The Dewdrop World

Meanderings through the seasons...

Time of Fallen Leaves

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Fall doesn't really happen until December in Pasadena. And by early January, the trees have shed their leaves. Of course, in California, people dislike a messy yard so before there is time to enjoy them, the gardeners have blown the leaves away...

I remember my joy as a child to stomp through the fallen leaves in Westlake. I even remember how good it smelled. This is the most beautiful time of year. Why can't the leaves stick around a little anyway? I texted our gardener, asking him not to come for a week or so and not to blow them away... but there he arrived. Today we actually took the leaves back out of the trashcan and sprinkled them back on our back steps because I love them so much. It’s like a beautiful carpet of leaves and I enjoy them. Chris sprinkle them perfectly because the bottom picture is the one that Chris did and the top one is the one that nature did. It’s a weird California obsession about lawns and landscaping. 

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Oshogatsu

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Oshogatsu--

My first impression of the Japanese New Year was of how very quiet it was. This was surprising at first, given how it is the most important holiday of the year in Japan. In the days preceding, people would return to their hometowns in great waves, emptying the cities. And as families gathered together in their homes, it was always as if the entire world had been blanketed in the hush of heavy snowfall.

The First Month-- in addition to its names referring to the coming of Spring-- 新春、猛春、開春—the old calendar term for January was “mutsuki” 睦月. Mutsu means "intimate, harmonious or friendly," so mutsuki signifies that this was the month "when people come together." It’s true, for even nowadays, oshogatsu is a time for families to re-connect. On the times I didn’t return home, I was astounded at the way Tokyo felt like a ghost town during the New Year holiday, when even Shinjuku Station slowed down.

The New Year in Japan is a time of quiet reflection and contemplation. Of course, in America, we make our New Year’s Resolutions, but for most Americans, New Year is more of a party. A celebration of what will probably be another great year.

The first dream 初夢
The first visit to the Shrine 初詣
The first bath 初湯
The first smile 初笑
The first glance in the mirror 初鏡

Along with spring, the self is also reborn and one should experience all the blessings in life as if they were happening for the first time. Contemplation underpins this holiday in a way I wouldn’t have been able to imagine had I not gone and lived there. And I love that. You look at your image in the mirror all the time. The First Glance in the Mirror, however, urges you to step back, empty your mind and really look. 改めてみること。Look again; look deeper, and look with a clear heart, explained my tea teacher long ago.

Mirrors have long played a religious role in Japan. Like many cultures, the Japanese thought they had the power to show a person’s soul. Symbolizing wisdom, one of the Three Sacred Treasures (三種の神器) of the Japanese Imperial family from the beginning of time in Japan has been a mirror. Mirrors are also a symbol of Japanese New Year in the form of glimmering white and transparent mochi. The most popular New Year’s decoration, kagami mochi 鏡餅、is just as the name implies in Japanese, “mirror rice cakes.” Long ago, they were solely offerings traditionally made at shrines and temples. White rice cakes like mirrors to reflect the image of god as well as the soul of the person making the offering.

In Zen literature, there is a recurring motif of an empty-mirror mind. As David Hinton says in China in his new book, China Root, “When thought stops, that moment of awakening, we are wholly present in life as moment-by-moment experience of incandescent perceptual immediacy.” To stand fully present in the moment looking out at the world with mirror-deep eyes. Now that is clarity to strive for!

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Everything I have ever heard about Chrysanthemums (重陽の節句)


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from the Peony Archives (re-uploaded: 09-09-09)

I have to admit, it took me a long time to really understand chrysanthemums. Compared to all the colorful flowers of spring, chrysanthemums had always left me somehow under-whelmed. That is, until I really started looking at them.

Because I am stuck again in ancient calendar time; and because according to the ancient calendar, today happens to be the Chrysanthemum Festival, I will tell you everything I know about chrysanthemums.

The Chrysanthemum Festival-- also known as the Choyo no sekku 重陽の節句 (known as "the double nines" for you all on the Continent) occurs on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month (during the Time of White Dewdrops). Choyo no sekku marks the final festival of what is known as the Five Seasonal Festivals (go sekku 五節句) of the old lunar calendar, following the Seven Grasses Festival (or jinjitsu, falling on the Seventh Day of the First Month), the Peach Blossom Festival (or Girl’s Day, falling on the Third Day of the Third Month), the Iris Festival (or Boy’s Day, falling on the Fifth Day of the Fifth Month) and the Star Festival (or Tanabata, falling on the Seventh Day of the Seventh Month.) All five of these festivals have their origins in China and were festivals marking the major changes in the seasons.

