The Color of Philosophy: Jo Hsieh’s Artistic Creations

Speaker: Chen Kuang-Yi, Dean of the School of Fine Arts at Taiwan National University of Arts

 

Thank you to Qi-Wen for her introduction. I am very happy to be back at the Chini Gallery once again, and I am delighted to see so many esteemed guests here to listen to my talk about Jo Hsieh. In just a moment, I will attempt to analyze and discuss her works from my perspective, based on my understanding. Of course, two hours may not be enough to cover her works thoroughly because, in reality, there is no end to what one can say or research about any artist. Achieving greatness as an artist is a challenging endeavor, and people like Jo, who devoted her life to her art, face greater difficulties than most.
For today’s talk, I have chosen the title The Color of Philosophy: Jo Hsieh’s Artistic Creations. Why did I choose such a name? As Qi-Wen said, Jo Hsieh is well-known for her Blue Series, and her creative focus after the year 2000 seems to have revolved around a very special color – namely, the color blue. When Hsieh was asked to speak about this, she said that: 'Blue is a philosophical color.' But why did she think this? How did she go about discussing, exploring, and expressing her views on the color blue? This is why I have called it the color of philosophy. Still, of course, today’s lecture will not solely revolve around the subject of blue, because the main focus of this exhibition is not the Blue Series. As Qi-Wen just stated, the primary goal of this exhibition is to show a different side to Jo Hsieh. So, first of all, allow me to quickly outline Jo's creative approach and her creative journey. Afterwards, we will discuss Jo’s works from three different perspectives.

Part 1: Jo Hsieh’s Creative Approach and Creative Journey (1991-2017)

Jo began her more systematic artistic career in the 1990s. She didn't start creating art in the 1990s, of course; but her work took on a more structured form during that period. In 1991, she went to the UK to study, and her creative output there became increasingly prolific. Sadly, in 2017, her artistic output came to an end when she tragically passed away.
Jo Hsieh’s works comprise several different artistic series. The Chini Gallery has published several painting albums of her works, and various scholars have studied her artistic career. Some of these scholars have categorized her works into these series themselves; while other series were defined by Hsieh herself, based on her own ideas. An example of these series is one commonly referred to as the Pencil Series. The Pencil Series involves the use of very simple materials – namely, pencils. In her studio, Hsieh used a significant number of pencils, including colored pencils. These are essentially the most fundamental tools for an artist, and can be considered the starting point of her artistry.
Recently, I asked Qi-Wen why this exhibition is named This is Just the Beginning. What does this beginning refer to? Why say that it's just the beginning when Jo's journey has already ended? Later on, as we were passing through this room, we saw Jo’s notes on the left-hand wall. Jo left behind a huge number of sketchbooks, which offer a great insight into her creative process; showing how she continually nurtured her ideas until they matured and she began to experiment.

We can see many traces of her thought processes within the pages of her sketchbooks. In one of them, she pasted an image of a little prince. I'm sure many of you are familiar with The Little Prince, a novel by the French author Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Jo had a deep fondness for 'The Little Prince.' The book features a famous scene where the titular Little Prince draws a dot on a piece of paper, which marks the beginning of his artwork. Whenever an artist starts their creative process, it might begin with just a dot, or sometimes a line.
So, what are dots and lines? Yesterday, at an ARTDOOR symposium, we discussed the issue of abstract art. ，Many viewers find it challenging to understand what abstract art really is. But, as I mentioned at the symposium, the distinction between abstract art and representational art is actually a false dichotomy. I believe we shouldn't differentiate between abstract and representational art, because both abstract and concrete objects can be found in the real world. What about the lines themselves? Are they abstract, or representational?
