CLP 70: 1986 “Chinese Landscape Painting: Content, Context, and Style.” CAA session, New York


Prefatory note

The two brief texts that follow are methodological remarks made in two sessions at the College Art Association's annual meetings: the first, for a session on "New Directions in Chinese Art Studies" organized by Professor Martin Powers and myself for the February 1985 meeting in Los Angeles, and the second for a session on "Chinese Landscape Painting: Content, Context, and Style," organized by Professor Jerome Silbergeld for the February 1986 meeting in New York. I have made a few deletions and additions, but the remarks are essentially as they were delivered on those two occasions.

New Directions in Chinese Painting Studies

Although the proper topic of this session is the innovative directions that are being taken, or might be taken, in studies of Chinese art, my remarks will apply principally to Chinese painting studies.

As many of you know, there was a session at the 1982 College Art Association meeting on style in Chinese painting, organized by Richard Barnhart. I was unable to be there, but I read his opening remarks and heard good reports on the papers and the session as a whole. Today's session, while it is based on a somewhat different viewpoint, is partly intended as a follow-up to that one, in that we hope to consider, among other things, new or alternative ways of understanding style.

By "alternative" I mean: other than the standard ways with which we are familiar, from a great many articles, dissertations, etc.: tracing sources of style, and influences; seeing styles in developmental sequences; writing about the expressive value of a style--that is, what the artist appears to be expressing by creating or adopting this style (always thinking of it as reflecting something the artist is feeling--style as a medium of personal expression). In the purest state of the enterprise, style becomes an element in the closed system we call style history. My teacher Max Loehr does this on the highest level.

To take the stands that I think some of us will take today is not in any sense to renounce this enterprise: it is, however, to turn away from its self-imposed limitations, its exclusivity, its attempts sometimes to discredit the alternatives by suggesting that they aren't really worth doing, or that the time hasn't yet come to do them, and so forth. Loehr has always argued that history and other outside factors, even circumstances in the lives of the artists, were more or less irrelevant to the work of art. It will be no surprise if I say that on that issue I broke with him a long time back, while continuing to have the highest respect for his ideas and his contributions.

Studies of the interrelationship of art and surrounding circumstance in the Western art history field have advanced to the point where we have a symposium at this year's meeting, chaired by Svetlana Alpers, titled "Art or Society: Must We Choose?" How, they are asking, can we get back to a fuller consideration of the formal properties of the work? Have we wandered too far from the work of art? We in Chinese art studies are still a long way from being faced by that danger; we are still struggling with the problem of how to draw the relationships with outside circumstance, for our material.

There have been no lack of writings in which the circumstances surrounding the creation of Chinese works of art have been studied--everybody has done artists' biographies, historical backgrounds, Taoist and Buddhist contexts for religious art, and so forth, in a straightforward way. What have been too rare are thoughtful considerations of what the relationship can be between such factors and works of art--how to avoid simple, misleading notions of causality, or juxtapositions of circumstance and object that imply a relationship without defining it. There haven't been enough studies, that is, that really integrate convincingly the object and the circumstances, instead of simply providing a "background" for the work. I once characterized as "artless studies of art" those studies that stopped on the periphery of the work of art, never really drawing the object itself into the relationship, as we should be doing, despite the difficulty of the project. It is relatively easy, that is, to relate the artist's biography to social history of the time, or art theorizing to intellectual history; what is more difficult is to relate convincingly the stylistic and other properties of the art object itself to outside circumstance. (I went on, in the same article, to downplay the importance of subject matter in later Chinese painting--I wouldn't write in quite the same vein today--I admit this change in my thinking, while continuing to believe that in a great deal of later Chinese painting, it is style more than subject that principally carries the meaning. But I don't mean to raise that issue here.)

Some recent, hopeful signs for the enterprise of integrating Chinese art with social and other kinds of history include Chu-tsing Li's workshop on patronage in Chinese painting held several years ago, and recent studies by a number of younger scholars, most of whom are here today. (I mean to include, for instance, John Hay, since for my present purpose, "younger scholars" is defined as younger than myself.) Some of the best articles and dissertations these days, along with doing the standard and necessary kinds of straightforward studies of artists and works, attempt both to construct contexts for the works and to define the relevance of these contexts. This is a large, difficult project, but good models for how it can be done are found in writings by some of our Western-art colleagues, as well as in methodological discussions of the problem, notably Michael Baxandall's.