According to i ching philosophy, the doubling up of the odd, or yang numbers 1,3,5,7,9 was seen as auspicious, so that in Japan at least we have major holidays occurring on January 1st, March 3rd, May 5th, July 7th and September 9th. These "double yang" holidays were days of both celebration as well as purification and abstinence. Like so much else from China, the five festivals were adopted from the Continent by the Heian Period aristocracy; only over time being transformed according to Japanese tastes.

In ancient China, the ninth day of the Ninth Month was considered to be the seasonal marker of the “first chill of Autumn.” It was thought to be particularly potent because of the belief that the number nine, being the highest odd number (yang) from one to ten was especially lucky, and therefore this day with its “two nines” (that is, Ninth Day of the Ninth Month) was considered to be the ultimate in propitiousness.

Like the phases of the moon, the ancient Taoist philosophers taught that everything in the universe was in a constant state of vacillation. Everything therefore was either in a stage of waxing or waning so that at that very moment when something appeared to reach perfect fullness, its waning had in reality already begun. In this way, things which appear to our human eyes to be perfectly complete or full are in fact already in decline. Due to this belief, the number nine was preferred to the number ten (since 10 was already-- according to this way of looking at things-- already in a state of decline).

In much the same way that the number 10,000 indicated countless or endless numbers, the number nine signified “the largest” or “the greatest.” It was believed that there were nine heavens above reflecting the nine provinces comprising the ancient empire below, and this was further reflected in the Nine Gates and Nine Imperial Decorations of the Chinese Imperial Palace. The number nine therefore signified, "All under Heaven." It was also thought to express virtue or virtuous actions, so that when people bowed repeatedly or made offerings at formal occasions or at temples, this was known as the “nine bows” (九頓首) or the “nine offerings” (九献). This, too, eventually filtered into Japanese thought, and the “nine bows” of ancient China came to be known in the Japanese phrase sanbai-kyuhai (三拝九拝) which means to “bow repeatedly.” The “nine offerings” became the rational behind the Japanese ceremonial partaking of the “three times three exchange of nuptial cups of rice wine” (三三九度) which is still one of the main rituals performed in a traditional Shinto-style wedding ceremony in Japan today.

Nine, by the way, has always been my favorite number.


IMG_1285 (1)In ancient China on this day people climbed hills, had picnics outdoors and long life was prayed for by drinking chrysanthemum wine. Wang Wei, in the mid-eighth century, wrote of feeling very homesick spending the festival alone in a faraway place:

Remembering My Brothers in Shandong on the Double-Ninth Festival:
  Alone, a stranger in a distant province-
  At festivals I’m homesick through and through.
  In my mind’s eye, my brothers climb the mountain,
  Each carrying dogwood- but there’s one too few
   trans. Vikram Seth

“Dogwood” is how Seth translates the Japanese word for shuyu-- a Chinese type of citrus plant (related to the Japanese pepper tree, sanshou 山椒, cf. Kojien 562) which was placed in bags, called shuyu-no-fukoro. These bags were hung in homes and carried around on that day in the belief that the magical plant had the power to purify, scaring away evil demons-- much like the effect of garlic on vampires. Because of this practice, the day was also known as the “Dogwood Festival” (shuyu-setsuKojien 1241.) This custom spread to the Japanese aristocrats of the Heian Period, and these shuyu-no-fukuro 茱萸袋 were put up on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month replacing the “medicinal bags” (kusuri-dama 薬玉) hung in rooms (especially rooms where people slept) beginning on the Iris Festival on May Fifth.

Chrysanthemum wine has been prepared and consumed in China, at least since the Han Dynasty (206BCE- 220CE) as both a cure against sickness and aging, as well as for reasons of purification similar to that of dogwood described above.  Beautifully cultivated chrysanthemums were displayed and admired on this day, and the flower, in addition to being known as one of the “four gentlemen blossoms” (四君子)in the company of orchids, bamboo and plum blossoms, has long been associated with longevity due to the fact that the flowers bloom so magnificently just when the rest of nature seems to be giving up and dying (Kojien 1685.) In Chinese, the flowers’s name, ju(菊) is phonetically associated with the word for “nine” (jiu) and is identical with the word for “long time” (jiu) so that this symbol for long life was firmly associated with the Ninth Month from very ancient times. This belief was early on transported to Japan:

消えぬべき
露のいのちと
思わずは
久しき菊に
かかりやはせぬ

Rather than dwell
on the dewdrops
which only fade away
Why not instead align yourself
with the long-lived chrysanthemums?
-Izumi Shikibu Nikki

The flower was often used as a metaphor in poems written- to the Emperor, for example- wishing long life or a long reign. In both China and Japan, the Ninth Month was known as the “Chrysanthemum Month”. In Japan, however, this is only a secondary name, as the month is mainly known as the “Long Month,” (Nagatsuki 長月), or “Nights Growing Longer Month” (Yonagatsuki 夜長月).