In my opinion, the person who spoke most convincingly on the subject of lines wasMaurice Merleau-Ponty (1). Merleau-Ponty was a French phenomenologist who approached the question of abstraction and representation from a phenomenological perspective. When discussing the abstract and the representational, he argues that the debate is entirely meaningless; it doesn’t matter whether a work of art is one way or the other. He says: 'A line neither imitates an object nor is it an object.' In other words, when we draw representational art, we use lines to outline the contours of objects like humans, flowers, or trees. But lines don't imitate objects, because physical objects don't possess lines. When we look at Jo Hsieh’s sketchbooks, ，filled with a variety of subjects, a question arises. Hsieh’s works dealt with the abstract; we call her works ‘abstract art’. But, in her sketchbooks, we see that she frequently practiced representational drawing, including human figure drawing. When I first discovered this, I found it to be deeply moving. Her sketchbooks contain a considerable number of exercises related to human anatomy – akin to Leonardo da Vinci (2), who drew numerous bones, skeletal structures, and studies of human proportions. The question arises: Jo Hsieh rarely painted figures, apart from self-portraits. She didn’t paint flowers, or landscapes, or any other objects. Her art primarily consists of these so-called ‘abstract’ lines. So why did she engage in the study of human figure drawing? According to Merleau-Ponty, a line does not imitate an object. When we use lines to draw objects, we are not copying the objects, because objects don't have lines on them. Do models have lines around their bodies? No, they don’t. We need to use lines to sketch their outlines, but simultaneously we know that real-world objects don't inherently possess outlines. A line neither imitates an object, nor is it an object. Instead, lines are used to describe an element of an object. They are an indispensable part of an artist's toolkit when creating art. They exist somewhere between the abstract and the representational; between the objects themselves and their imitations. You say that they exist, and they do – but not in the same way that other objects like chairs or tables exist. Instead, they exist as their own location – lines are simply the places where lines exist. This thought is actually quite profound. You might think that drawing a line is a simple matter, but there's a lot of ontology involved. What we must consider here is how, through lines, we can convey our understanding of the world and how we can imitate it. So why did Jo Hsieh fill her sketchbooks with exercises that mostly resemble those given to students by their art teachers? Were the lines that she drew born out of such practices? Hsieh created many works through sketch exercises like the ones in her sketchbooks. We know many artists primarily work with lines. Not because it's simple – it's actually quite a profound skill to work with lines, and I will use the works of other artists to explain this further later.
It’s also worth considering other things she did, like splattering paint onto the canvas. While this technique may seem deceptively simple, it's not quite as straightforward as it appears. In Hsieh’s early works, as we just saw, she primarily used simple pencil lines. However, as she progressed, she began to use different techniques and materials such as using oil paints to create splatters, drips, or winding lines on the canvas. We might view these smaller-sized works as simplistic, like child's play. Can we really consider them to be art? But these works, dating back to the year 2000, are really quite profound. Dr. Yang Xin-Yi, who is organizing her exhibition, referred to this form of artistic creation as ‘Free abstraction.’ And while I may not fully understand the meaning of this term, I believe it represents a very liberating form of artistic expression. Such free expression has a rich history. I'll explain further with other works why an artist chooses to create in this manner, and what significance this form of artistic expression holds.
Another collection of Hsieh’s works is known as the Music Series. Unlike the aforementioned splattering techniques and simple line works, the Music Series features works with more complex lines. You can see a line resembling a horizon traversing the entire canvas, with many scattered elements floating above and below it. These elements resemble musical notes, and it is possible that these paintings express a sense of musicality – which might be why she named it the ‘Music Series.’ In contemporary art, however, all of these works have been categorized as belonging to the Non-Space series. To understand what ‘non-space’ means, we should start by explaining what space itself is. From there, we will have a better grasp of what non-space entails. This is one of her works from the Music Series, which I would consider to be highly reminiscent of automatism. I find this particular piece quite endearing – look closely and you'll see many little chickens, flowers, apples, a sky full of balloons. This looks like a fish fin… Over there, an airplane on one side... while on this side, you have a keyboard. It's filled with charming details, and I believe this work should also be a part of the Music Series.
This one is part of what Jo Hsieh called her ‘Time Series.’ We might find this puzzling – why would it be called the Time Series? In this series, Hsieh employs a multitude of differently sized colored blocks to create a structured composition, like the one you see here. This one here is also a part of the Time Series, and you can view it in our exhibition. We’ll see why it's called the Time Series shortly, and this will help us understand what she was thinking about when she began to explore the concept of time.
Here, we have her photogravure prints. In this exhibition, several of her print works are on display. It's quite evident that she was an artist with highly advanced printmaking skills. She created a considerable number of prints, so in the future we might consider organizing an exhibition dedicated to her printmaking works.
