Pavilion Diary: A Brief Return by Katharine Tsang
Is art enough? In this thoughtful diary piece, the painter Katharine Tsang considers this question while travelling in Tokyo and her home city of Hong Kong. The words of Qing dynasty painter-monk Shi Tao – and the narrative of Shūsaku Endō’s novel Silence – ring in her ears as she opens up her own practice, its training rooted in British art school curriculum but recently exposed to the processes of ink painting. Traversing faith, personal freedom, and her own future dreams, she returns home to an answer of sorts -
“I realise I just want to be alone painting: the persistent pursuit of time alone on a voluntary basis.”
Cherry blossom tea
When I began writing for this diary piece I had just come back from a three-week holiday in Hong Kong and Tokyo. I was in Asia for a wedding and I couldn’t recall much from my trip as I sleepwalked most of it. Since I had moved back to London a few years ago, I’ve avoided spending time in Asia for fear it would rekindle a longing for warmer weather, as comical as that sounds.
Looking at my notes from the trip when I arrived back home, I find them rather romantic and confused: cherry blossom, past lives, time travel, reunions, something blossoming, the age of blossom.
I had intended this piece to follow a similar format to a previous diary, that detailed a week of painting. Instead of writing about a week in my life, this one would cover my trip home. But coming off the high of ‘coming home’, I realise I just want to be alone painting: the persistent pursuit of time alone on a voluntary basis.
A Chinese ink workshop hosted by Hugh Moss last year still lingers in my mind. Since the workshop, I must admit I’ve taken quite a keen interest in Chinese Art, specifically literati painting. I’ve not taken any formal lessons in Chinese painting, outside exploratory research, I have ongoing sporadic conversations with my mum who’s taken up Chinese ink painting; I refer to her lesson notes to fill gaps in my technical understanding of materials.
In ‘Enlightening Remarks on Painting’ by one of the most celebrated Chinese painters of the early Qing dynasty, Shi Tao, he states that painting is not an activity but that it proceeds from the Creation itself: the commencement of all things. Throughout the book, Shi Tao reaches far within himself and far beyond himself, beyond the scope of art. Painting becomes a form of life.
Visit to Pigment Tokyo learning about natural mineral pigments
To Shi Tao, enlightenment does not refer to the technical understanding gained from the study of a given subject, but the higher, spiritual understanding characterised by an ineffable sensibility towards all things.
Shi Tao was a descendent of Ming royalty. To escape the fate that his lineage would meet when the Ming Dynasty collapsed, he became a Buddhist monk when he was three, calling himself Bitter Gourd Monk. With Zhu Da, Hong Ren and Kun Can, he was one of the ‘Four Great Monk Painters’ of the early Qing Dynasty.
Suddenly I find myself in an odd position, both geographically and artistically at this time of rediscovery, as my training is rooted in the conventional modes of art school within the British art education system. While this recognition of shift could feel like I am throwing myself into a void, looking for new resolutions, at the core, it calls for a much-needed geocultural expansion concerning artistic freedom that many have ‘sought after’.
Tea ceremony workshop in Tokyo
Painting has been declared dead many times over the last century, or it is playing dead . I think much of the discussion is still ongoing, because some of us believe the medium is undeserving of its art world success. The demise of contemporary painting seems odd, given the strong sales figures in the unprecedented times we live in. I have very little interest in the chatter about the market, or the prospect of painting the zeitgeist; however, I feel compelled to participate in the discussion. Strong claims as such seem authoritarian.
In my own reflections, I have often thought Shi Tao’s writings and philosophical dimension are similar to those of Christian teachings on change and talents. Shi Tao believes that his painting gifts are bestowed upon him by Heaven. He is an accomplished painter, not through personal merit, but because it was given to him by Heaven. One must not see painting as a quest for fulfilment. Even if you paint and draw with all your might, you will fail because the origins of painting and calligraphy are Heavenly. And if he mis-uses his gifts, he might risk losing what he received in the first place.
