While never straying from the work that is emerging under his hand, the artist also never stops observing himself. To possess this kind of self-consciousness is to no longer be a simple artisan.
A return to painting is not a return to tradition in order to resurrect the forms and tastes that were amply expressed by the ancients. It is rather a return to discover the remaining and far from exhausted possibilities and to unearth a personal means of expression.
A return to painting means to paint where one cannot paint, to paint what one has already painted, , and to begin painting anew.
A return to painting means to return to the point where modernism began more than a century ago, and find another path.
Part of the charm of this book comes from the fact that it’s a compilation of thoughts from Gao’s notebooks, written for himself , then later shared and translated. It’s certainly not academic, either in its broad tone or in its sincerity. He’s not trying to convince an audience – he’s trying to inspire himself, and remind himself of core beliefs. In his own private notebooks, there’s no need to provide specific evidence for his attitudes, so one reads between the lines. Looking at this book again always reminds me to confound my own unexamined rules and habits, reminds me to remember that my own whole impetus here has to do with those moments of clear vision that art-making brings about, sometimes. That form and vision have some real substance, that wisdom is still worth pursuing in a jaded world, and that depth is perhaps possible, though it may well be a laughing matter. Gao deliberately tries to bring some of the tone, the fluid ambition, and the spiritual intent of “the ancients” into the present. For more about Gao’s paintings and biography, have a look here.
If this sounds like a book you’d like to have, please do use my link (goes to Amazon)
