day 53: “Long in dream, a butterfly comes” (thanks to Bada Shanren)

Since nothing killed my spirit in the news today (or perhaps I’ve just become inured to the awfulness), my mind floated along peacefully during the short, sunny, steep walk and back up to our perch on the mountaintop. I felt like the luckiest person in the world!  My  gaze turned to another favorite book of Asian art, a book dedicated to Bada Shanren, to capture the peaceful thoughtfulness.

Chinese painter Bada Shanren (1626-1705) is the artist; born into the Ming imperial family, he fled and became a Buddhist monk before re-emerging into public life later, after 30 years. During the period when he created Lotus and Ducks, he was already a worldly man in his 70s.

Lotus and Ducks (pictured) is a hanging scroll of ink on paper, ca. 1696. It is absolutely hypnotic once you start gazing at it. “Yes, awfulness exists,” the ducks darkly gaze. But a quiet feeling of Zen awareness is also here for the taking–it flows through the lotus waving gently in the breeze (or is it rippling water?).

The last lines of the inscription capture the feelings perfectly, in their vague and hazy way of conjuring an image of natural beauty and hope amidst the wreckage caused by humans.

“Today we heave a sigh:

Wolves are besting tigers, bear gives birth to fox,

Long in dream, a butterfly comes fluttering along.” *

—–

* Bada Shanren, trans. Stephen D. Allee, Lotus and Ducks, ca. 1696, in catalogue of In Pursuit of Heavenly Harmony: Paintings and Calligraphy by Bada Shanren from the Estate of Wang Fangyu and Sum Wai, ed. Joseph Chang and Qianshen Bai, Catalogue by Stephen D. Allee (Washington, DC: Freer Gallery of Art and Weatherhill, Inc., 2003), p. 66.

 

Thanks for giving us this beautiful book when it first came out, Steve! I’m so glad to have the opportunity to read it peacefully and enjoy discovering Bada Shanren in this quiet time (of quarantine).

 

Fyi: yesterday’s face mask production:

 

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day 50, the good side of emptiness

In times of stress, I like to pull out a huge volume of art, Mai-Mai Sze’s classic The Tao of Painting, and dip into its Zen wisdom and gorgeous plates of ancient Chinese art. By chance, I fell upon p. 96 this morning. That inspired the following thought pattern on emptiness:

Gloomy photos of empty streets have become an emblem of this era, when fears of contagion have driven everyone indoors. Emptiness incites melancholy because of what is not there; what can never happen again, the dead. Yet its etymology stems from æmta, an Old English word meaning “leisure”, and the word used to mean “at leisure, unoccupied, also unmarried.” It is only more recently that empty took on the connotation of “lacking, devoid of (specified contents or a specified quality).”*

Reading page 96 of Mai-Mai Sze’s wonderful book, I was reminded why I love her writing–the crisp, economical explanations of difficult concepts–and how empty space may also be a balm to the spirit. As Chinese writers in the Zen tradition have told us, “the spirit is an emptiness ready to receive all things. By stilling the heart, that is, shedding the thoughts and emotions of personal life, an individual can ‘reflect in his heart-mind (hsin) as in a pool or a mirror.’” There is even a word for it in Zen Buddhism, k’ai wu (open-awareness), which means apprehending in the deepest and widest sense. You can see the Chinese appreciation for this way of seeing in paintings like the close-up of a misty sky, shown here.

–from a painting in the Freer Gallery of Art, “Clearing Autumn Skies over Mountains and Valleys”. It is made of ink and color on silk, dates from the Historical Period known as Northern Song dynasty, mid-11th to early 12th century.

 

–Mai-Mai Sze, The Tao of Painting: A Study of the Ritual Disposition of Chinese Painting, p. 96

 

May k’ai wu come to all of us, everyone.

Yesterday’s mask production, fyi:

*The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, vol. 1, p. 818

 

Rainbow kimono silk quilt sparkles in sunshine! updated with news from Seattle Asian Art Museum

This quilt, made of tiny pieces of Japanese kimono silk, really sparkles in the sunlight!   May its beauty shine some cheer into your day.

The border fabric is cotton with a violet pattern from Terao, Japan, a region known for its wisteria.  (Thanks to Ashley M., who deciphered the characters for me.) The silks and cotton wisteria fabric came from Hosekibako–the elegant Japanese resale shop here in Seattle. Can’t wait to go back for more treasures!

P.S. I went to the Seattle Asian Art Museum today at the grand re-opening. It is a spring-like day here today; perfect for a trek to Capitol Hill. As we made our way back to West Seattle, the roads were (relatively) clear and trouble-free, the sky had fluffy white clouds, tiny sailboats flickered about on the blue waters off to the West, and all was cloaked in a subtle sense of well-being. That happiness is due in part at least to the art museum visit: seeing so many smiling, warm-looking Buddhas wishing you well does a world of good to the soul. And you must love the camels out front this art deco building–it brought back fond memories of climbing up and relaxing in their warm, smooth embrace, as a little kid. Reminded me of the Art Institute of Chicago also, and its lions.

