Episode 73: Oriental Painting, Time
The reason why Oriental painting brushes are long is that they themselves act as water reservoirs.
A skilled painter sensitively determines the amount of ink and water the brush should hold.
For example, when drawing a 1-meter line.
They calculate where the water will run out and produce a dry brush effect and where the ink will lighten due to a shortage of ink.
Since an eraser can’t be used, you must place the desired ink color accurately in the correct position.
You only get one chance. This isn’t something that can be done with average skill.
Ryu Junhee was watching as Kang Lim continued to draw long lines.
There were lines that gradually lightened like a gradient.
There were also lines that started bold and powerful but frayed at the ends.
It’s already been three hours of just drawing lines.
It was fascinating to see him so focused without a single movement.
He appeared to be in his own world.
‘It seems like he’s forgotten I’m even here… But why is he only drawing lines? It’s getting boring…’
As if answering Ryu Junhee’s thoughts…
Kang Lim cleared away the densely drawn lines and laid out a large piece of paper.
Spreading out a massive 120-sized paper, it couldn’t be seen all in one glance.
Kang Lim took off his shoes and climbed onto the desk.
To control the large canvas, he first needed to secure his view.
He touched the pre-prepared ink with his fingertips.
It was neither too cold nor too hot, similar to body temperature.
He had ground the ink slowly with a horizontal arm to create a steady ink flow…
The ink particles would be actively moving.
The moment the inkstone and ink stick create friction, static energy is generated.
This means the material itself already has kinetic energy.
This is the biggest feature of Oriental painting.
These materials are always alive.
As Kang Lim adjusted the ink-soaked brush tip, he recalled his grandfather Song Kijeong’s words.
[Ink is like a microorganism. Depending on the density and arrangement of the fibers, it moves on its own and breathes. You need to know how to control it.
No, not control, but you need to know how to converse with it.
If you keep practicing with affection, it will surely listen to you.]
To restrict the selective filtration of ink seeping through the paper’s fibers, delicate brushwork is required.
Since the quality of the artist is directly reflected in ink wash painting.
Kang Lim closed his eyes for a moment and recalled the bamboo forest where he had once sketched.
The cool air.
The sound of branches and leaves brushing in the wind…
The smell of earth lingering at the tip of his nose.
When he felt frustrated as a child trapped in a small body, he would sometimes go to the bamboo forest.
When time seemed to flow too slowly and everything felt like it had stopped.
It was always a place that comforted him.
The nodes of bamboo grow longer as they go higher.
Initially short, but the nodes become exponentially longer as they add up.
As if explosively unleashing the pent-up potential.
Thinking his life might be similar to that, something fluttered in his chest.
Muscles that seemed to tense up as if about to snap at any moment.
When he grabbed the brush, it wriggled powerfully.
‘Bamboo…?’
Ryu Junhee watched the lines extending smoothly and boldly.
Without a hint of hesitation, the lines ascended nobly.
Where did such skill come from?
Ryu Junhee knew how difficult it was to draw bamboo.
Though he hadn’t experienced the process of Oriental painting, he had extensive knowledge of Oriental art history.
‘Bamboo is considered the best among the Four Gracious Plants… It’s the epitome of a gentleman.’
As a symbol of integrity and loyalty, bamboo is the most challenging to draw among the Four Gracious Plants.
Because it requires using the longest and thickest lines.
Most people find it difficult to draw even one stalk.
Either they can’t control the water and the lines break, or they over-saturate it and it blurs. It’s usually one of the two.
Without solid brushwork, it’s impossible to capture its essence.
There’s a reason why bamboo appears in martial arts movies where characters train their inner strength.
‘But something seems off, why is the bamboo so faint? It’s so faint that you can’t see it from behind when hung…’
Ryu Junhee swallowed hard.
He was sure he had seen bamboo paintings in museums.
But he had never seen bamboo this faint.
It was too faint.