The chrysanthemum, which eventually became not only associated with the Emperor of Japan, but, along with cherry blossoms, became symbolic of the Japanese people themselves, is believed to have been native, not to Japan, but to China. There is no mention of the flower in all of the Manyoshu and it is assumed to have arrived in Japan only in the late Nara to early Heian Period, valued at that time for its medicinal qualities. By the mid-Heian Period, it was cultivated and appreciated at Court and among the aristocracy. “Chrysanthemum Flower Contests” (菊の花合わせ)with poetry matches and banquets (菊花の宴)were held, and in relation to the world described in The Tale of Genji, Ivan Morris describes the festival in this way:

IMG_1296The emperor and his Court inspect the chrysanthemums in the palace gardens. Afterward there is a banquet. Poems are composed and the guests drink wine  in which chrysanthemums have been steeped. After a performance of dances, Palace Girls present small white trout to His Majesty, and later the guests are
served dishes of white trout.

 Lady Sei Shonagon, in her Pillow Book, describes the Heian custom of covering the court chrysanthemums on the eve of the festival with cloth and allowing the perfume of the flowers to mix in with the autumn dew, seeping in overnight so that the next morning they could be rubbed over one’s face and body to prevent aging and premature death. And, Murasaki Shikibu records in her diary that:

On the ninth of the ninth month Lady Hyobu brought me floss-silk damp with chrysanthemum dew.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Her Excellency sent it especially for you. She said you were to
use it carefully to wipe old age away!’

The Festival is also briefly described in The Tale of Genji:

Early in the Ninth Month came the chrysanthemum festival. As always, the festive  bouquets were wrapped in cotton to catch the magic dew

(Collecting dewdrops-- Why does that continue to fascinate me?)

The Heian Period was a time of huge admiration for anything Chinese- from literature to clothes to flowers. The aristocrats of the day associated Chinese things with the height of elegance, and the chrysanthemum festival was part of this cultural milieu.

 It wasn’t until the Edo Period that chrysanthemum-viewing and the Chrysanthemum Festival became truly popular with all classes of people, and by this time many new types of chrysanthemums had been introduced so that chrysanthemum-viewing became part of the yearly calendar of events of the common people. While aristocratic families continued the custom of drinking chrysanthemum wine on this day, common people prepared and enjoyed chestnut rice, giving chestnuts, which had recently been harvested, to friends and relatives. Because the Ninth Month of the old lunar calendar coincided with the time of year when the harvest work had been recently completed, over time Autumn Festivals in celebration of the harvest came to be held around the time of Chrysanthemum Festival so that the original meaning of the Chrysanthemum Festival became blurred over time.

Then by the Meiji Period, with the introduction of the new Western solar calendar, the significance of these “double nines” had all but completely been lost, except that it was still reflected in customs surrounding certain harvest festivals called “o-kunichi” (the ninth day お九日) or “o-kunchi.” These harvest festivals were traditionally held across Japan in the Ninth Month (lunar or solar) on the Ninth Day (either the 9th, 19th or 29th.) Also because of the month-long gap created by the introduction of the Solar calendar, Chrysanthemums are in fact no longer in bloom during the Ninth Month thereby further obscuring the original meaning of the festival.

早く咲け9日も近し菊の花
芭蕉

Hurry up and blossoms
-Chrysanthemum flowers-
The Ninth Day is drawing near
-Basho

In spite of the fact that chrysanthemums are no longer in bloom during the Ninth Month, The Chrysanthemum Festival is still celebrated on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month by the Imperial family, as well as being indirectly celebrated in the Tea Ceremony where the festival is evoked at the “chrysanthemum tea gatherings” (菊の茶) held in September. At these tea gatherings, much like when the cherry blossoms bloom in spring, tea utencils which have names associated with the flower are used and appreciated; tea kettles or incense containers shaped in forms reminiscent of chrysanthemums are used, and of course the flower is used to decorate the alcove in the tea room. Outside the court or the world of tea, this is the least commonly celebrated festival of The Five Seasonal Festivals-- which is a shame since it is a day both rich in beauty and philosophy.

