Born
in 1943, Dai Wu-kuang (戴武光)
has engaged in artistic creation for nearly four decades.
Unlike some painters
who attain their artistic heights when they are still
young and have difficulties making creative breakthroughs
later in their careers, Dai has shown through one
exhibition after another that he is constantly reaching
new pinnacles and never ceases to improve his art. Because
he has never sought the spotlight, he may not be a widely
known painter, but he is well respected in artistic
circles, among his peers, and by many art lovers. His
natural talent coupled with a solid grounding in the
technical, aesthetic, and theoretical aspects of both
Chinese and Western painting has enabled him to become an
established painter in his own right, one whose name can
never be easily passed over in the discussion of
contemporary Taiwanese ink painting.
Dai
says he has always derived great happiness from artistic
creation. Although he comes from a poor farming family,
his parents, especially his father, never discouraged him
from pursuing his talent. At a time when Taiwan was still
a relatively poor society and most families on the island
had difficulties making ends meet, his parents did their
best to scrape together money
to buy art supplies for him. Considering the strained
financial circumstances they were in, Dai is especially
grateful to his parents for their unconditional support.
Moreover, they never failed to show their pride in him. He
remembers that when he held his fourth solo exhibition at
the National Taiwan Museum in 1981, he was interviewed on
television. After seeing the interview, his parents
immediately phoned him to say, "Dad and mom are so
proud of you." He was so deeply touched that tears
filled his eyes and he felt that all his sweat and hard
work was well worth it.
There are many people who devote themselves to art to
gain fame or riches, but Dai is not one of them. He knows
how important it is to paint with an unencumbered heart, free
of any intentions of attaining celebrity or wealth, to
produce really good work. In this regard, he has some
personal experiences to share. In the 1980s, Taiwan's
economy took off and many people began to enjoy lives of
prosperity. Encouraged by the new affluence flooding to
the island, private art galleries sprang up one after
another. Appreciating Dai's talent, a gallery signed a
three-year contract with him. He only needed to produce
two paintings every month and the gallery would pay him
NT$60,000 (US$1,500). It was a seductive offer. Dai was
teaching art in school at the time, and his monthly salary
only came to NT$40,000 (US$1,000). Little did he know that
after he signed the contract, painting would
become such a painful thing for him. Whenever he picked up
a brush to paint, his mind would be cluttered with
thoughts such as: What kind of paintings should I create
that will help the gallery make money? What subject matter
will be most popular with the collectors? "My mind
was a complete blank and I couldn't produce a single
thing. Only then did I realize what a sad thing it is to
sell one's soul for money." Unsurprisingly, his
contract was terminated prematurely.
Some time later, he was invited by other galleries to
showcase his artwork. One gallery proprietor lavished
praise on his paintings, saying that his works had a
distinctive, charming, bucolic flavor. (At that time, Dai
often drew inspiration from country life). "Looking
at them," the owner said, "I seem to be able to
smell the fragrance of earth. Such wonderful creations
will definitely be popular with both the critics and the
public." Although Dai was greatly flattered by these
comments, things did not turn out as the enthusiastic
gallery owner had predicted. After participating in a few
exhibitions that sold poorly, Dai was disheartened and
frustrated. "Fortunately, my teachers gave me a lot
of encouragement. They told me to paint only for myself
and for no one else. Their moral support enabled me to
keep going."
After these unfavorable experiences, Dai tried to keep
his distance from commercial galleries. He knew that he
needed a free creative space, unfettered by any concern
for material rewards, applause, or things like that, to
come up with fine works of art. Only when one's spirit is
free and serene is it possible to move the brush freely on
paper
without any restraint. "To paint for art's sake
rather than for anything else, to eliminate any motives
that have no relevance to art itself, is of vital
importance to an artist," observed Dai.
A graduate of the Department of Fine Arts at the
prestigious National Taiwan Normal University, Dai was
solidly trained in all technical aspects of painting.
Although his specialty is Chinese ink painting, he also
excels in watercolors and pencil sketching. However, as
technically proficient as he is, he regards the mastery of
skills as only the first step toward becoming a
professional artist.
