapery. As far as our present knowledge
extends, their observations were not collected and codified until the end
of the nineteenth century, but the assembled writings testify that the
result of their studies was expressed along the lines indicated from the
end of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth centuries. Their
ideal was totally different from that of the old masters. The figure
treated for itself with but few accessories became the sole aim of the
painter. He endeavored to show the charm of a woman's face, the dainty and
elegant gestures, the supple and voluptuous gait, and he grasped the
characteristics and peculiarities of a man's figure by means of an
intensified drawing. At times, the influence of analysis was so objective
that it resulted in a painting closely approaching European standards. The
taste expressed in landscape was likewise evident in figures. There were
brilliant and harmonious colors, a charm which became exquisite in the
coquettish and vivacious faces of women with ivory skin and brilliant
eyes, of graceful movements, and with long, slender, delicate hands,
incarnations of the fairies of ancient legend or historic beauties whose
memory still lived.
In a word, the philosophical inspiration to which the Sung dynasty owed
its glory was discarded to make way for the painting of everyday life, a
realistic representation of the world and its activities, which in Japan
gave rise to the Ukioyoye school, and in China recruited a series of
painters of the first rank outside the limits of academic tradition.
It would be interesting to study the influence of this movement of the
China of the time of Ming upon the originators of the Ukioyoye in Japan.
It is certain that the movement on the continent preceded similar
manifestations in the island empire by a century, and it is also certain
that the Japanese empire was directly influenced by the China of the Ming
period. Chinese painters were established in Japan as early as the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. There is one of whose family name we
are ignorant and who is known only under the appellation of Ju-sue,--in
Japanese Josetsu. He left China, where the domination of official art
stood in the way of an independent career, carried the traditions of Sung
and Yuean art to Japan, gathered pupils about him there, and had the glory
of being the founder of that magnificent school of which Sesshiu is the
leading exponent. There is only one small painting which can be attributed
to Ju-sue with certainty. This is preserved in a Japanese temple.
Unfortunately it is a work of small importance which, notwithstanding its
intrinsic value, by no means furnishes sufficient information to enable us
to pronounce on the authenticity of several other works which are said to
be by his hand. We find in the latter an extremely individual art, in
accordance with early traditions, but with the addition of something
fanciful and unexpected which gives this painter marked distinction.
Having worked outside of China, however, his influence was not felt in the
evolution of Chinese painting.
In the seventeenth century Ming art came in contact with the art of the
Europeans. The methods and rules of the Italian ateliers of the end of the
Renaissance were brought to China by missionary painters whose talent was
of a secondary order. The system of monocular perspective and modeling,
strongly accentuated by the opposition of light and shade, made a forcible
impression on the Chinese mind. Indications of this are found in the
Chinese books on art. But the technical methods were too different and the
systems too much at variance to meet on any common ground. Notwithstanding
its effect upon certain painters, the influence of European painting was
on the whole negligible. Father Matteo Ricci worked at the end of the Ming
period under the Chinese name of Li Ma-tu and Father Castiglione, at the
beginning of the Ch'ing dynasty, used the name of Lang Chue-ning, but,
although the former continued to use European methods, while the latter
adopted the Chinese procedure, these were only isolated efforts submerged
in the great wave of Asiatic evolution.