• Chinese art critics often expressed astonishment at the ability of exceptional painters to evoke an emotional reaction in viewers. A good example is the account of the eighth-century painter Wu Daozi, written by a ninth-century critic, Zhu Jingxuan, in his Famous Painters of the Tang Dynasty. It can be compared to remarks on painters by the Roman man of letters Pliny the Elder (23–79 C.E.).

Zhu Jingxuan on the Painter Wu Daozi

“A poor orphan, Wu Daozi was so talented by nature that even before he was twenty he had mastered all the subtleties of painting. When he was in Luoyang, the emperor heard of his fame and summoned him to court. . . .

The General Pei Min sent a gift of gold and silk to Wu Daozi and asked him to paint the walls of the Paradise Buddhist monastery. Wu Daozi returned the gold and silk with a note saying, “I have long heard of General Pei. If he would do a sword dance for me, that would be reward enough, and the sight of such vigor will inspire my brush.” So the general, even though in mourning, did the sword dance for Wu Daozi, and when the dance was finished Wu made his brush fly with such strength that the painting was done in no time, as though some god was helping him. Wu Daozi also did the laying on of the colors himself. One can still see the painting in the western corridor of the temple. . . .

During the Tianbao period (742–755), the emperor Xuanzong suddenly longed for the Jialing River on the road to Sichuan. So he allowed Wu Daozi the use of post horses and ordered him to go there and make sketches of the scenery. On his return, in response to the emperor’s query, Wu said, “I have not brought back a single sketch, but everything is recorded in my mind.” He was commanded to depict it on the walls of Great Accord Hall. He painted a landscape of more than 300 li, finishing it all in a single day. . . . He also painted five dragons in the Inner Hall whose scales seemed to move. Whenever it was about to rain, mist would emanate from them. . . .

Early in the Yuanhe period (806–820), while I was taking the civil service examinations and living in Dragon Rising Buddhist Temple, an elderly official, more than eighty years old, told me that when Master Wu was about to paint the halo of a god on the central gate of Xingshan Buddhist monastery, residents of the city, old and young, gathered around to watch, standing as deep as a hedge. He raised his brush then swirled it around with the force of a whirlwind, apparently with divine help. I also heard from an old monk of Scenic Clouds Monastery that when Master Wu painted a Hell scene at the temple, butchers and fishmongers who saw it became so frightened by it that they decided to change their profession and turn to doing good works.”

Pliny on the Painters Arellius and Lepidus

“Not long before the time of the god Augustus, Arellius had earned distinction at Rome, save for the sacrilege by which he notoriously degraded his art. Always desirous of flattering some woman or other with whom he chanced to be in love, he painted goddesses in the person of his mistresses, of whom his paintings are a mere catalogue. The painter Famulus also lived not long ago; he was grave and severe in his person, while his painting was rich and vivid. He painted an Athena whose eyes are turned to the spectator from whatever side he may be looking. . . .

While on the subject of painting I must not omit the well-known story of Lepidus. Once during his triumvirate he had been escorted by the magistrates of a certain town to a lodging in the middle of a wood, and on the next morning complained with threats that the singing of the birds prevented him from sleeping. They painted a snake on an immense strip of parchment and stretched it all round the grove. We are told that by this means they terrified the birds into silence and that this has ever since been a recognized device for quieting them.”

Sources: Zhu Jingxuan, Tangchao minghua lu, in Tang Wudai hualun (Changsha: Hunan Meishu Chubanshe, 1997), pp. 83–85, trans. Patricia Ebrey; The Elder Pliny’s Chapters on the History of Art, trans. K. Jex-Blake (London: Macmillan, 1896), pp. 149–150.

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