As if buried in mist.
Something was odd about Kang Lim’s bamboo.
The stalks soared upwards, unaware of the sky.
Boasting dense vitality.
‘Why is he drawing so many? Is he trying to paint a forest? But what about the empty spaces? Have you ever seen the Four Gracious Plants without empty spaces? They usually leave lots of white space.’
Ryu Junhee’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
He had many questions piled up, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
The sharp look aimed at a clear purpose.
His whole body warned him not to disturb.
Kang Lim added subtle ink dots between the bamboo nodes, enhancing the delicate ink color.
Although it was light ink, it looked firm like tightly pressed lips.
Setting aside the large brush, he picked up a medium brush to draw small branches.
The branches seemed like they would point upwards but drooped slightly.
He picked up the large brush again and soaked it in ink.
It was darker than when drawing the stalks, but still faint to Ryu Junhee.
Bamboo is usually drawn with light stalks and dark leaves.
This contrast creates tension in the image.
Of course, Kang Lim’s leaves were slightly darker.
But still… it was hazy.
Moreover, the leaves were drooping towards the ground.
As if unable to bear the weight of some destiny.
Kang Lim took a deep breath.
Before the bamboo forest dried out, he grabbed a large flat brush.
Soaking it entirely in ink.
He began making bold strokes across the entire canvas.
Ryu Junhee’s eyes darted back and forth following the sweeping brush.
His eyes didn’t blink.
He felt he must not miss this moment.
Every time Kang Lim’s hand moved, strong rain streaks appeared.
The once faint forest became gradually darker in the rain.
The leaves, initially drooping, were now fully soaked.
The bamboo revealed its presence amidst the streaks of rain and mist.
A noble aura flowed.
Although the leaves were bent and dripping water, the strong stalks did not waver.
Ryu Junhee sniffed excitedly.
He could smell the rain from the soaked painting.
The next day, Kang Lim woke up on a soft bed.
Due to the warm air in the residency room, yesterday’s events felt like a dream.
His eyes were slightly bloodshot.
Opening the door and stepping outside, the bright sunlight stung.
Ryu Junhee, who was usually more composed, seemed much calmer today.
In a calm voice, he said he had never seen such a painting before.
He had met many Oriental painting artists while traveling to various countries, but this was the first time he had seen such an impressive ink wash painting.
‘But it wasn’t the best.’
Kang Lim clenched the right hand that had held the brush.
From the moment he started practicing lines, he felt his hand was a bit different from before.
[If you don’t practice for a day, you know. If you don’t practice for two days, your wife knows. If you don’t practice for three days, the audience knows.]
Leonard Bernstein’s words fit perfectly with ink wash painting.
‘It’s ridiculous… I’ve been practicing for over ten years, but my brushwork has weakened just because I took a break recently.’
From Ryu Junhee’s perspective, the painting had no shortcomings, but Kang Lim wasn’t satisfied.
He wasn’t in his best condition to paint ink wash.
To return to his prime would take at least three months.
That too, under the condition of practicing calligraphy intensely every day.
‘Damn it, then what should I paint? I have Heum’s solo exhibition coming up and I’m busy… What should I submit for the competition?’
Kang Lim entered Heum Art Museum right in front of the residency.
He thought he might get some hints from other artists since he hadn’t seen many exhibitions lately.
A retrospective exhibition for an artist over seventy was being held in the spacious exhibition hall.
‘Wow, it’s a solo exhibition of Lee Sookja. I got lucky.’
Lee Sookja is a leading figure in Korean color painting, following Park Saengkwang and Chun Kyungja.
Kang Lim read the artist’s statement written at the entrance of the exhibition.
‘I aim to establish the concept of Korean color painting…’
Since the Japanese colonial period when national sovereignty was taken away, free Korean painting disappeared.
The term ‘Korean painting’ itself emerged in the late 20th century.
Japan calls it Japanese painting, China calls it national painting, but Korea was made to call it Oriental painting.