In the end, I too have fallen under the charms of the lofty chrysanthemum. Perhaps that's because I too would like to partake in the flower's secrets of everlasting beauty. While my favorite flower of all, the peony dies a dramatic-- and yes, unsettling-- death (all her flowers falling at once) chrysanthemums just seem to dry out in a beautifully preserved state. They are, in fact, beautiful till the end. And, its true, when the last chrysanthemum has died, no more flowers will bloom till the start of spring the following year. They are the last to bloom. Stubbornly holding off winter with their sheer act of will. You really cannot help but admire them, can you?

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Calligraphy in the Garden

Fairyland

Inspired by the centuries-old Chinese tradition of private scholars’ gardens, the Garden of Flowing Fragrance 流芳園 with its many pavilions linked by courtyards and walkways surrounds the centerpiece of the garden, the Lake of Reflected Fragrance. 

Above is the Star Gazing Tower 望星樓, which is the highest point in the garden and affords sweeping views of Mt. Wilson and the domes. 

Works of Calligraphy are integrated so beautifully in the garden! You feel like you are walking through poetry!!!

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Dragon Wall

You approach the garden by walking along a dragon wall and there above the archway is the calligraphy of

Wan-go H.C. Weng 翁萬戈 (born 1918, Shanghai; active United States)

Garden of Flowing Fragrance 流芳園 (Liú Fāng Yuán)

Wang-go wen

Garden of Flowing Fragrance 流芳園 (Liú Fāng Yuán)

Wan-go H.C. Weng 翁萬戈 (born 1918, Shanghai; active United States)

 

Lotus walkway

Pavilions connected by corridors and walkways surround the shimmering Lake of Reflected Fragrance 映芳湖

 

Lotus calligraphy

The first pavilion is the Love for the Lotus Pavilion 愛蓮榭 

Wang Shixiang 王世襄 (1914–2009, born Beijing; active China)

2007

Running-regular script 行楷書 This bold inscription, with its resolute verticals and slight variations in character size and structure, was brushed by Wang Shixiang at the age of ninety-three, only two years before his death. To a greater degree than other script types, each stroke in regular script begins and ends with clearly articulated motions. For example, note that the right-hand vertical of the leftmost character (xie 榭, “pavilion”) emerges from a triangular head formed through individual motions of the brush. Holding his brush upright, the calligrapher then traced the unwavering vertical, ending in a slight leftward hook. The left-facing point was added by pushing the brush in a final display of calligraphic force.

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The gorgeous views of the lake from the Lotus Pavilion are my favorite!

 

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Lotus rock pine

Just after leaving the pavilion of lotus love, if you look carefully, you will see

Listening to the Pines 聽松 

Lo Ch’ing  羅青[羅青哲] (born 1948, Qingdao, Shandong Province, China; active Taiwan)

2007

Seal script 篆書

Textually invoking the sound of wind blowing through pine needles, Lo Ch’ing’s characters visually evoke the trees’ moss-covered limbs. The artist has chosen to write on thin paper composed of long, loosely aggregated fibers that quickly absorb and disperse ink. Further, he has diluted the liquid to encourage it to spread even more chaotically. Consequently, the simple brushstrokes of his characters are partially obscured, creating the impression of trunks and branches covered in organic accretions. Ultimately, the characters partially lose their status as linguistic signs, appearing instead as images produced through the almost miraculous interaction of ink, paper, and water.

I love the seal script above--so playful! Wind in the Pines and Listening to Pines is a very important idea from Japanese tea ceremony. 

 

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Court of Assembled Worthies 集賢院 (Jí Xián Yuàn)

Fu Shen 傅申 (born 1937, Shanghai; active Taiwan, United States, and China)

2018

Running script 行書 

On a sunny August afternoon in 2018, the eighty-one-year-old Fu Shen visited The Huntington to execute this inscription in a spontaneous display of calligraphic bravura. Despite—or perhaps to spite—his failing constitution and tremulous limbs, Fu held his brush with unshaking confidence and manipulated it with absolute precision. Thanks to his incorporation of the dramatic, scratchy brushstrokes known as “flying white” strokes, his characters palpably pulse with internal energy. Fu draws inspiration for the structure of his characters and the drama of their strokes from the works of Huang Tingjian (1045–1105), a renowned poet and calligrapher who was the subject of Fu’s doctoral dissertation.

