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Creating masterworks in the smallest of places
FOR artist Yang Benhua, small is beautiful. Really small.
He paints mountains, waterfalls, clouds, pavilions, forests, animals and rocks in pictures no bigger than a fingernail or a matchstick.
The 58-year-old Songjiang native, who has loved art since a child, is soon to retire as a local senior legal prosecutor. That will give him plenty more time to pursue miniature paintings.
The more he pursues his artwork, the smaller it becomes. Some pieces are barely bigger than a grain of rice.
He paints - without any magnifier - China's famous scenic spots: the waterfall on Lushan Mountain, the clouds over Yellow Mountain, grotesque rocks, pavilions and forests. A small poem and his seal accompany each piece.
His ink paintings are a complete embodiment of a normal-sized artwork, rich in colors and composition, vivid in depiction of figures and animals, and steeped in the shading so characteristic of Chinese ink painting.
"It all depends on my mood," he said. "I have to concentrate all of my attention on my fingertips and accurately control my breath and hand muscles."
For that reason, he said, he doesn't use a magnifying class.
"It wouldn't work because the glass would magnify my finger movements at the same time, blocking the light and distracting my attention," he explained.
Yang prefers to paint late at night, when the silence of the world around him allows him to focus all his attention on his work without disturbance.
"I will do some reading to calm myself first, and then I paint some normal-size ink works to get in the mood," he said. "After that, I concentrate on my miniature paintings."
Control of breath
Having been practiced qigong, the ancient system of deep breathing exercises, for many years, Yang has mastered the art of concentration. He said he gets himself into a "most sensitive state" where he can feel his pulse beating and the blood coursing through his veins. Any tiny sound - the slight crack of a door; a needle falling on the floor - cannot escape the artist's ears. "Then I know it's the time to paint," he said.
Yang made a set of brushes and pens, and uses Chinese xuan, or rice, paper that he cuts to size.
The paper has to be of a high quality, soft, thin and without any flaws because even a small black dot might obliterate the space he needs to paint a tree. He removes any rough fibers from the paper with tweezers used only in eye surgery, and he delicately smooths the paper flat with a rhino's horn.
His tiny paintbrush is made of soft wool and weasel fur, while the cutter he uses is refitted from the smallest size acupuncture needle. Yang even made a seal, so tiny that it is a little bigger than a grain of salt.
In order to paint in such tiny space, Yang practices by carving on single strands of hair, without a magnifier.
At first, he practiced on pig bristles, which are usually thick, and then later, he resorted to the whiskers from his neighbor's cat. As his confidence grew, he practiced the technique on human hair strands.
Imagine the surprise of his friends when he pestered them to give him some of their hair! There's hair and there's hair, he explained. The "right hair" is healthy, strong and glossy, without many cracks on the surface.
Practice on hair
"Today's people wash their hair too much, which damages it with chemical substances in shampoo," he said.
He was overjoyed once to find a carpenter in his village who never washed his hair with shampoo.
"He only uses soap," Yang said. "His hair is the best I've found so far - thick, black, smooth and lustrous, just like glass filaments."
His own hair isn't quite up to that standard. "My hair is much thinner and softer," he said.
He twines a hair around his left index finger and carves with a needle he refitted from the smallest size acupuncture needle.
"You don't need to look at it," he said. "I just feel it. The slightest movement on my fingertip muscles, so subtle that you might not observe any motion on my hand. Any tiny careless movement would make huge difference, or directly destroy it."
But carving on hair is only a means to an end. "It's a way to practice my hand skills," he said. "What I really want to do is paint real Chinese ink pictures on the tiny space. It's not only about size but also the beauty of art."
The naked eyes can't appreciate the depth of his skill. A magnifying glass is needed to appreciate the complexity and beauty of works painted on a piece of paper the size of a fingernail.
It's all in there - meandering rivers flanked by lush trees, and in the distance, looming high mountains shrouded in morning mist.
"Chinese landscapes are my major subjects," Yang said. "It is quite a magical, eye-opening experience for people to see such magnificent sceneries on a tiny paper."
The great painter Cheng Shifa, also a Songjiang native (1921-2007), once viewed Yang's mini-masterpieces and was fulsome in his praise.
"Songjiang is known for its Gu embroidery, and I hope one day, when people are talking about my hometown, the miniature painting will be the second name that pops up to exemplify the best of local artwork," Yang said.