Cherry Blossom Trees in Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden
Shūsaku Endō’s novel, Silence, is an uncompromising meditation on Christianity and faith in general. In the 1600s, Christianity was outlawed in Japan and was seen as a threat to Japanese culture. Silence tells the story of two young Portuguese Catholic priests, Father Rodrigues and Father Garrpe, who travel to Japan looking for their beloved mentor, Father Ferreira, who was rumoured to have ‘apostatised’—that is, renounced God.
Throughout the novel, Father Rodrigues imagines God’s silence as his greatest obstacle, and faces the reality that his faith will never take root in Japan. Rodrigues preoccupies himself with living out his life as Jesus did; he becomes blind to those around him. By the end of the story, Rodrigues renounces his faith and lives out his days in Japan.
Genuine Amusement Pavilion in Lion Grove Garden, “Zhen Qu” (really interesting) inscribed by Emperor Qianlong who visited the garden six times.
In Martin Scorsese’s 2016 adaptation of the novel, there are many scenes of Christians being tortured with no easy solutions or answers. The film depicts a contemplative journey that asks most profound questions. Although God remains silent in the film, He is very much present, and in turn suggests that it is man who cannot hear. Ever since I watched it in 2021, I have not really stopped thinking about the film, especially given the events that continue to shape our world in recent years.
Ice Cracks by Katharine Tsang
Colour pencil, soft pastel, watercolour, gouache, mineral pigment, ink and graphite on paper, 24 x 32 cm, 2023
Shi Tao admitted that he had a difficult temperament and poor sense of humour. While he was heavily invested in calligraphy and painting, he did not read a lot of books due to his unorthodox education. He lost his father at an early age and became a monk to remove himself from the troubles of the Qing royal court. In his old age, he renounced his Buddhist faith and turned to Daoism. It’s fair to say that that he was an afflicted man.
It might seem far-fetched and extreme to compare tortured Christians in the 1600s to the philosophy of painting. Still, I find the nature of faith, the lifelong pursuit of artistic endeavours and the constant search for artistic visions are akin in essence. Is art enough? Untempered faith is an intriguing concept for those who reject or wrestle with it. In some respects, the film speaks to the changing nature of faith in today’s world. As a society, it became less about residing in the absolute truth but about identifying with religious traditions and tribulations that resonate with believers and non-believers alike.
In Shi Tao’s writings, he dives straight into the art of painting, but painters would be at loss if they came here looking for technical advice; rather, the book Illustrates a creative mindset that takes one beyond the field of art and into the infinite. Painters are not necessarily keen to express themselves clearly. Demanding an answer from a painter when asking what their art is about is similar to making a theological inquiry: you don’t always get an answer. Regardless of the medium that one has chosen, reluctance to reimagine and rework is like sailing without wind. The point is, you keep looking.
Inside the Stone Boat built by I.M. Pei’s grandfather, Pei Run Sheng who was a paint magnate and purchased the Lion Grove Garden in 1917.
For various reasons in my personal life, I am seeking change. I dream of a change of studio space; I dream of a change of my window view; I dream of a change of landscape in my neighbourhood. When I am walking on the heath I dream of the change of route after a heavy rainfall and wonder where that might take me.
Often when painting, there is a lot of waiting: waiting for materials to arrive, waiting for paint to dry, waiting in between creative droughts. Art is primal and innate; all one can really hope for is the opportunity for a meaningful alliance to sustain and nurture a conversation that is long lived.
Moss Time by Katharine Tsang
Colour pencil, soft pastel, watercolour, gouache, charcoal, mineral pigment, ink and graphite on canvas, 18 x 22 in, 2024
Of course, it would be unrealistic and irrational to lead a life like Shi or Rodrigues in our world now: to embrace personal, art or religious ideologies—there are no absolute answers in face of the deepest questions of human existence. The deep conviction to advance daily is a devotion that can be intoxicating, but I wonder whether we are merely heavily invested in the idea of a free aesthetic mind or recognising true work—the enlightenment of painting.
Perhaps it’s my wishful thinking to be alone painting— and painting only in silence.
The new Lam Tsuen Wishing Tree in Hong Kong, replacing the original 200-year old banyan tree where visitors would write their wishes on small joss paper rolls and tie them to tangerines and throw them into the tree. The practice was discouraged in 2005.
Katharine Tsang is a painter who has lived and worked in Hong Kong and London.