Without the formation of a unique individual style, one
cannot call oneself a true creative artist. He himself has
worked hard to pursue an expression that is distinctively
his. He recalls that in the 1970s, someone came to see his
work at an exhibition. After looking at the paintings on
display, the visitor said to him, "You paint very
well. You've captured the full spirit of the painting
style of your teacher, Yu Zhong-lin." Although the
man who made the comment might have meant it as a
compliment, Dai felt as if he had been slapped in the
face. He knew that no matter how
beautiful and well-executed his paintings were, he was
still not a painter in his own right--he had yet to emerge
from his master's shadow. "I want my work to be
one-of-a-kind, not merely a replica of someone else's
style." He knew very well that he must forge a path
of his own to establish a foothold in the competitive art
world. So he delved deeply into Eastern and Western
painting theory and Chinese Taoist philosophical thinking
to seek enlightenment. He also wanted to have a thorough
understanding of all the ancient and modern masters, not
to imitate or copy them, but to avoid painting like them.
He kept trying and experimenting as much as he could and
was thus able to achieve his later breakthroughs and
attain his outstanding level of accomplishment today.
"Four parts reading, three parts calligraphy, and
only three parts for painting" has always been Dai's
motto. He cannot agree more with Zhang Da-qian (張大千,
1899-1983), one of the most celebrated modern ink-wash
painters, who said: "To cast off vulgarities, cleanse
away superficialities, and eliminate an artisan's aura in
painting, first you must read books; second you must read
more books; and third you must systematically and
selectively continue reading." Contrary to popular
belief, painting is not the objective representation of
visual reality, but rather the expression of one's
feelings and a revelation of the self. If an artist is
empty and vacuous inside, how can he be expected to create
anything of profundity and significance that can move
people's hearts? "Art is not skill, but wisdom,"
remarks the painter. "Reading enables you to enrich
your mind and develop and foster
your inner spirituality. The importance of reading can
never be overemphasized." In addition to reading, Dai
believes that if one wants to attain a certain level of
virtuosity in ink-wash painting, one must master the art
of calligraphy. Chinese painting is actually a form of
calligraphic art, except it has more pictorial images.
Whether one's brushwork is skillful or not determines to a
large degree if one can successfully imbue life to objects
presented in a painting.
Thus, Dai often diligently practices calligraphy in his
free time--be it standard, seal, official, running, or
cursive styles--to produce brushwork that is vibrant,
lively, and full of rhythm.
Among the many elements that mark a good ink
painting--the mastery of mood and ambience, the
application of color, the capturing of the essence of a
subject, the deft use of space--Dai especially values the
last. He says that before he begins to work on a picture,
he often has to spend a lot of time thinking about how to
compose it--how to produce an overall dynamic arrangement
of the principal and the subordinate elements, the solid
and the void, the light and the heavy, and the animated
and the subdued. "The interplay and interaction of
substance and emptiness, of solid and void, is of
paramount significance in Chinese ink painting. If a work
of art cannot allow a viewer's imagination to play
actively in it, it is a dead, lifeless work of art. The
'void' or 'empty' part of a painting is the space that
allows a viewer's imagination to travel freely in it, to
interact with the 'solid'
part. That's why it's important for a painter to deftly
arrange the space of a painting so that it allows ample
room for imagination." Besides, the composition of a
painting greatly determines whether a work can have a
dynamic visual effect, whether it can be marked with an
intensity and force that arrests the attention of a
viewer. Therefore it is most vital for a painter to be
able to come up with distinctive compositions and show a
neat, creative use of space.
Today Dai's skill has become such that it seems that he
can simply follow his instincts and produce superb works.
People who look at his art can never fail to be amazed at
the ease and effortless fluency that mark his work. As
accomplished as he is, however, he still paints
continuously to reach an even higher level of brilliance.
He was never one to rest easily on his laurels, and the
last thing he wants is to become complacent and stop
making progress. "Never stop posing new challenges
for yourself" is his cherished credo. "You must
keep negating yourself and throw away established rules to
create new horizons for your art." With this in mind,
he is sure to continue instilling new life into his works
and creating many more fine pieces of art to enchant and
charm those who love his paintings.
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