This work is part of Hsieh’s Line Series, a sub-section of her Blue Series. Hsieh became highly interested in the color blue, to the point where her works ultimately began to center around this color. Her earlier works, as seen here, feature straight lines in different shades of blue, organized this way. Hsieh once stated that these lines symbolize the internal frameworks that constrain us. In other words, when there are no limitations imposed by these lines, she is able to transform into something like this – someone in a state of total freedom. This is perhaps her most well-renowned series of works, the Powder Series, which is categorized as being a part of the Non-Space Series. Hearing about the Powder Series, you might wonder what these works have to do with powder. In this context, the ‘powder’ refers to pigment powders. If you've seen our window displays, you might have noticed various containers on the shelves. These containers are filled with the blue pigment powder that Jo Hsieh searched far and wide for during her life. The creative process for such works is incredibly complex, and some of them are very large. Although we haven't included those works in this particular exhibition, you can imagine their grandeur when exhibited. Hsieh began to paint these by applying acrylic paint as a base, and then proceeded to shape forms that resemble symbols or written text, almost like a script. Earlier, Mr. Hsieh suggested that the source of these forms could be the fairies she used to draw when she was younger. But whether these characters are fairies or symbols is a matter for interpretation. Some have suggested that they resemble Sanskrit, because Hsieh had a deep interest in Buddhism and researched topics like Zen Buddhism. I've also seen a few of her works with the title: ‘Sanskrit.’ After shaping these forms, Hsieh would apply the pigment powder, which she applied by hand. During this process, she wouldn’t just use a single pigment color – instead, she would blend and mix numerous colors together; highly unique and distinctive methodology. For example, take this piece. This piece is quite spectacular, measuring 254 centimeters in length. You can imagine how this could occupy an entire wall, transforming it into a mysterious and attractive work. But she also created smaller pieces. This is part of her Powder Series, and features works with squares, rectangles, rectangles with circles in the middle. At some points, she has even directly created circular canvases like the one you see here. The one we just saw here, with a semicircular shape, was made on the surface of a ping pong ball. This tiny little one right here, directly in front of you – this small frame with a small circular ball in the middle, this was made using a ping-pong ball, and some are entirely spherical shape.
Because of all this, you might find Hsieh’s works to be a bit disjointed, with no apparent continuity. But this was Hsieh’s way of working – she didn’t limit herself, and she didn’t follow a linear creative process. It wasn't a case of completing the Line Series first, then moving on to the Time Series, and then the Music Series. She worked on these series almost simultaneously, or in very close succession. In fact, to her, these series were all part of the same thing, and perhaps all served a similar purpose. The chart you see here was listed in an album of Hsieh’s artworks, and it was explained quite clearly in an article written by Jo Hsieh with the help of Jiang Ling-Qing. Jiang Ling-Qing later studied in the UK, where he most likely interviewed Hsieh. He was well-acquainted with her, and understood her creative system.
We refer to all of Hsieh’s works as Non-Space. To understand what Non-Space means, we first need to comprehend the concept of space. Her Non-Space is systematically divided into two parts: the physical and the psychological.
The physical aspect of Non-Space involves the observation or study of physical phenomena, including optical illusions. Optical illusions arise from the structure of the eye, as well as concepts such as points, lines, and planes. Nature is, in fact, full of these elements. We looked earlier at the nature of lines, and saw how they are an imitation of objects, but not objects in themselves. So what role do lines, points and planes have in the natural world? Time is a natural phenomenon, like water and music. It seems strange to me, however, for music to be placed alongside these points, lines and planes. Then we have the shadows, here. 原 (yuán, meaning origins), 源 (yuán, meaning sources), and 圓 (yuán, meaning circles). The so-called psychological part, with respect to the Powder Series, seems to relate more to emotional or psychological states – concepts such as the fullness of emptiness or the emptiness of fullness, which relate to Hsieh’s Buddhist investigations. Other aspects of this include emotional states, desires, and entanglements – those things that leave us emotionally confused, or the grievances we nurse in our hearts. We also include here poetry, the four seasons, the I Ching, diaries, and self-portraits. Why do we place the four seasons here, and not in the physical category? The I Ching is something that Hsieh probably took a great interest in – unfortunately, I can’t really talk about it, as it’s not something I’ve researched. As for diaries and self-portraits: every day, Hsieh documented her emotions through her diary. Interestingly, though, this was not written down – instead, she painted one self-portrait every day, which we take to be a kind of visual diary. You can see these self-portraits in the exhibition.

