The Mystery of the Song Dynasty Painting by Adeline Yen Mah Page A

and other official Confucian ceremonies, whereas the latter may be played during dinner parties, banquets and other informal gatherings.
    Some time later, Huizong receives an unexpected fan letter from a distant land. Apparently, Emperor Yejong of the Korean Court of Goryeo has heard of the Chinese Emperor’s growing reputation as a patron of the arts. After expressing his admiration, the Korean Emperor begs Huizong for guidance in the purchase of musical instruments from China. Filled with pride and gratification, Huizong immediately orders dozens of zithers, horns, flutes, cymbals, chimes and bells to be sent to Yejong as a goodwill gesture. Not long afterwards, Huizong follows with an even larger gift of four hundred and twenty-eight musical instruments.
    Since Gege is increasingly preoccupied with his studies and classmates from the university, Ah Zhao and I are left more and more to our own devices. We talk for hours about nothing and everything – painting, sculptures, rocks, ghosts, history, family intrigue, court gossip or Ah Wang’s bossiness. But mostly we talk about the meaning of art.
    Ah Zhao believes that the goal of a great artist is to strive for artistic Truth; not just to make things look realistic. He thinks loving art will improve a person’s quality of life – any person’s life.
    ‘An artist,’ he says, ‘is in touch with Heaven. In fact, he’s an instrument of Heaven. Look at the trees, flowers, shrubs and rocks around us. How orderly Nature is! I feel that the source of our sense of beauty comes from Nature. A true artist is engaged in a spiritual quest. He’s searching for his private Heaven.’
    One afternoon, Gege returns home from classes earlier than usual and comes into the playroom carrying a thick roll of silk. He plonks it down on the table and says to Ah Zhao, ‘There you are!’
    ‘That’s a long piece of silk!’ I exclaim.
    ‘Just over one and a half zhang long.’
    ‘It looks narrow,’ Ah Zhao says. ‘What’s its width?’
    ‘You told me to get as long and narrow a piece of silk as possible for our painting. This is only seven-and-a-half cun wide.’
    ‘Length and width are perfect!’ Ah Zhao replies. ‘The colour is great too. Not too yellow. Not too white. Somewhere in between.’
    ‘What are you going to do with it?’ I ask, full of curiosity.
    ‘Remember the day the three of us were together on the bank of the river at Qing Ming?’ Gege says. ‘Ah Zhao promised to help me paint the view of the capital from the Longevity Gardens.’
    ‘It’s going to be a magnificent picture!’ Ah Zhao’s eyes are shining. ‘Unlike any painting before. I have a vision of the Bian River meandering through the entire length of this long, narrow scroll. We’ll sketch the boats and bridges on the water…’
    ‘Will you include the Hong Qiao (Rainbow Bridge) with everyone watching the boat that almost capsized?’ I ask.
    ‘Of course we will! We’ll also put in the farms, country roads, trees, people, animals and buildings along the shore. Exactly the way it was that day,’ says Gege.
    ‘In the market I saw shops selling wine, grain, vegetables, cookware, lanterns, musical instruments, jewellery and all sorts of other goods. Don’t forget to draw all the different people milling around: the farmhands, camel-drivers, goatherds, pig-farmers as well as city folk such as peddlers, jugglers, beggars, monks, carpenters, scribes and fortune-tellers.’ I feel more and more excited at the idea of the picture.
    ‘The main thing is to capture everything the way it was that day. How everyone dressed and walked must be faithfully portrayed. We’ll draw the people, animals, buildings and boats accurately and represent every image in the correct proportion,’ Ah Zhao proclaims.
    ‘What about the wheelbarrows, sedan chairs and carriages?’ Gege asks.
    ‘Put them all in!’ Ah Zhao answers grandly.
    ‘Won’t the painting take months, if not years, to finish?’
    ‘Probably,