This corner of the garden is very moving for me. Embodying the perfect harmony of friends: beautiful Chinese garden pavilions and towering California oaks. 

Love!!!

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Idly strolling in springtime, we leave the painted halls; among the plums and willows, I cannot bear the fragrance! 春望逍遙出畫堂 間梅遮柳不勝芳

Terry Yuan [Yuan Zhizhong] 袁志鍾 (born 1954, Shanghai; active United States)
2013

Running script 行書

The visual form of Terry Yuan’s couplet perfectly embodies its content: his characters seem to float lightly on the paper, as though they are “idly strolling in springtime.” Yuan achieves this effect by carefully choreographing multiple forms of visual variation. For example, in the next-to-last character of the right-hand scroll (hua 畫, “painted”), none of the nine horizontal strokes is written in exactly the same manner—or even at the same angle. Further, he introduces a subtle bend to the vertical axis of the character, creating the impression that it is twirling in midair. Ultimately, he weaves a wavy line among all of the characters in the scroll, reinforcing the overall impression of carefree leisure


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Court calligraphy

Court best

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Inside the Flowery Brush Library-- a Scholar's studio筆花書房

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Rocks and poetry, beautiful calligraphy and the buildings are so harmoniously arranged 

 

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Studio walkway

More covered walkways leading to the northern corner of the garden, where we find the Studio for Lodging the Mind 寓意齋

 

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Studio for Lodging the Mind 寓意齋 (Yù Yì Zhāi)

Bai Qianshen 白謙慎 (born 1955, Tianjin, China; active China and United States)

2018

Running-regular script 行楷書

Brushed on paper flecked with gold and silver foil, Bai Qianshen’s characters seem to lilt through space. Bai writes with a saturated brush whose wet ink bleeds slightly into the paper, obscuring harsh lines while still conveying a sense of dance-like motion. Further, Bai rounds the heads and tails of his strokes to imbue his characters with a sense of pleasing softness. Within the aesthetic unity of his brushwork, however, Bai pursues subtle variation, filling the inscription with liveliness. For example, each of the inscription’s seventeen dots has a unique form—and each one seems to be endowed with its own personality.

Studio bai

Studio bai close

Wang carving

Wang brick carving

This corner of the garden is filled with the art of Wang Mansheng 王滿晟

(born 1962, Taiyuan, Shanxi Province, China; active United States)

On either side of the entrance of the Studio, are two carvings by Wang Mansheng. 

And his calligraphy --incised on a beautiful rock, is nestled just to the west of the studio (seen best in above picture of the studio)

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Terrance wang arts

Garden of the Arts 藝苑 (Yì Yuàn)

Wang Mansheng 王滿晟 (born 1962, Taiyuan, Shanxi Province, China; active United States)

Running 行

A native of Shanxi Province, Wang Mansheng graduated in 1985 from the Chinese Department of Shanghai’s Fudan University, where he majored in classical literature. He subsequently worked for over a decade as an editor, director, and producer at China Central Television in Beijing. Since moving to the United States in 1996, he has devoted himself to reinterpreting classical Chinese painting and calligraphy. His work has been shown and collected worldwide, including in China, Hong Kong, Japan, Europe, and the United States. He resides with his family in the Hudson River Valley outside of New York City.
Additional Inscriptions
L: "Written by Bansheng [Wang's art name]" 半升書
Seals
L: "Seal of Wang Mansheng" 王滿晟印 (white text 白文)

Delicately paved and partially shrouded by rockeries and planters, this courtyard derives its name from a term that can refer both to the art world in general and to a specific space for artists to meet. This garden-with-the-garden celebrates the many arts—from penjing to painting—that are brought together within Liu Fang Yuan.

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This part of the garden also has a work of calligraphy-- incised on a garden rock--by Michael Cherney (More on him below!)

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And speaking of the mysterious and amazing Michael Cherney

Myriad View Pavilion (萬景亭).

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Try to contemplate the clouds and mists beyond the three peaks; all are in the palm of a numinous immortal 試觀烟雲三峰外 都在靈仙一掌間

Michael Cherney 秋麥 (born 1969, New York; active China)

 

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By playing with the saturation of his ink and the abstraction of his characters, Michael Cherney has created an inscription that visually evokes the dreamlike content of its text. Each line of his couplet begins with a character written with a brush heavily laden with ink; the liquid has so saturated the paper that an aqueous halo appears around each character.

