Splashed Ink Landscape
From the editor | Holly
Hello lovely patrons!
Today I’m sharing some writing about a rather mesmerising technique – splashed ink painting.
Bokushō Shūshō | Muromachi period, early 16th century | Hanging scroll; ink on paper | Image: 31 1/2 × 13 3/8 in. (80 × 33.9 cm) | The Metropolitan Museum of Art
This rather long and (seemingly) sparse ink painting is simply titled Splashed Ink Landscape, and was illustrated by Japanese artist Bokushō Shūshō in the early 16th century (you can read about Japan during 1400-1600 in this MET article). It was created with an application of layers of ink wash, applied from lightest to darkest. This technique was perhaps most famously practiced by the artist Sesshū, particularly the work Splashed Ink Landscape (15th century), shown below. In looking at both artworks, it becomes fairly clear that the illustrations were composed more thoughtfully than “splashed” implies (though the origins of the technique itself are rumoured to have originated in a more accidental splash).
Sesshū Tōyō | ca. 1413 | Ink on paper | 111.5 × 75.8 cm (43.9 × 29.84 in) | Myōshin-ji temple, Kyoto, Japan
Bokushō’s work depicts a restrained illustration of a mountain scene. Perhaps your eye, like mine, was drawn first to the larger, more heavily worked form of the tree in the centre of the composition. Here the ink has been applied in several layers to create tonal variation, lending the tree a feeling of gentle movement. Light might flicker through its branches, a breeze might sway its leaves, perhaps a gentle clatter of leaves is heard.
The eye might next catch mountains in the background, which appear rising out of fog, formed with expressive and gestural brushstrokes, and only lightly worked to give a suggestion of form. This rendering might be considered imperfect, or perhaps insufficient, as it doesn’t attempt to formally define or figuratively represent its subject, however it is exactly these aesthetic qualities for which this work is valued. In examining the reasons for this tendency, Yuriko Saito (a scholar who has written extensively on aesthetics) looks to the philosophy of Kenkō, who reasons that the natural world is most deeply moving when it is not “perfect”.
Saito also investigates this tendency towards the ‘imperfect’ by looking at Shinto, a faith founded on appreciation of the natural world. Saito writes that Shinto encouraged the aesthetic tendency towards “imperfection” (though she also notes that this was more formally developed by Zen Buddhism). Shinto acknowledges that “nature might be great, but greatness is not the same as perfection.” The mountains and trees of Splashed Ink Landscape are not overly formalised or realistic, because perfection of trees, rocks, mountains, and clouds are not valued. Perfection has no bearing on their greatness.
Zen Buddhism values the overcoming of our “natural” tendency to appreciate only what is perfect. It privileges self-discipline and self-reliance, emphasising spontaneity and simplicity, values that can be found in the very medium of Bokushō’s work. Processes like splashed ink painting rely on the artist’s surrendering to the material with which they are creating with, reminding us of the futility of trying to manipulate and control life.
Nestled closely in this imperfect landscape, are the figures of two humans: one crossing a bridge under the precipice, and one ascending this precipice towards buildings peering from behind landscape. In doing so, Bokushō works human appreciation and interaction with the natural world into the surface of the paper itself, perhaps engaging the viewers mind for contemplation. Where are these figures traveling to? Who are they? What do they feel? What lives do they lead?
Working in a way that uses both recognisable features as well as more gestural marks provides us with a way to navigate the work, while leaving much to the imagination and spontaneity. The forms of trees, temples, mountains and people might be recognisable, but Bokushō has not given them defining qualities, instead creating a scene that might be filled in by our eye – with colours, movement, sound, and detail.
Using only black ink on a lighter paper creates a sense of gentle contrast. Black and white are generally understood to be contrasting elements. The imagery of Yin-Yang, often utilised by practitioners of Shinto, though with Daoist roots, visually defines the two polarities in black and white, with Yin representing the softer, earthier energy, connected to forms of valleys, and Yang representing the harder, more abstract energy, associated with mountains. Together, these two create harmony – a sensibility reflected in many elements of Bokushō’s work. Not only is the black of the ink and the white of the paper in contrast, but texture, space, and representational form all operate in oppositional harmony. Scratchier, rougher textures are united with gradual smooth textures, particularly noticeable in the tree depicted.
There’s also a sense of space and breathing room, created by centring the main detail of the illustration on the bottom half of the page, leaving much of the expanse of the page without markings. The human aspects of the painting, such as the bridge, steps, buildings, and human figures, are represented with much clearer, direct lines, as opposed to the far more gestural strokes of the landscape.
In theory, paintings such as Splashed Ink Landscape were regarded as an aid to meditation, and the act of painting itself a meditation of its own kind, both which were aimed at assisting Zen enlightenment.
What do you think? Would you say there’s a story to be found? Do you find art meditative?
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