Extract from: Beyond the Stage of Time, Volume I Realised Realms. The Master of the Water, Pine and Stone Retreat

40 41 G Does this imply that when approaching art, we need to understand enough about it to recognise intention and the languages on display? Can’t we just look at the pic- ture and decide whether we like it or not? M To become involved at any serious level, yes. We wouldn’t expect to visit a bar in Warsaw without a word of Polish at our command and understand any of the conver- sations between the locals. Th at doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy standing in the bar; but it does mean that our experience won’t be as rich or rewarding. In the same way, to really immerse ourselves in art we must learn to understand not just the language of subject matter (with all its di ff erent levels of meaning), but of line, form, colour and texture; and then, underlying those, languages of con fi dence and sagacity. In the West the language of line has, until the past century, been a relatively minor one in art. It’s been a means to a more important end, so less attention has been devoted to it. Indeed, it is possible that the majority of those involved in the art world might have been mildly puzzled that they should have to understand such a language—a wholly separate and irrelevant issue from the object depicted, in the view of many. In China, where calligraphy fl ourished as an art form in its own right, the language of line is in fi nitely complex. For the better part of two thousand years, the modulated markings of the brush for writing were seen as both important tools for honing the script and as powerful representations of individual character and wisdom. To the uninitiated, that language loses its power or meaning when translated into a painting, just as a Polish bar-philosopher would in trying to convey meaning to a monolingual English tourist. Without reading these languages as intended, some of the great masterpieces of the culture are reduced to apparently similar pictures of mountainous wilderness. Seen one, seen ’em all. G Th is brings us neatly back to the idea of maturity and modernity. You argue that this more mature approach is prevalent in the East, but you’ve already given us an example of a western artist who was capable of expressing the same ideas in both fi gurative and abstract ways. But are you implying that mature art only begins in the West with our modern revolution? M Ah, we may need to rethink the term ‘mature’ in this context. It would be absurd to claim that no profound art was produced in the West prior to the modern revo- lution, and I would never dream of doing so. But let’s make something clear at this point: we are dealing with two quite di ff erent ideas here. One is the level of aesthetic maturity in a culture; the second is the art that arises out of it. What I am saying is that until art is emancipated to full maturity, allowed free rein in all its languages and full e ffi ciency in their employment, then certain constraints of perception and expression prevail. Art is less e ffi cient as a shi ft er of consciousness if it is constrained. But artists are by nature visionary and creative. Th ey can move us profoundly with their perception and their ability to express that perception, constrained in this way or not. Constraints of some kind are a given in any culture, in any art form, in any indi- vidual and at all levels. One artist may be losing vision, another pushed to commer- cialism by circumstance, yet another limited by lack of funds required to purchase the materials needed for expression. Political or religious constraints may forbid or encourage certain subjects, even certain colours, and censorship of other kinds may close o ff entire avenues of possibility to artists. Th at may stop some of them, but it will never stop all artists from being artists. Art will always prevail somehow, and those who work within or around the constraints will still be capable of speaking to eternity with the most profound of art. Consider the masterpieces of Renaissance Italy, with their frequent religious themes, their Sistine Chapels, their altar pieces, their portraiture, their multiple and complex allegories. Th ey are as profound, and as profoundly moving, as any art from the greatest of Chinese artists—they are just di ff erent. I may prefer one to the other as a category, just as I may prefer red to white wine, but that is not to deny the power of work of the best artists even from what we might describe as an as-yet immature aesthetic culture. G Th is idea seems hard to rationalise with the word ‘immature’, which has some pretty pejorative and critical overtones. Isn’t there still some arrogance—perhaps even snobbery—at work here? M I hope not, although I take your point. Perhaps in this case, ‘mature’ might useful- ly be exchanged for ‘fully emancipated’ in order to make the point clearer. In any case, I should emphasise that I mean none of these terms to be derogatory. I’m not intending the word in any negative sense here, any more than I would intend the word ‘mature’ to be an unreservedly positive one. It’s merely a useful description based on common, human experience to describe something that has not yet grown to its full potential. Th ese are really just alternative perspectives, a way of assessing one set of ideas against another. Any negative or positive connotations rely upon context. Take my earlier thoughts about western intellectual bias, for example, as opposed to the syncretic approach prevalent in China. Th at intellectual bias has brought with it some extraordinary bene fi ts, particularly in science and technology, that allowed us to come close to ruling the world in the past century or so—for better or for worse. While this was happening, the syncretic mind of the Chinese prevaricated its way to humiliation from the mid-nineteenth into the mid-twentieth century. But that’s a purely practical argument. On a religious front, one might argue that the fragmentary bias of the West led to monotheism, while the syncretic mind of the East encouraged what are essentially non-theist or non-god religions such as Daoism and Buddhism. I think it is fair to say that over the past two millennia, regardless of good intentions and bene fi ts, monotheism has caused a great deal more pain, su ff ering and conflict than have the non-god religions. I recognise that this is a pretty bold claim, and that it is impossible to measure in any meaningful way. Quite apart from anything else, it requires a much deeper dive into the ways in which religion and political philosophy interact, and exactly where you draw the relevant lines. To give you a sense of the complexity of this, consider ancient Khmer culture. When they went to war it was a political act, even if they were also Buddhists; very di ff erent from the Crusades, which were wholly religious wars. I recognise that this is a bit of a diversion from our current discussion but it shows