Part 2: An Abstract Inspiration

Next, I'd like to discuss Jo Hsieh’s work from various different angles. I understand that comprehending her work can be somewhat challenging, and might feel rather subjective. However, I want everyone to understand how the issues Jo Hsieh addresses and her place in art history are discussed, and why they are being discussed.
The first angle that we need to consider is abstract inspiration. Hsieh works with both representational and abstract art. However, the majority of her work leans towards abstraction, and if we had to make a distinction we would categorize her work as abstract rather than representational. So, what inspiration did Hsieh draw from the history of abstract art?
This is a watercolor painting by the artist Wassily Kandinsky (3), made in 1910. The entire history of abstract art began with this work. Before 1910, nobody in the Western or Eastern art world was making abstract art. Kandinsky's painting is considered to be the first ever work of abstract art.
But what exactly is abstract art? Yesterday, I spent some time discussing this at the Art Space. Of course, it's impossible to cover the entire history of abstract art here, but I'd like to highlight a few key points. The real question is, what does abstract art mean for artists? One key aspect of yesterday's discussion was the juxtaposition of abstraction with representation. Prior to the 1910s, all paintings were created in a representational manner, no matter what meaning or sentiment they were trying to express. If it weren’t for this fact, Wassily Kandinsky's introduction of the concept of abstraction in 1910 would have been meaningless. Kandinsky contemplated the question: ‘Is it possible to remove the subject from a painting?’ Of course, his art was an attempt to do just this. For the rest of his life, he never painted another representational piece, and continuously explored the realm of abstract art. To the artists of the time, this was a completely new frontier. I believe that, for Jo Hsieh, discovering the path to abstraction was also like entering a new territory. I don't know much about her work before the 1990s – for instance, what she painted during her time at the Fu-Hsin Trade and Arts School. I assume that she was working on watercolor landscapes, still life, and portraits. But after she began working on these abstract pieces, she certainly seems to have discovered a new path, or a new possibility for her artwork. Such a new possibility can be quickly embraced by many artists, and not always within the realm of what we would traditionally consider ‘abstract.’
In fact, many of Hsieh’s works, rather than being labelled as ‘abstract’ could also be described as using what are known as ‘automatic techniques.’ I believe that Hsieh mentioned being influenced by Sigmund Freud's (4) theories because, after going to the UK, she read Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams. I also believe she had a strong interest in automatic techniques.
What you see here is a work by André Masson (5). One of Masson's works from 1965 is titled Automatism. This word – ‘Automatism’ – is translated as ‘自動性技法’ in Chinese. It's not an abstract painting, and while the image may not be very clear, if you look closely you'll see that it’s actually of two figures entwined with each other. What he painted was not abstract, although you might feel that it is. You might also feel like even he didn’t know what he was painting. But Automatism was Masson's invention, and at the time he became part of a Surrealist group. Within Surrealism, ideas of freedom and liberation were emphasized. If Kandinsky's question was about whether it was possible to create paintings without any subjects, it was because he wanted to liberate Western art from academicism. Academicism involved drawing human figures, plaster casts, landscapes, learning how to paint from life, and how to use watercolors, and so on. These are the most fundamental things that we teach our students, and they aren't bad in and of themselves. But if art can only be about those things, it would not allow artists like Jo Hsieh to express anything more. So, a new path had to be found, and one of those new things was Automatism.