Another direction in recent art-historical studies, besides the one that tries to integrate art with outside circumstance, is the one that tries to carry out closer and deeper readings of works of art--readings that take account of multiple levels of meaning in their imagery as well as in their style. Some writings by Svetlana Alpers or Michael Fried, or Edward Snow on Vermeer and Breughel, or Joseph Koerner on Hans Baldung Grün and Dürer, can serve as provocative and useful examples. This kind of study in European art history has reached the point where our Occidentalist colleagues seem to be engaged in a competition over who can perform the most intricate reading of "Las Meninas" by Velasquez. We are far from having reached that level of concentration of effort; but a few good individual attempts have been made. Richard Vinograd, who already demonstrated it in an extraordinary multi-leveled reading of Wang Meng's "Ch'ing-pien Mountains" painting of 1366, is now doing a study of Chinese portraiture that employs this approach; I myself tried to use it in the lectures published as The Compelling Image, for instance in writing about Ch'en Hung-shou's self-portrait. Richard Barnhart, in arguing at the 1982 session that we should stick with stylistic studies a while longer, pointed out that we still lack article-length studies of such masterworks as Fan K'uan's "Traveling Among Streams and Mountains." I would agree on the need for these, on the condition that such a study address the problem of levels of meaning in the work as well as its style.

In doing this kind of study that aims at interpreting the meanings of the paintings more subtly and deeply than we usually have, we are more or less required to adopt modes of reading the paintings that are not confined by the assumption that style must always be understood as the direct expression of the feeling and thought of the artist--an assumption which, although usually unacknowledged, underlies much of the writing in our field, and one that in the end doesn't get us very far toward interpreting the work. In saying that, we aren't denying the importance of personal expression as one element in the meaning and expressive content of paintings; but we are recognizing that it is only one element, one source of meaning, and not the only valid one in good art; that art can also, and more commonly, convey whatever message it may carry by drawing on the meanings attached to motifs and elements of style by convention. Martin Powers has argued, for instance, that the style of the Wu Family Shrines engravings should be understood as expressing the social aspirations and bureaucratic ambitions of the Wu family, and other families occupying the same position in Han society. I have argued recently that the landscape style of Ni Tsan, while it doubtless came into being primarily as an expression of Ni's special temperament and situation, came to signify by convention certain qualities and attitudes, the high-minded stance of the disaffected scholar-gentleman, and could be employed by anyone who wanted to project those qualities in his own painting, or attribute them to a dedicatee or patron.

Taking that approach, instead of the one that assumes always that what the work expresses is what the artist thought or felt--that always locates the meaning of the work, that is, inside the artist instead of in the surrounding society--will lead to very different, and I think fuller, understandings of the works we study. In doing this we can, but need not, adopt the method of semiotics--I myself have found it useful as a set of ideas about meaning in art, without having either the inclination or the knowledge to try to carry it through rigorously and systematically.

In using such an approach, we necessarily separate ourselves somewhat from Chinese approaches to art as they are preserved in the theoretical and critical literature. (I am not talking here about modern writings by our Chinese colleagues, but about older, traditional Chinese writings.) We have recognized that there is in Chinese writings on painting a built-in bias favoring the scholar-amateur artists. (It was they themselves, or other scholars of the same persuasion, who did most of the writing.) But we haven't entirely realized the implications of this: that the version of expression in art reflected in the Chinese literature tends to be the one espoused by the scholar-amateurs, a version in which they see themselves as embodying their refined feelings and thoughts in forms, unconstrained by more mundane and practical considerations. Meanwhile, the motives and methods of artists who were more responsive to the special concerns of patrons, or to the broader ones of the surrounding society, go virtually unreported.

This brings me to my final theme; the uses of Chinese writings in the understanding of Chinese art; and I will begin by quoting my Berkeley colleague Cyril Birch, who recently, in the course of a doctoral qualifying examination, remarked about the lofty-toned prefaces to Chinese dramas that one should "take them very seriously but not believe them."

