Picasso lavished this praise on Qi when Chang Dai-chien (1899-1983), another famous Chinese painter, visited him in Paris in 1956. Picasso also took out a pile of Chinese ink paintings he had created in imitation of Qi's artistic style. It was obvious that Qi held a high place in his heart.

What is the charm of Qi's paintings that captured the imagination of the Western art master as well as many art lovers around the world? How did a poor farmer's son, who started out as a carpenter, become a highly venerated maestro? Qi's story is enlightening not only to aspiring artists, but also to all those who want to make something out of their lives.

Born into the wrong family

Qi was the first child of his family, and he had six brothers and three sisters. His family owned only a small piece of land that produced far from enough to feed them, so his grandfather and father had to do odd jobs here and there to scrape out a living.

It would have been impossible for the boy to go to school were it not for his maternal grandfather, who ran a small private school not far from the boy's home. Without having to pay any tuition, Qi happily went to school when he was eight.

His grandfather taught the students to write by copying Chinese characters in a copybook. Sometimes when Qi got tired of the monotonous copying work, he would begin to draw. His drawings of things he saw in his daily life--an old man fishing, flowers, frogs, or cows--fascinated his classmates, who came one after another to ask for his vivid creations. Not long afterwards, when his grandfather found out what he had been doing, he scolded the boy for wasting precious paper on meaningless doodling. After that, Qi could only draw secretly on rough wrapping paper.

The autumn came. The poor harvest that year aggravated the already poor financial situation of the family. Qi had no choice but to quit school and stay at home to help chop firewood, plant vegetables, and graze cattle. Although his schooling ended prematurely, he did not put his books aside. He always carried a book with him to study whenever he went to the mountains to graze cattle. Afraid that he would pay too much attention to reading and neglect his duties, his grandmother reproached him, "Can you keep your stomach full with your pen and book? Our family needs food, not paintings... Alas! It's a pity that you were born into the wrong family."

Because Qi had been fragile since he was born, his family knew that it was out of the question for him to become a farmer. When he reached fifteen, his father apprenticed him to a carpenter, Chi Chang-ling, in the hope that he could at least learn "something useful" to help provide for the family. One day when Qi and his master were returning home from work, they met three men on the road carrying wooden boxes and sacks containing saws, drills, and the like. Looking at the tools, Qi knew that these men must be carpenters too. To his surprise, his master smiled and greeted them with a high degree of respect, while the three men, haughty and arrogant, barely paid any attention to him. After they had walked away, Qi asked his master, "We are carpenters and they are carpenters too, so why did you behave so respectfully towards them?" The master answered with a serious tone, "What do you know? We make big furniture, which requires little skill, while they produce refined woodwork with intricate carving skills. Unless you are really smart, it is impossible to learn their artistry. Although we are all in the same line of work, we are much lower than they in terms of social rank. That's why I show such reverence for them." After hearing what his master said, Qi secretly made a resolution: "I don't believe I can't do what they can. One day I will become a woodcarver too."

After learning carpentry for a year, Qi fulfilled his dream. Carpentry is a physically demanding job--young Qi often found it hard to carry heavy timber and erect large wooden frameworks. Worried that the strenuous work would worsen his delicate health, his family agreed to let him learn to become a woodcarver. Chou Chih-mei, a famous local woodcarver, accepted him as his pupil. Chou was a patient and enthusiastic teacher, and he taught Qi everything he knew. He soon found to his delight that his student was both diligent and talented. After a three-year apprenticeship, Qi not only mastered the craft, but even surpassed his master in skill. In addition to the regular carving patterns and designs often seen at that time, he created many new designs which gained great popularity among his clients.