 

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Moving downward, Cherney’s brush began to dry, and the hairs of its tip began to fray. Despite lightly re-inking midline, his brush ultimately exhausted its ink, devolving into near abstraction. This movement from saturation to exsiccation, from legibility to graphic play, creates a visual drama evocative of the imaginative transformations suggested in the couplet.

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As we walked away, Chris grabbed my hand and said, "I REALLY like Michael's work! It is so pleasant!"

High praise from an astrophysicist!

 

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The Verdant Microcosm 翠玲瓏

This 17,900-sq.-ft. area on the western slope of the garden is designed for the study, creation, and display of penjing 盆景 (miniature potted landscapes, similar to Japanese bonsai). A complex of walled courtyards showcases dozens of examples of the penjing art form, as well as distinctive scholar’s rocks.

 

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Verdant Microcosm 翠玲瓏 (Cuì Líng Lóng)

Tang Qingnian 唐慶年 (born 1956, Beijing; active United States)

2018

Bird-and-worm script 鳥蟲書

The sinuous forms of Tang Qingnian’s characters writhe with life. Their smooth, even lines are produced with an upright brush whose tip is “hidden,” remaining perfectly centered in every stroke. Tang draws inspiration for these baroque characters from “bird-and-worm script,” a 2,500-year-old form of writing that was occasionally employed on later seals. The script was named for its resemblance to the tracks left by birds and worms; some calligraphers even adorned their characters with schematic drawings of birds’ heads and feathers. Tang, however, is not content with merely revitalizing a past model. Instead, in his characters’ playful linearity, one senses his interest in contemporary graphic design.

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Seeing the Large in the Small 小中見大 (Xiăo Zhōng Jiàn Dà)

Grace Chu [Chu Chang-fang] 朱彰芳 (born 1959, Taipei, Taiwan; active United States)

2018

Seal script 篆書

Brushed in dry ink on smooth, foil-flecked paper, the unmodulated lines of Grace Chu’s characters manifest a remarkable range of visual and textural effects. Each of Chu’s brushstrokes transitions from inky saturation to chalky dryness. Certain passages—such as the right side of the second character (zhong 中, “in”), whose thin, mottled ink struggles to adhere to the paper—even suggest granitic veneers. Such effects depend on Chu’s careful control of her brush, whose tip remains perfectly centered in every stroke. Such precision is clearly visible in the rounded ends of her strokes, where she has twisted her drying brush hairs in a final flourish, creating an effect of charcoal-like granularity.

 

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World in a Wine Pot 壺天 (Hú Tiān)

Zhu Chengjun 朱稱俊 born 1946, Zhenjiang, Jiangsu Province, China; active China and United States)

2018

Seal script 篆書

Zhu Chengjun’s "wine pot" (hu 壺) cannot help but make one smile. Zhu derives the structure of his character from early seal script, but he dramatically transforms its wiry, symmetrical form into a playful embodiment of the spirit of the vessel. His lines quiver as though inebriated of their own substance. His central circle barely meets in the middle, like a belt straining around a beer-filled belly. And, similar to a drunkard’s mismatched socks, the two halves of Zhu’s upper horizontals are rendered in contrasting sizes and degrees of saturation. His “world” (tian 天), on the other hand, stands in comparative stability, soberly anchoring its wine-soaked companion.

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View

Rocks are an essential feature of Suzhou gardens. The stones found throughout Liu Fang Yuan are a type of limestone traditionally harvested from the bed of Lake Tai near Suzhou; today, they are quarried in various regions of China. For more than 1,200 years, these rocks have been renowned for their strange shapes and many holes. Particularly prized individual specimens, like the towering stone near the teahouse, Patching Up the Sky (Bu Tian 補天), were seen as embodying energy-like ethers, or qi.

 

Rock star
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Walking toward the newStargazing Tower 望星樓

We encounter another work of art by Wang Mansheng

 

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Treading the Void 凌虛 (Líng Xū)

Wang Mansheng 王滿晟 (born 1962, Taiyuan, Shanxi Province, China; active United States)

2018

Seal-clerical script 漢簡書

Wang Mansheng’s inscription could only have been written in the late twentieth or twenty-first century. The unadorned, archaic form of his characters derives from the styles of writing employed in documents brushed on strips of wood or bamboo (common materials used for inscriptions prior to the advent of paper) in the last centuries BCE, which have been excavated in ever-increasing numbers since the 1970s. Neither fully seal nor fully clerical, such inscriptions combine the relatively smooth, even lines of “lesser” seal script with the simplified character structure (as well as the occasional flared strokes) of clerical script. Having extensively studied such writings, Wang has internalized their forms and now introduces them as ancient calligraphic models for the future.