To revert for a moment to history, I would suggest that there was a long and valuable period in our studies when we were so pleased at being able to read and understand Chinese ideas on art, and apply them in our own studies of the artists and paintings, that we tended to accept these ideas at face value and present them uncritically, as though they were ultimate truths about the paintings. Of course we must continue to read and study Chinese writings, translate them, take them very seriously; but we should also, I think, draw back from them enough to regard them more critically than we have. New directions in Chinese art studies will be new to the degree that they respectfully detach themselves, not only from the ideas of our own that were useful and enlightening once but have now become limiting, but also from the traditional Chinese formulations that we have tended to repeat as a way of avoiding thinking about the problems. All these formulations are no less true than they were, but we should be pursuing, I think, other kinds of truths as well, and recognizing that many of the old formulations are poetic truths, or historically-limited truths. We start out to write about bird-and-flower painting in China, and we begin by talking about Huang Ch'üan vs. Hsü Hsi, and defining the central issue as hsieh-sheng vs. hsieh-i, and from there it's like running the 100-yard dash in a diver's suit. We should respect these formulations but consider them as artifacts with their own sets of circumstances of creation and transmission--consider them, that is, as ideas that in some ways cast light on the objects and in other ways distort them, ideas that represented certain values for the people of their time and later, and that must always be understood in a problematic relationship to the works of art. To do this is no put-down of the Chinese tradition; it is only to recognize what any consideration of any aspect of human culture has to do these days to be taken seriously. It is to make our field of study methodologically respectable.

One reason why we cannot continue to accept always the traditional Chinese ways of defining the issues is that we now realize that to define them in a certain way is, in effect, to decide them. Hsieh-sheng vs. hsieh-i, or the Southern and Northern Schools of landscape painting as artistic equivalents to sudden and gradual enlightenment, are definitions with rhetorical force, used by proponents of one kind of painting in arguing against another. Our own definitions of the issues will not, of course, be bias-free themselves; but at least they will be our biases, and new ones.

We must also, I think, stop mistaking metaphor for profound and objective truth. If we are ever to write interesting and original things about the relationship of painting and poetry, we can't start out by saying that paintings are soundless poems and poems are paintings in sound. Or, if we are to reach any new level of understanding of the relationship of painting and calligraphy, we must begin by saying that painting and calligraphy didn't have a common origin, are not a single art, have quite different sets of formal and expressive problems, different patterns of development, and so forth. For my part, I would be happy if these attractive bits of wisdom were outlawed for at least a decade, during which we would be forced to consider these questions seriously.

(If you think I'm shooting at a straw horse, go back and read a representative selection of recent writings on Chinese painting, and you will soon discover that I am not.)

I don't completely understand, much less advocate, deconstructionist theory; but on the basis of a limited and no doubt muddled understanding, I suspect that Chinese theories of the arts, and critical writings on art, could use a bit of deconstructing. I myself was charged with doing that to Tung Ch'i-ch'ang's ideas in one of my Harvard lectures, and I don't deny the charge. By this I certainly don't mean anything like debunking, because I certainly don't think the writings are in any sense bunk. Perhaps "demythologizing" would be better. Whatever we call it, I want to see them as conveying limited and contingent truths, which, if mistaken as complete truths, impede us from going beyond them. They inhibit, that is, our attempts to understand the works of art in ways that the Chinese themselves presumably also understood them, but which they didn't choose to write about. Why they chose not to write about certain aspects of their art is a question that we can consider and speculate about in itself; but the fact that they chose not to is obvious to any of us who have tried to work on patronage in Chinese painting, or social class as reflected in styles,or political meanings in Chinese painting (on which I am presently conducting a seminar), or any number of other promising and potentially enlightening concerns of the kind with which we are now beginning to engage, and for which we find little support in the Chinese literature. If we were to take the stand (as some do) that only those concerns directly addressed in the Chinese literature are legitimate concerns for us, we would be dead-ended on all these issues. In the opposite direction, we may begin to suspect that in fact many of the most interesting aspects of Chinese painting are just the ones the Chinese writers don't discuss.

Most of what I've said, if said in other sessions going on here now, would seem simplistic, and elicit the reaction: why tell us all this? We know it already, have known it for a long time. Many of you at this session may feel the same. But I will only ask, finally: if we know all this, collectively, why do we continue to write and talk, so much of the time, as if we didn't?

Chinese Landscape Painting: Content, Context, and Style

In some part, today's session is a follow-up to last year's symposium on "The Interpretation of Landscape"; it's obviously a subject in which there is a lot of interest. The problem of meaning in landscape draws our attention, among subject categories in painting, because it's the most difficult: landscape seems on the surface to be, as Susan Bush puts it, a "neutral" subject, but that impression lasts only so long as one doesn't look very hard into it or around it or behind it, as our panelists today have done, and as numbers of other writers have been doing lately, for other subject categories as well as for landscape. (Jerome Silbergeld's recently-published study of Chao Yung's painting of horses in a landscape is an excellent example.) Studies that take serious account of questions of content and context are springing up like healthy plants all over, to the point where the methodological disputes that Dick and I and others have engaged in over the past years perhaps needn't be continued. I have certainly never argued that studies emphasizing style and authenticity and traditional iconography should be banned--ours was the ecumenical side--but only that we should give a lot more attention to other aspects of our subject than we generally have in the past. And now that so many people are doing so, it may be time to heed the Taoist advice that when you have the fish you can discard the fish-trap.

