For the ancient Chinese painter Wu Daozi (circa 685–758), the beauty of the moving line was possibly his most powerful and expressive instrument.
Born during the height of the Tang Dynasty (618–907), the artist started his career as a lowly craftsman, but gradually came to be regarded as the “sage of painting.” Famed for his talent, Wu was summoned to the imperial palace to work for the emperor and also made hundreds of wall paintings for Buddhist and Daoist monasteries.
Almost none of them survived the ravages of time, but through painted copies and literary descriptions, we can still get a glimpse of his masterful style that awed the artist’s contemporaries and the many generations that followed.
Wu was most celebrated for painting the human figure, and many of his works depict Buddhist divinities that occupied a central place in the spiritual life of the Tang people. A painting in the Osaka City Museum of Fine Arts, attributed to Wu’s hand but considered by some to be a Song (960–1279) copy, represents precisely this theme. Its title “The Birth of Shakyamuni” refers to the last scene, on the left, of the handscroll, which shows the newborn Buddha presented by his royal parents—the Indian king Suddhodana and his queen Maya—to a minor deity who in turn worships the divine child.
According to Buddhist scripture, Shakyamuni was born to exceptional wealth and courtly pleasure, but felt that all worldly things were empty in the face of death and suffering. Thus, he left home in search of enlightenment and, eventually, generated the wish to save all sentient beings from human misery. Founded five centuries before Christ in present-day India and Nepal, Buddhism became increasingly popular in China during the Northern and Southern dynasties (386–581) and subsequently reached a height during the Tang. It was in the empire’s prosperous and cosmopolitan capital Chang’an that many of Wu Daozi’s religious works were created.
In this particular section of the painting, we are confronted with a stark juxtaposition between the kneeling deity and the figural grouping. On the right, the artist carefully conveys the calm composure of the royal entourage. He meticulously describes the facial features and headgears with thin lines and light ink, and the long, gentle and restrained strokes that constitute their flowing garments hint at their graceful pace forward. On the other side, the figure of the minor deity is characterized by much stronger and more expressive brushwork. The short, broken and undulating curves of his face and muscle highlight his great emotional intensity upon recognizing the great Buddha, and the powerful and dramatic turns of the charged drapery become an outward expression of his perturbed state of mind, awed by the sublime presence of the divine.
However, he exercised a balanced restraint in the use of such stylistic elements, giving heightened emotional expression only where it was needed. Centuries later, the great literatus Su Shi (1037–1101) marveled that Wu brought forth “innovations out of existing norms” and “evolving wonderful ideas by maintaining a bold and unrestrained spirit.”
From the Tang dynasty to the present day, Wu Daozi’s expressive use of the calligraphic line has consistently been viewed as the consummate embodiment of the ideal of “qiyun shengdong,” a concept in Chinese art theory which may be roughly translated as the “life-movement of the spirit through the rhythm of things.”
Literati art, using visible forms to convey the inner spirit of living beings, the breath of misty landscapes and the aura of ordinary things, takes this as its ultimate ideal.