He paints mountains, waterfalls, clouds, pavilions, forests, animals and rocks in pictures no bigger than a fingernail or a matchstick.
The 58-year-old Songjiang native, who has loved art since a child, is soon to retire as a local senior legal prosecutor. That will give him plenty more time to pursue miniature paintings.
The more he pursues his artwork, the smaller it becomes. Some pieces are barely bigger than a grain of rice.
He paints - without any magnifier - China's famous scenic spots: the waterfall on Lushan Mountain, the clouds over Yellow Mountain, grotesque rocks, pavilions and forests. A small poem and his seal accompany each piece.
His ink paintings are a complete embodiment of a normal-sized artwork, rich in colors and composition, vivid in depiction of figures and animals, and steeped in the shading so characteristic of Chinese ink painting.
"It all depends on my mood," he said. "I have to concentrate all of my attention on my fingertips and accurately control my breath and hand muscles."
For that reason, he said, he doesn't use a magnifying class.
"It wouldn't work because the glass would magnify my finger movements at the same time, blocking the light and distracting my attention," he explained.
Yang prefers to paint late at night, when the silence of the world around him allows him to focus all his attention on his work without disturbance.
"I will do some reading to calm myself first, and then I paint some normal-size ink works to get in the mood," he said. "After that, I concentrate on my miniature paintings."
Control of breath
Having been practiced qigong, the ancient system of deep breathing exercises, for many years, Yang has mastered the art of concentration. He said he gets himself into a "most sensitive state" where he can feel his pulse beating and the blood coursing through his veins. Any tiny sound - the slight crack of a door; a needle falling on the floor - cannot escape the artist's ears. "Then I know it's the time to paint," he said.
Yang made a set of brushes and pens, and uses Chinese xuan, or rice, paper that he cuts to size.
The paper has to be of a high quality, soft, thin and without any flaws because even a small black dot might obliterate the space he needs to paint a tree. He removes any rough fibers from the paper with tweezers used only in eye surgery, and he delicately smooths the paper flat with a rhino's horn.
His tiny paintbrush is made of soft wool and weasel fur, while the cutter he uses is refitted from the smallest size acupuncture needle. Yang even made a seal, so tiny that it is a little bigger than a grain of salt.
In order to paint in such tiny space, Yang practices by carving on single strands of hair, without a magnifier.
At first, he practiced on pig bristles, which are usually thick, and then later, he resorted to the whiskers from his neighbor's cat. As his confidence grew, he practiced the technique on human hair strands.
Imagine the surprise of his friends when he pestered them to give him some of their hair! There's hair and there's hair, he explained. The "right hair" is healthy, strong and glossy, without many cracks on the surface.
Practice on hair
"Today's people wash their hair too much, which damages it with chemical substances in shampoo," he said.
He was overjoyed once to find a carpenter in his village who never washed his hair with shampoo.
"He only uses soap," Yang said. "His hair is the best I've found so far - thick, black, smooth and lustrous, just like glass filaments."
His own hair isn't quite up to that standard. "My hair is much thinner and softer," he said.
He twines a hair around his left index finger and carves with a needle he refitted from the smallest size acupuncture needle.
"You don't need to look at it," he said. "I just feel it. The slightest movement on my fingertip muscles, so subtle that you might not observe any motion on my hand. Any tiny careless movement would make huge difference, or directly destroy it."
But carving on hair is only a means to an end. "It's a way to practice my hand skills," he said. "What I really want to do is paint real Chinese ink pictures on the tiny space. It's not only about size but also the beauty of art."
The naked eyes can't appreciate the depth of his skill. A magnifying glass is needed to appreciate the complexity and beauty of works painted on a piece of paper the size of a fingernail.
It's all in there - meandering rivers flanked by lush trees, and in the distance, looming high mountains shrouded in morning mist.
"Chinese landscapes are my major subjects," Yang said. "It is quite a magical, eye-opening experience for people to see such magnificent sceneries on a tiny paper."
The great painter Cheng Shifa, also a Songjiang native (1921-2007), once viewed Yang's mini-masterpieces and was fulsome in his praise.
"Songjiang is known for its Gu embroidery, and I hope one day, when people are talking about my hometown, the miniature painting will be the second name that pops up to exemplify the best of local artwork," Yang said.
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