In a short paper for last year's symposium I suggested in passing that it might be helpful to think of landscape not as a single subject category for which broad and inclusive characterizations can properly be made, but as a cluster of distinguishable types; and Jerome Silbergeld has invited me to expand on that suggestion here. I will do so, but I want to begin somewhere else. I have recently finished giving a seminar, with eight good graduate students, on "Meanings and Functions in Chinese Landscape Painting," which I began by arguing that for purposes of thinking we can divide our concerns with painting into three parts. Part one concerns the painting itself, its material existence, its style, its subject in a simple sense. Part two concerns its meaning, in the broadest sense; and for that we usually have to look beyond the painting proper. Part three is its function--how and in what circumstances it was made, what part it played in some social situation of its time. (Svetlana Alpers makes a similar tripartite division of concerns in her recently-published introduction to the papers of her last-year's symposium "Art or Society: Must We Choose?") The example I used, which appears also in Susan Bush's excellent paper (a paper that reached me in time to be required reading for my seminar) is the account in the Kuo Hsi essay of how he painted a picture with an old man leaning on a pine tree in the foreground and a great many other pine trees, large and small, stretching into distance. (This, in my formulation, is Part I, the picture.) His son Kuo Ssu goes on to say: "The idea was to express the wish that his sons and grandsons be dukes and ministers in unbroken succession" (this is Part II, the meaning); and that the painting was done for the 60th or 80th birthday of a great minister of the time (Part III, function).

Inadequate as such a division of concerns is in some respects--it is intended as no more than a way of thinking, a disposable trap for catching fish--it allows us to come up with a formulation of the following type: in such-and-such a painting, a certain subject, certain forms and images, certain features of style, gave it the potential for conveying to those who saw it certain ideas and meanings; and these, in turn, allowed it to function in a certain social context, fulfill a need, carry a message. Obviously, the Kuo Hsi case is exceptional: ordinarily we haven't enough information to construct such a neat three-part account of the painting, nor should we suppose that there will always be a clearly-definable Part III, a function. But I think there will be in a great many more cases than we have supposed, whether or not we have the evidence for determining what the function was.

Michael Baxandall of the Warburg Institute (and, I'm pleased to say, U.C. Berkeley) wrote at the beginning of his 1972 book on quatrocento Italian painting: "The picture trade was a quite different thing from that in our own late romantic condition, in which painters paint what they think best and then look round for a buyer." The regular reiteration by Chinese writers from Sung times on of an even more idealized version of the matter, in which the artist not only paints what he thinks best but doesn't even consider a buyer or consumer at all, has persuaded us too often to think of that as the norm--or at least to write with an implicit assumption that it was the norm, even though, if pressed, we might say we knew better. But the evidence, as we look harder for it and read it more subtly, indicates rather that paintings in China, as elsewhere, normally were elements in an elaborate system of social exchange, and economic or quasi-economic exchange, in which the artist painted in response to some kind of demand or expectation, stated or understood, and profited in one way or another from the exchange. In Baxandall's new book Patterns of Intention (the best methodological discussion of these questions I have read) the area of demand or expectations is termed "the pictorial Charge and the painter's Brief," and he uses the terms "market" or "troc" for "a coming into contact of producer and consumer of a good for the purpose of exchange."

Now, we can't profitably consider content and context of landscape without keeping these issues at the backs of our minds, if not the fronts. Kuo Hsi as presented in Susan Bush's paper, choosing a subject that would carry a suitable meaning for a painting to be placed in the emperor's summer residence, or for another in the Han-lin Academy, or one to function as an auspicious image in the midst of a great drought, was performing his part in such an exchange; and if it is objected that he was after all a court artist, and that the case of the scholar-amateur was different, I would agree but point out that even in the case of "self-reflexive paintings" (as Susan terms them) such as Mi Yu-jen's and Ssu-ma Huai's--reflective, that is, of the artists' own situations--they were, she assumes, done for another person in a similar situation. The pattern we can discern here--and, for instance, in Tung Ch'i-ch'ang's "Summoning to Reclusion" scroll (Chao-yin t'u) of 1611, done for a man similarly out of office after official service, or Fa Jochen's paintings of rainy landscapes done for men who, like himself, served in the Manchu government--the pattern is of landscape paintings reflective of political stances or circumstances shared by artist and recipient, as one side of an exchange that expressed and strengthened a community of interest.