The exhibits were all exquisitely balanced, well-contextualized by clear but un-intrusive signage, and thematically interesting. I liked the thematic organization; it makes it easier for non-specialists to see the differences between Chinese, Japanese, and Tibetan sculpture or painting , for example, when you see the objects side by side. Loved the Chinese landscapes with the tiny human figures and soaring mountains wrapped in mist, the adorable ducklings in the Chinese style, and the plum bough cloaked in snow.

But the best thing was to discover a link between my recent creation and Japanese tradition! Below you’ll see my big discovery: an eighteenth-century overcoat or kesa, where wisteria winds around other “auspicious motifs” including  chrysanthemums and peonies.  A phoenix flies by, adding to the baroque feel and hopeful message.

This visit reminded me of the profound eloquence of symbols. The crane–symbol of longevity–is featured in many delightful objects seen in the museum: for example this exquisite writing box.  My quilt also has a tiny crane–or more precisely, a white heron, also an emblem of good luck*–tucked inside; see it hiding in the reeds below?

It is so inspiring to see and to create objects that pass on an uplifting message with eloquent symbols. Since I already have two more underway, I hereby vow to create an entire line of Kimono silk quilts, and each one will have a crane and other “auspicious motifs” sewn directly into it, thereby providing hopes for good fortune and long life to all the people they touch.

*Thanks to my new acquaintances at Hosekibako, for explaining the difference between cranes and white herons!

 

Road trip day five and beyond: in our new home at last

Hi everybody,

Sorry to leave you up in the air like that, on the road trip! The fifth day began in Moses Lake–a vast and wind-swept desert setting. It was fun to see the sign for George, WA–I had not thought of that town since my days at WSU–and like every other tourist I could not resist:

 

 

As we spiraled down into the Columbia Gorge, signs finally started listing Seattle–what a thrill to the traveling trio, five days away from South Bend!

Snoqualmie Pass is beautifully mysterious, with its sudden waterfalls and misty views:

 

I drove for the last leg, with tears of joy as I realized that our dream had come true: we are home at last!  Honey Girl likes it here too.

 

arriving in WSEA July 2, 2018

That enormous moving truck made its way down our tiny street (a dead end) the very next morning. It was truly an engineering miracle to see him get that rig into the street, and to back it up all the way out. Hats off to Daniel, the North American Van Lines driver, who navigated the whole move like a true pro and is a nice guy too.

I made a bee-line to the Seattle Kung Fu Club as soon as I could and I’m grateful to now be among the T’ai chi students of Grandmaster John S.S. Leong and his staff. (So far, I’ve been relegated to doing long arduous stretches for the duration of the 1 1/2 hour classes, but I look forward to learning the Wu Form in due course). It is wonderful to look into the eyes of people at the Seattle Kung Fu Club–they all look so vital, healthy, and alert.

To go there, I walk down a dizzying street from our house on the top of a hill to Seacrest Park at sea level and take the water taxi 15 minutes to Pier 52 in downtown Seattle. Then I walk through Pioneer Square and beyond the eclectic mix of upscale art galleries and fancy restaurants alongside homeless missions and the people who gather nearby, to a tiny building in old Chinatown. It is a minuscule second-floor studio with an enigmatic grandmaster who inspires reverence among all of us sweaty people–just perfect. What a feast of sensations!  the dazzling water and lively boat traffic to see, the smell of diesel, the sound of the waves and the rumbling engine, then the strangely relaxing and familial smell of sweat and body warmth… it is just what all the “mindfulness” books suggest leads to wellbeing.  Check out the pics of the commute below. That long grey ship seems to be sending us a message to persevere in the inner arts and to stay strong with exercise… The pagoda-like entrance to King Street and the dragon mural at Hing Hay park delight the eyes and bring a smile to the spirit, every time:

 

 

I’m in heaven. With both brothers (and fabulous sisters-in-law) nearby, nieces, nephews, and one out of two sons close to home, family is finally near at hand. Yet there is much I do not know. Who knows what lies on the other side of that doorway in our backyard?

Maybe it beckons to inner space: leading into the Space of Now. As philosopher Eckhart Tolle famously wrote, “you may be surprised that by becoming aware of the space of Now, you suddenly feel more alive inside. You are feeling the aliveness of the inner body–the aliveness that is an intrinsic part of the joy of Being.” (A New Earth, 252).

Thanks for joining me on this journey. There really was a rainbow waiting on the other side!