In the previous edition I referred to the figure of Shih T'ao 石涛, one of the most relevant Chinese painters and theorists for his inescapable contributions to the field of oriental art. The peaceful contemplation of his works is not only a generator of a feeling of beauty but, as Bruno Taut states, it is “…one of the preconditions for creating something good” (Taut; 2007 p.169). On this occasion I will address the study of some of the most important premises in relation to circle painting, since so much is learned in its practice, as well as from the silent observation of masterpieces.

The circle is, within the field of oriental art, a motif closely linked to Zen Buddhism. It is a very old symbol of Asian iconography, one of the characteristic forms of the absolute and at the same time it symbolizes emptiness. “The emptiness is not, as one might suppose, something vague and non-existent, but an eminently dynamic and active element” (Cheng, F. 2010 p.68). This dynamism is given by its unique and unrepeatable stroke that emerges from the different specific movements of the brush, from that vital breath as the pristine origin of oriental painting. The KI energy is present both in the path of the stroke and in obtaining that final circle that leaves delimited an area of emptiness, a place where the importance of this simple and universal form is truly revealed.

During its execution, the stroke can be energetic and fast, or on the contrary it can happen in a calm and smooth way, but in both cases it will be a brushstroke without hesitation, a vehicle of action of an experience internalized during meditation and from which a full form of vital energy will emerge. The circle can be drawn leaving an opening or sealing its entire form. An example of this last case is the work of Sengai Gibon 仙厓義梵 (18th century), where an irregular enso can be observed as a result of the uneven expansion of ink during its path. As a result, one can observe a wider and more pictorial area and another (the lower area) more linear and graphic, the latter as a result of the exhaustion of the ink… The symbol, in this case, is accompanied by a calligraphy in sosho style 草書 (cursive writing or “grass writing”), a Buddhist phrase popularly spread in Japan. It is very common in these creations for the circle to dialogue with poems, phrases or questions about the practice of meditation or questions inherent to nature and the universe. On the contrary, in the case of the circle made by the Zen master Yamada Mumon 山田無文 (20th century), the brushstroke does not join the beginning and the end of the stroke, but leaves a small opening that indicates that it is not something contained in itself, but rather opens to space, to infinity, incorporating complete harmony. The opening can mean that it is part of something larger, or that imperfection is an essential aspect of existence. In this case, it is followed by a koan 公案, a type of question very typical of the Zen tradition, which the master usually asks his disciples and which is aimed at detaching themselves from rational thought and increasing their level of consciousness to progress in their learning. The translation of this phrase, also written in sosho style: “What is it?”, connects directly with the reflection on the circular form.

From a strictly Buddhist perspective, the circle symbolizes an overcoming of duality: the unity of phenomena expressed through a single, rapid, spontaneous gesture that characterizes Eastern painting.

Regardless of whether they are open or closed circles, these shapes also vary in morphology: from perfectly symmetrical circles to subtly asymmetrical ones; and also in the path of their strokes, which range from thin and delicate to thick and excessive. Painting circles is in theory (and in appearance) simple: first the hairs of the brush are moistened with water, then they are soaked in black ink and then - and without hesitation - an unrepeatable brushstroke is drawn on a piece of paper made of vegetable fibres. The relationship between the load of the brush, the speed of the action, the pressure exerted on the paper, the resistance of the weave, the softness of the brush bristles and above all the "state" of the person painting a circle, are the variables put into practice in the exercise of painting... Thus we can begin to see the variety of expressive possibilities offered by an action as simple as a long and single stroke of the brush.

At this point it is worth mentioning that it is the gesture that counts, the act, the “making of a circle”: a quick stroke; without cuts, sure but humble. This is one of the reasons why in the East painting is valued not only as a final and finished image, but also the exercise of painting as an action to be contemplated. The main thing about the circle is the initial impulse, the incisive attack of the brush, the gesture of the arm that turns, the path that is followed, the discovery at that precise moment, the exalting reproduction of the circular event… and without any correction, all notions that characterize this type of pictorial art.

In this way, the beauty that resides in the inconsequential, the provisional and the ephemeral is highlighted: gestures so subtle and evanescent that they are invisible to the ordinary eye. Painting circles was (and perhaps is) one of the favourite themes of Japanese painters (and also of many of our students), who do not hesitate to repeat a patterned brushstroke over and over again in order to learn and understand it, to repeat an idea already invented by others over and over again, but to re-establish it in each repetition, just as any sacred rite is recreated in a new cycle. A single stroke that constitutes a nucleus for concentrated thought: it generates depth, beauty and resonance.

Article written by Luciana Rago, published in Verdemente magazine - December 2014