The types of landscape that I had in mind when I suggested seeing Chinese landscape painting as a cluster of distinguishable types include some that can be defined functionally: birthday or farewell pictures done for those occasions; topographical pictures to record a trip or arouse memories of travel, or to convey information about places; pictures of gardens or villas, intended (with their inscriptions) to record and celebrate the impress of human designs and concepts on places. And determining more precisely the meanings of the paintings will allow us to conjecture, at least, about how and when and where they were presented, hung, or otherwise used. Taoist retreat and paradise pictures of the kind that Kiyo Munakata discusses so interestingly in his paper, for instance, were apparently done, in many cases, for birthday congratulations and celebrations. Robert Harrist's perceptive comments on how visual metaphors parallel the poetic might be understood in terms of an exchange between Li Kung-lin and his very cultivated audience for whom these metaphors were preferred carriers of meaning. Judy Andrews is inclined to see some of the characteristics of painting done in late 17th century Yangchow as responding to conditions of patronage in that city.

Our ultimate aim, of course, should be to understand how these different aspects of the painting--its subject and style, its content or meaning, and its context or function--interact and affect each other. Let me end with a brief look at two of the landscape types that seem to be relatively distinct and to exemplify these relationships.

(Slides) Farewell pictures, Sung-pieh t'u, done for someone who is departing for some faraway place, typically use a compositional structure designed to be read as conveying the idea of distance, separation, and deprivation, with a here-and-now foreground, often featuring a farewell party and waiting boat, and compositional markers indicating successive stages of movement into far distance and the future, into which the recipient is about to travel.

(Slides) Reclusion pictures (yin-chü t'u) also tend to use a common pictorial structure, in this case a compartmented composition with one closed-in part, containing the recluse's dwelling, and another that opens outward, signifying the option of venturing out when one pleases into the great world. Both types of landscape can be specific, with identifying references, or general and all-purpose: here, Wang Meng's depiction of his cousin's "Cloudy Forest Retreat," and a general reclusion scene by some early Ming Che school artist. In either case, to treat the style of the picture in isolation, or simply fit it (as is commonly done) into some stylistic sequence quite divorced from meaning or function, impoverishes our understanding of it. If someone, miraculously finding the very Kuo Hsi birthday painting described in his essay, wants to subject it to straight style-analysis, discussing the compositional role of the foreground figure and the use of the pine trees to establish a typical 11th century spatial recession, that's his privilege; but I think others will increasingly find such an account of the picture inadequate. If, on the other hand, we are able to recognize the functional type to which the picture belongs, how the artist has adapted the type to his special purpose, and how the particular features of the type are designed to be read as carrying a particular kind of meaning, and as fitting the picture for a particular situation or use, then we will not only enrich our experience of this picture, but enrich also our understanding of the role played by painters and paintings in Chinese society. We will not be neglecting style, but expanding our concept of it to demonstrate once again how style can carry human meaning to the world outside the painting.

Parts of the second essay were later incorporated into a lecture titled "Meanings and Functions in Chinese Landscape Painting" which I presented at the Nelson-Atkins Museum in Kansas City in April, 1987. This will eventually be published by the University of Kansas Press, along with two other lectures given at the University of Kansas titled "Political Themes in Chinese Painting" and "Quickness and Spontaneity in Chinese Painting: The Ups and Downs of An Ideal," in a book tentatively titled Three Alternative Histories of Chinese Painting. These three lectures are also methodological in character, somewhat longer and fuller than the two essays published here.

The papers presented at this 1985 symposium were published, along with Alpers's introductory remarks, in Representations 12, Fall 1985.

"Style as Idea in Ming-Ch'ing Painting," in: The Mozartian Historian: Essays on the Works of Joseph R. Levenson, Berkeley, 1976, pp. 137-156.

"Artists and Patrons: Some Social and Economic Aspects of Chinese Painting." Workshop held at Nelson Gallery, Kansas City, Nov. 20-24, 1980. The seventeen papers are being published as a volume by the Chinese University of Hong Kong (in press).