One day at the home of one of his clients, Qi came upon a book on painting which demonstrated how to complete a painting from beginning to end and contained a comprehensive series of flowers, rocks, figures and other motifs. Elated at finding this invaluable treasure, he industriously copied and recopied the whole series. The book initiated him into the world of Chinese ink painting and imbued in him a rudimentary knowledge of brush technique and composition. From then on, he diligently practiced painting in his spare time. His clients eventually found out that he could paint too, and they asked him to paint for them. That was how he began to create paintings, mostly of folk deities and portraits, for his clients. At that time, he only took painting as a means to supplement his meager income as a woodcarver. Little did he know that he would one day be lauded as "the first great master of the Chinese art world in 300 years."

The guidance of his teachers

Although he was completely self-taught, the pictures Qi produced won enthusiastic admiration from his clients. But even the most talented of people need the guidance of a good teacher at some point. If he wanted to scale new heights, it was impossible for him to rely wholly on his efforts.

When he was twenty-seven, the chance came. One day when he was carving wood at the home of a rich intellectual called Hu Tzu-Cho, he was summoned to see the great man. Hu, who was also a good artist, had seen Qi's paintings. He appreciated Qi's talent and offered to teach him painting for free. Qi gladly accepted his kind offer. Under Hu's tutelage, Qi mastered the fine-line kungpi painting technique, a style akin to Western realism with meticulous brushwork and close attention to detail. Because Qi was not well educated, Hu also introduced him to Chen Shao-fan, a teacher of Chinese classics. Through the guidance of Hu and Chen, Qi was able to refine and improve himself by studying books and paintings by ancient scholars and famous artists. He also expanded his circle of acquaintances and got to know many men of letters and people of refined tastes.

Of course not all the people Qi came across treated him with such politeness and high regard. Some of his clients who commissioned him to paint asked him not to sign his name on his works because they thought that he, being lowborn and unknown, was not worthy enough to do so. This was extremely painful to him, but in order to make a living, he had to take all the insults. He knew very well that if he wanted to disentangle himself from such predicaments, he had to work harder to demonstrate his worth and abilities.

A little story that Qi once told showed how determined he was to improve his art. As many people know, Qi was not only famous for his paintings but also for his seal cutting. In order to master the skill, he once went to ask for advice from a top-notch seal cutter. The seal cutter showed disdain for him and said to him with a sneer, "If you drink the water in my hookah (an oriental water-cooled pipe), I will teach you everything I know." The water in a hookah is used to filter the nicotine from tobacco, and so it is stinking, pungent and bitter. But without the least bit of hesitation, Qi took the seal cutter's hookah from him and drank the water from it. Impressed by his firm resolve, the seal cutter did in fact teach Qi everything he knew. Thus, Qi was exceptionally good at turning difficulties and obstacles in his life into positive forces that motivated him to go further.

The expansion of his scope

Before he reached forty, Qi never traveled far from Xiangtan County, his birthplace. His friends advised him that if he wanted to make further improvements in his art, he should step out into the big world. The significance of travel for an artist was perhaps best articulated by Tung Chi-chang (1555-1636, famous calligrapher, painter and art critic), who commented that a painter must "read ten thousand volumes and travel ten thousand miles" to be able to convey the spirit and vibrancy of nature through a painting. At the invitation of his friends, Qi then left his home many times to wander around famous mountains, lakes and rivers throughout the country.

The excursions broadened his horizons and increased his confidence. The majestic and grandiose scenery he saw and the people he met inspired him to imbue a new spirit into his paintings. The most significant change was the shift of his painting style from a realistic to a more spiritual expression--from fine, detailed brushwork to spontaneous, freehand brushwork characterized by vivid expression and bold outline. It was obvious he was changing from a folk artist who put more emphasis on the technical aspect of art to a more mature member of the literati, one who could create works of art which were more profound and scholarly.

Even though he was greatly improving himself as an artist, Qi was still groping for an individual idiom that would make him stand out as a maestro. That would not happen until he had met Chen Shih-tseng.

Qi moved to Beijing in 1917, when he was fifty-five, to avoid the harassment and extortion of bandits and local bullies, who had grown greatly in number because of the unstable political situation at that time. In Beijing he made the acquaintance of Chen, who came from a distinguished family and was a renowned painter, poet and seal carver. He showed a great interest in Qi's paintings and seal carvings. He told Qi his paintings were great, but that he had not reached the realm of perfection. At that time Qi was greatly influenced by the style of the famous monk-painter, Pa Ta Shan-jen (1624-1705). Chen advised Qi to create his own style instead of following in the footsteps of the great painting masters before him.