Experts say that the tradition of literati painting depicting the Four Gracious Plants was lost with Min Youngik, the last of the literati painters and a nephew of Empress Myeongseong.
Of course, color painting was no different.
In fact, after liberation, ink wash paintings were loved for their reflection of national identity, but color paintings were shunned for being similar to the colorful Japanese ukiyo-e.
Ink wash was considered noble, while color painting was thought to be of lower quality…
Moreover, with the influx of various foreign arts by modernists, the identity of Korean painting was further shaken.
In the 1970s, Lee Sookja worked on her art.
She declared she would establish the concept of Korean color painting during a turbulent era.
She claimed that Korea also had color painting, and it, too, held national traditions.
‘It’s really strange how people in the same field can be at odds… Can’t ink wash and color painting be mixed?’
It was a ridiculous thought since the materials used were different.
Mixing contrasting elements was his signature, but it was an illusion.
Kang Lim chuckled and entered the main exhibition hall.
As soon as he entered the exhibition hall, a vast field spread before his eyes.
A series of large works over 2 meters in size.
Wind blew through the densely drawn barley fields.
‘Wow, how did she paint this… It must have taken a long time.’
Kang Lim read the artist’s notes displayed by the curator.
[…30 grains per ear of barley, with 1,500 ears on the canvas, making 45,000 grains. The barley awns are about three times that number, so roughly 150,000 lines were drawn.
Continuously painting on the rough canvas, my palms wore down and bled.]
Next to the painting was a glass case replicating the artist’s studio.
Countless pigments were stacked, and a 9-meter sketch was visible.
It was an exhibition concept that conveyed the artist’s dedication and passion.
‘Man, I need to create an excellent exhibition like this too…’
Resilient barley fields that rise again no matter how much they’re trampled.
The dense grains conveyed a sense of strong vitality and sorrow.
This must be what the artist meant by the concept of Korean painting.
Kang Lim slowly appreciated the painting.
“Hey, doesn’t this painting sparkle?”
“This is Oriental painting… I never knew such Oriental paintings existed.”
“It’s Jinchae (true color painting), made with traditional pigments?”
Listening to the audience, Kang Lim thought.
‘The painting sparkles because it uses stone pigments…’
He knew exactly how challenging this work was.
Stone pigments are made by grinding minerals and produce a subtle shine.
Since the particle sizes vary from fine to coarse, the colors must be applied accordingly to the particle number.
The problem is that the binding liquid for these powder pigments must be made by hand, with varying ratios.
In other words, compared to Western painting where you can squeeze and apply paint, it takes a long time to work with.
It requires immense patience.
‘Moreover, Oriental color painting can’t apply colors all at once. To avoid flaking, colors are usually layered 7-8 times…’
Mixing colors freely is also impossible.
One must layer colors on the canvas to achieve the desired hue.
Thus, each artist has their own method of handling the materials.
These methods come from long-term research.
Just as a chef doesn’t reveal the secret to their special sauce, Oriental painters don’t disclose all their methods for using pigments.
‘Indeed, the time invested is impressive… Ink wash reveals long-practiced skills in a single stroke, whereas color painting gradually builds up the time itself.’
Kang Lim pondered the two genres.
The commonality was that both encompassed lengthy periods.
However, in the current art market, Oriental painting is priced low.
Westerners view ink wash as practice drawings, and color painting as flat due to the weak material properties of the pigments.
Both are priced lower than thick oil or acrylic paintings.
It’s somewhat amusing since it actually takes much longer.
‘Well, it’s what the market wants, so nothing can be done… People do prefer the texture of thick paint.’
What if Korean painting could achieve the texture of thick paint?
And if combining ink wash and true color could maximize the sense of time?
Kang Lim recalled a pigment recipe he had been experimenting with for 13 years.
Now was the time to verify it.
Having realized this, he sprinted out like mad.