Michael Baxandall, Painting and Experience in Fifteenth Century Italy, Oxford, 1972; Patterns of Intention: On the Historical Explanation of Pictures, New Haven and London, 1985.

Some good examples are: Svetlana Alpers, The Art of Describing: Dutch Art in the Seventeenth Century, Chicago, 1983. Michael Fried, Absorption and Theatricality: Painting and Beholder in the Age of Diderot, Berkeley, 1980; and "Realism, Writing, and Disfiguration in Thomas Eakins's Gross Clinic," Representations 9, Winter 1985, pp. 33-104. Edward A. Snow, A Study of Vermeer, Berkeley, 1979; and "'Meaning' in Children's Games: On the Limitations of the Iconographic Approach to Breugel," Representations 2, Spring 1983, pp. 27-60. Joseph Leo Koerner, "The Mortification of the Image: Death as a Hermaneutic in Hans Baldung Grien," Representations 10, Spring 1985, pp. 52-101.

Richard Vinograd, Wang Meng's "Pien Mountains: The Landscape of Eremitism in Later Fourteenth Century Chinese Painting, doctoral dissertation, Berkeley, 1970. See also his "Family Properties: Personal Context and Cultural Pattern in Wang Meng's Pien Mountains of A.D. 1366. Ars Orientalis XIII, 1982, pp. 1-29.

James Cahill, The Compelling Image: Nature and Style in Seventeenth Century Chinese Painting, Cambridge, 1982, pp. 106-145: "Ch'en Hung-shou: Portraits of Real People and Others."

Martin J. Powers, "Pictorial Art and Its Public in Early Imperial China," Art History vol. VII no. 2, June 1984, pp. 135-163; and "Artistic Taste, the Economy, and the Social Order in Former Han China," Art History vol. IX no. 3, September 1986, pp. 285-305.

James Cahill, ed., Shadows of Mt. Huang: Chinese Painting and Printing of the Anhui School, Berkeley, 1981, pp. 10-14; and James Cahill, The Distant Mountains: Chinese Painting of the Late Ming Dynasty, 1570-1644, Tokyo and New York, 1982, pp. 136-37.

James Cahill, The Compelling Image (cf. note 8), pp. 37-69, "Tung Ch'i-ch'ang and the Sanction of the Past."

Symposium organized by Charles Rhyne for February 1985 meeting of the College Art Association in Los Angeles, "The Interpretation of Landscape Painting"; my paper was titled "Levels of Meaning in a Tenth Century Chinese Landscape." See also "Some Aspects of Tenth Century Painting as Seen in Three Recently-published Works," in: Papers for the International Conference on Sinology, Academic Sinica, Taipei, volume on Art History, Taipei, 1981, pp. 1-36.

Jerome Silbergeld, "In Praise of Government: Chao Yung's Painting Noble Steeds and Late Yuan Politics," Artibus Asiae XLVI/3, 1985, pp. 159-202.

The Barnhart-Cahill Rogers Correspondence, 1981, Berkeley, Institute of East Asian Studies, 1982.

See note 12.

Svetlana Alpers, Foreward to symposium "Art and Society" (cf. note 2).

Kuo Hsi, Lin-ch'üan kao-chih, translated in Susan Bush and Hsio-yen Shih, eds., Early Chinese Texts on Painting, Cambridge, 1985; this passage on pp. 154-55.

Michael Baxandall, Painting and Experience (cf. note 5), p. 3.

Baxandall, Patterns of Intention (cf. note 5), pp. 42-50.

Susan Bush, "Landscape as Subject Matter: Different Sung Approaches," in session organized by Jerome Silbergeld for College Art Association meeting, New York, February 1986, titled "Chinese Landscape Painting: Context, Content, and Style." Unpublished.

For Tung Ch'i-ch'ang's painting of 1611, see The Distant Mountains (cf. note 10), Pl. 39.

James Cahill, "Awkwardness and Imagery in the Landscapes of Fa Jo-chen," paper for symposium held at Cleveland Museum of Art, March 1981. The papers from this symposium are being published in a volume by the Chinese University of Hong Kong (in press).

These three papers, all unpublished but presented at this session, are: Kiyohiko Munakata, "Chinese Literati and Taoistic Fantasy: Cases of Shen Chou and Wu School Artists"; Robert Harrist, "The Lung-mien shan-chuang t'u by Li Kung-lin"; and Julia F. Andrews, "Landscape Painting and Patronage in Early Qing Yangzhou."

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