Painting the Dao

72 ak10.55 The Ram and his Man Ink on cloud-dragon paper mounted on xuan paper 198.0 × 54.5 cm, Bangkok, summer 2010 Four artist seals 水松石山房 Shuisongshi shanfang (Water, Pine and Stone Retreat) 攜杖老人 Xiezhang laoren (Old man who carries the staff ) 人磨墨墨磨人 Renmomo momoren (Man grinds the ink; ink grinds the man) 无爲 Wuwei (Without action) Published The Master of the Water, Pine and Stone Retreat, Beyond the Stage of Time , ii: Staff Masters and Stone Fools (Hong Kong: Rasti Chinese Art, 2020), 84–5 inscr iption Among the many naturalistic staves I have carved over the years, the Ram and his Man remains a favourite. It is now a century and a half since I last held it in my hands and felt its surging energy. It is twice that long since I carved it from a branch cut from a gnarled ancient prunus overhanging a canal in Lin’an, outside the garden wall of a scholar friend with whom I often stayed when I left my mountain retreat in the wilderness of Mount Gu. He too was born in the year of the ram, and suggested I cut a particular branch from the tree and take a vague image that resembled a ram’s head and carve it more precisely as the top of the staff. His suggestion was a good one. As my chisel bit into the grain, the head emerged effortlessly and with a forceful personality. He was a fine ram. My friend laughed to see it as it emerged. He was so intent upon examining it closely as I carved, rarely leaving my side for a moment, that I also carved his image, standing in his casual robes, leaning over, face to face with the ram, the two staring intently at each other. He was so delighted, that I promised it to him as a gift for his upcoming birthday. As soon as I knew it was to be a birthday gift, the rest of the carving almost designed itself. Burgeoning beneath the scholar and the ram were plentiful ancient lingzhi , their heads like ruyi sceptres, to bring him whatever he might wish for. These I set growing on ancient gnarled branches quite unlike the stems of natural lingzhi , but for the artist there are no rules that govern the depiction of nature, only those that arise out of it. Strange branches grew from a cluster of jagged stones around the lower half of the shaft, both ancient branches and stone wishing my friend longevity. It was finished in time and the day of celebration was sumptuous, as my friend had fulfilled a complete cycle, a major event to those who face mortality. Although the final coating of lacquer was barely dry, let alone hardened, I inscribed it with one of his iron brushes. In the lesser script of the Qin, always one of his favourite scripts, I quoted an excerpt from a poem of the Han dynasty, almost as ancient as the script in which it was written. It was one of the earliest mentions in the literature of a walking staff as anything more than useful support. At dawn I am nourished by the pure dew, Or I go through the frost and become harder. My spirit hides in mystery to conceal itself; Who but a Man of the Way could grasp me?