 

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Stargazing Tower 望星樓 –

Situated on the highest point in the garden at the southern end of the lake, this beautiful 527-sq.-ft. pavilion provides stunning views of the landscape, the distant mountains, and (with a bit of imagination) the universe beyond. The name pays homage to the Mount Wilson Observatory—visible from the tower—and to the work of astronomer Edwin Hubble. Hubble’s papers are part of the Library’s holdings in the history of science.

Gaze through the mists within mist

stars sparkle in the heavens beyond heaven

 

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Ribbon

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Bridge close

Beauty

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Looks like Japanese 鯱? 

 

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Dream Journeys....

Calligraphy in the Garden

LA Times: The magical new Chinese Garden at the Huntington is the getaway you need right now

"Garden’s place names are poetry in themselves: consider the Studio for Lodging the Mind, the Terrace of Shared Delights, the Verdant Microcosm (dedicated to miniature potted landscapes known as penjing), and at the southern corner of the garden, at the bottom of the canyon, next to the stream, the Pavilion for Washing Away Thoughts. (That place should be popular these days.)"

The word “fragrance” means much more than aroma here, Bloom said. The word also evokes water, which streams into and out of the lake at its center, and the energy that flows through the site, but there is also the literature connection to a famous poem by Cao Zhi, a.k.a. Ts’ao Chih (192-232), about the Goddess of the Luo, a river in northeastern China. Basically, Bloom said, the river goddess falls for the author, and he for her, as she “scatters her fragrance” along the river bank, but their relationship ends when she sadly (and likely wisely) decides “that men and gods must follow separate ways.”And there’s yet another reference, Bloom said, because in Chinese, there’s a phrase about “passing on your fragrance to 100 generations,” meaning you establish a good name for your family and pass it down. “In this case,” Bloom said, “fragrance refers to the impression the garden leaves behind.”

 

 

 

 

 

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Mid-Autumn Moon 2020

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A beautiful moon this year... Miraculously not obscured by smoke or sickness. A perfect pause in a time of so much sad news. 
We are still brokenhearted by the sad story in Westlake, fires nearby, and a world that seems to be falling apart.
Kazy was wise to leave for Montana again--gone fishin'!
Why not?
The wise person knows that when things get too chaotic, too violent or filled with heartbreak, it is best to head for the hills. 
To lose oneself in nature is probably the only possible cure. 
 
++
 
Lonely without him though. But it was too hot for hotpot this year again. 106 degrees in Pasadena yesterday. 
Wanting to celebrated a small success--essays accepted in Pleiades and Entropy--I got out a special Spanish wine. 
Mas La Plana  
One of the great wines of tSpain. 
Bodegas Torres of Vilafranca del Penedès, a place famous for Cava.
Wine speak:
The intense aroma displays the classic typicity of the Mas La Plana terroir, along with notes of toast, white chocolate, and spices such as clove and pepper.
 
The wine is Bordeaux style. And new to all of this, I realized I have never had Cabernet Sauvignon, except in blends. 
I spent a lot of time trying to differentiate it from Pinot Noir. It reminded me a bit of my favorite grape nebbiolo.  
What is the perfect wine for moonviewing anyway? 
Sake. But what of wines?
I think this is a good candidate-must be something profound and bright, like the moon--something romantic.
 
++
 
We had mooncakes and plum whiskey like last year. But the wine is what I will remember...
A perfect moon viewing wine. 
Jan Walls posted the beautiful translation of the Wang Anshi poem.
I had no idea Wang Anshi wrote poems... I was so happy to read it, a new favorite poem!
 
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VIEWING THE MOON WITH A FRIEND
ON MID-AUTUMN FESTIVAL NIGHT"
by Wang Anshi
Oceanic mists bathe the eye
as the autumn sun fades from sight.
So bright! I wonder how it can be night.
So clear! The earth seems to disappear.
We sit before the sweeping breeze
linger with cups while the dew congeals.
We’ll moan our mournful songs till dawn,
and how can there be any thought of a “me”?
“陪友人中秋夕赏月”
王安石
海雾看如洗,秋阳望却昏。
光明疑不夜,清莹欲无坤。
扫掠风前坐,留连露下尊。
苦吟应到晓,况有我思存。
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Ten Reasons Why I Love Bison

 

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1. They Look like Paintings.