Qi took his words to heart. Actually his paintings were not popular in Beijing at that time. Even though they were cheaper by fifty percent than the paintings produced by other artists, still few people commissioned him to paint, and he made a living out of his seal carvings. Chen's advice inspired him to be creative in his own way. From 1919 to 1928, he gradually developed his own style, a style that combined traditional freehand brushwork with folk-art technique. He drew on the strength of his early training as a craftsman and his education in classical Chinese painting and literature in his latter years and fused them into a fresh, unique style that would capture the hearts of many.

Chen played an important part in Qi's life, not only because he inspired Qi to pursue his own style, but also because he introduced his works to the international art community. In 1922, Chen was invited to show his paintings at a Sino-Japanese exhibition held in Japan. He took Qi's paintings along with him. Qi, who never thought that foreigners would take an interest in his paintings, did not think much of the exhibition. Yet unexpectedly, his paintings received a warm response from the Japanese. The several paintings that were displayed were all sold out. Some French people who went to the exhibition were also attracted to his works. They chose two of his paintings and brought them back to Paris for another exhibition. Again his works won the praise of the European people.

The exhibition in Japan could surely be said to be the most crucial turning point in Qi's painting career. Qi became famous overnight. After the exhibition, it grew easier and easier for him to sell his paintings. It became almost a must for foreigners who visited Beijing to buy his works, and the arty people in the city also considered it a fashion to own one or two of his pieces.

After he had achieved fame, he still worked diligently. Continuing to develop his technique and style throughout the 1930s and 1940s, a time of political turmoil and upheaval in China, he was elevated to the status of a national icon in 1953 when the Ministry of Culture of the People's Republic of China conferred on him the accolade of "People's Artist."

The allure of his paintings

Why do Qi's paintings enjoy such popularity and high appraisals? "I think it is mainly because of his creativity," said He Huai-shuo, a famous painter and art critic. "His paintings, which vividly communicate an earthly charm, brought new life to the ordinarily lofty Chinese style of painting."

Qi liked to depict prawns, frogs, cows, chickens, brooms, farm tools, insects, rats, vegetables--subjects which traditional Chinese painters either ignored or disdained to paint. In spite of the ordinary nature of his subjects, his paintings succeeded in being extraordinarily beguiling and captivating. Be it tadpoles or wildflowers, his subjects have a fresh immediacy that never fails to rivet the attention of the viewer. Almost all the touching images he portrayed in his paintings were inspired by his early life in the countryside. Although he came from a poverty-stricken farming family and encountered many people who looked down upon him because of his humble origin, he was never ashamed of his background. He cherished the poverty and toil he went through and turned his childhood experiences into subjects that enriched his paintings.

Qi said he wouldn't paint anything without having first come to know his subject. In order to improve his technique of painting prawns and insects, he once raised some at home and closely observed their movements. It was said that the locusts he painted in his early years were so lifelike that when the pictures were thrown to the ground, chickens would rush forward to peck them. Even though he could produce extremely realistic looking paintings, realism was not what he pursued. He said that the beauty of a painting lies between likeness and unlikeness: "Too much likeness verges on shallowness, while too much unlikeness makes a painting look unconvincing."

Qi died in 1957, at the mature age of ninety-five. In addition to his paintings, he also left behind a large number of seal carvings. His rise from carpenter to internationally acclaimed painter became a legend among the Chinese people. He achieved a success and fame that few of his contemporaries could match. He Huai-shuo, the modern Taiwanese critic and artist, said that Qi could be counted as the only Chinese master painter in the twentieth century whose paintings appealed to both refined and popular tastes. His talent shone through the scenes he depicted, not grandiose or pompous, but all uncommonly, wonderfully tempting.