 

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2. They are cute when they eat and really enjoy their food.

 

Bison male

3. They dominate the picture.

 

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4. They sometimes put flowers in their hair.

 

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5. They tell cars to get lost.

Bison best shot

6. Everyone knows they are bad ass. 

 

Fairy old fairy

8. Males are handsome in old age.

 

Bison juvenile

9. They are darling when young.

 

Bison 2

10. They help each other cross the river.


**
 

From Brooks:

Humboldt:  “Nature every where speaks to man in a voice that is familiar to his soul.”  I love that thought.  When Humboldt began to feel, it changed everything.  It went way beyond measuring the world.  I think he has Goethe to thank for that.

Bison dream

 

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Parrots of Pasadena

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Unlike the peacocks, it isn’t clear how Pasadena got these huge flocks of peacocks, though. Some say it happened when a pet store caught fire and the animals got lose.

Parrots and peacocks on the loose?

Others think they just ended up in the area—flown off course? Like the red-whiskered bulbuls, they are newcomers whose story is not known.

Article on Parrots in Pasadena

In Southern California, there are at least 11 species of wild parrots inhabiting at least 35 cities (see below). Ten of those species came from the jungles of Latin America, one came from India/North Africa. None came from Australia or New Zealand, which also have native parrots. All came to SoCal via the imported pet trade.

Naturalized Parrots of Southern California
Rose-ringed Parakeet (Conures) from tropical Africa and India

Lilac Crowned Parrot (Amazons) from the Pacific Coast of Mexico (vulnerable)

Red Crowned Parrot from NE Mexico (endangered)

Yellow Headed Parrot from southern Mexico down to Honduras (endangered)

Red Lored Parrot from the Caribbean Coast in southern Mexico down to Nicaragua

Red Masked Parakeet from Ecuador and Peru

Mitred Parakeet from Peru, Bolivia, and Argentina

Blue Crowned Parakeet from eastern Colombia all the way south to Argentina

Yellow Chevroned Parakeet from countries south of the Amazon River Basin

Nanday Parakeet from central South America

Blue (Turquoise) Fronted Parrot from central South America

Monk Parakeet from the Amazon Forest in east and central South America—also known as the Grey-headed or Quaker parakeet in the United States.
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There is a theory that parrots migrated to Southern California from the jungles of Mexico, but that is likely false. Most parrots migrate only short distances to take advantage of weather changes in their native lands.

However, there are at least four plausible theories that do explain how the wild parrot population started in Southern California:

There are verified reports of small bird traders in the 1940s and '50s who had accidents en route and let their wild-caught, caged parrots free without meaning to.

In 1959, parrots were released from Simpson's Garden Town Nursery on the east side of Pasadena when it caught fire. Rather than watch 65–70 birds in the pet shop burn up, an injured employee, with the help of firefighters, freed as many as he could.

In the San Fernando Valley, parrots are said to have been released in 1979 by Busch Gardens—an exotic tourist attraction theme park set up by Anheuser Busch to draw the public to their Van Nuys beer manufacturing facility. When the company moved its headquarters to a different location, they attempted to place their collection of birds in zoos and private homes, setting free those they were unable to place.

Most of California's pet parrots showed up during a time when importing parrots was still legal—approximately 41,550 in the early '80s, according to Long Beach's Press Telegram News (08/22/13). However, as some parrot species became endangered in their home countries, their importation became illegal, and smugglers are said to have released parrots to avoid being caught.

Parents of young parrots teach them how to forage. Because most of the adults imported to Southern California were captured from the wild before being transported, they already knew how to forage, or they would not have survived. Now they reproduce in the wild locally, eating fruits from tropical trees also imported, and increasing their flocks to more than 600 birds in some city suburbs. How are those sizes possible without displacing native birds in some way?

 

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Babies getting bigger!

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Of course, I stupidly did not write down any dates. But I think it has been about a month since I saw the nine babies. Now two or three mommy birds are keeping together with only about a dozen babies--now much larger. 

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This below was taken about a month ago. Now they can fly and they have a beautiful set of feathers. 

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Morning Alarm Clock

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Who needs an alarm clock when you have peacocks?

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Babies Learning to Fly

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The Cuteness Attack babies from a few weeks ago have gotten so big--and now they are learning to fly!

Momma goes first and then one by one, the babes... I love their shadows.

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