Automatism is based on the theories of Sigmund Freud, and was first developed within the world of Surrealist literature. Surrealist writers used Automatism, also known as free association, in their creative process. Yesterday, we mentioned poetry – automatist poets don’t premeditate their poetry before writing it. They don't pay attention to rhyme or rhyme scheme, and may not even focus on the meaning of the words. They emphasize the harmony of the words, and aren't concerned about whether they form a meaningful or a meaningless combination. One of the most famous lines of Surrealist poetry was written by Lautréamont (6), who, in one of his poems, describes a boy as being “as beautiful as a chance encounter on a dissecting table of a sewing-machine and an umbrella." There's no apparent connection between an umbrella and a sewing machine, and they are further described as encountering each other on a dissecting table. This is often referred to as ‘the beauty of astonishment’: a beauty that transcends reason and aims to shatter your rationality. If we always appreciate art within the confines of rational structures or traditional frameworks, we may not be able to reach a higher level. But your subconscious is an irrational world. To liberate your subconscious, you need to employ Automatism. Take, for example, Joan Miró's (7) The Birth of the World from 1925. The dripped paint in the background of this artwork is a form of Automatism, and is highly reminiscent of the dripping effect used in some of Hsieh's works. Hsieh might have had an affinity for Miró, although she might not have explicitly mentioned him. But Miró's approach closely resembles Hsieh’s experimentation with materials, which – as I mentioned earlier – is crucial to her artwork. That's why I’ve placed one of Hsieh’s works here, so you can understand her creative process. She may have utilized a form of Automatism, working with no predetermined composition. She never thought about what she was going to paint in advance. She only began thinking when she was in front of the canvas, following her intuition and the stimulation of her subconscious to liberate the viewer and bring them into a completely different state of mind.
After World War II, Kandinsky's and others’ concepts of abstraction were merged with surrealist Automatism. In fact, Jo Hsieh placed great importance on the balance between physical space and psychological space. On the physical level, this pertains to things like materials; while on the psychological level it pertains to the state of mind an artist is in during the creative process. This state encompasses both consciousness and the subconscious, and both conditions are essential for an artist. When an artist is dripping, is their consciousness empty?
I want to return to Sartre (8), who was a prominent figure in the existentialist movement after World War II. The creative process of artists like Pollock (9) can be described as a form of existentialism. Pollock's approach involved placing a canvas on the ground and then walking around, dripping and splattering paint, and sometimes even jumping onto the canvas. Some say that seeing the final product of Pollock’s work was not as wonderful as seeing his creative process in action, because during this process he almost appeared to be dancing. This is often referred to as ‘action painting.’ In such a creative process, it seems like the outcome is not as crucial as the action itself. You have to understand where the artist is dripping and splattering. I think two things are crucial: the first is the material, which is a physical element. Once again, I emphasize that Jo Hsieh was acutely aware of the division within her creative process, separating it into two parts, the physical and the psychological. What do I mean by physical? I mean the materials.
The artist's battle is with their materials. The materials are what the artist needs to conquer. If you ask anyone who has studied art, the first thing they need to do is buy materials. After purchasing the materials, the artist needs to conquer them. Materials don't obey your commands, and the process of an artist conquering the materials is quite challenging.
Matisse's (10) lines are probably the most concise among all artists. When I say ‘concise,’ I don't mean ‘simple’. Concision is not simplicity; it's something that can only be achieved after practicing it hundreds of times. You might already know that Matisse's very simple works, some of which consist of just two lines, may have had more than 80 sketches behind them. For a very simple, two-line drawing, he did over 80 sketches. Hsieh herself also has quite a few sketchbooks for you to take a look at. Why does an artist keep practicing in their sketchbook? Because those lines are practiced and refined in this way. This is a physical matter. But if only the physical aspect of a work is present, it can turn into formalism. Materials themselves also speak, so in the process of conquering the materials, the artist needs to think about to what extent they want to conquer the materials. How much sovereignty they want to exercise over the materials? Do they want the materials to submit completely, or do they want the materials to only partially express themselves? A creative process like this is what I was talking about earlier, a part of materialism where you allow the materials to speak, where you don't turn the lines into a person. When the lines become a person, the artist has completely conquered them, and doesn't allow them to speak. They become a person because we have transformed the materials into something that they're not. I mentioned earlier that lines are not objects, but if the artist lets the materials express themselves according to their characteristics – like how oil paint mixed with a certain solvent will drip, flow, and have different viscosities – and then adjusts and researches the paint. Then there are things like pigment: in its raw state, pigment doesn't have any binders or additives, so when you use it, it might appear dry and different from when you've mixed it with oil. These are materials speaking for themselves, and we call this the ‘language of materials.’ In Hsieh’s works, these have to be controlled. Then there's the psychological aspect. When artists use their materials in this dramatic way – dripping, splashing, jumping, dancing – what kind of feelings do they have? Why do they have to create in such an extravagant manner?
This is ‘action painting.’ When the art critic Robert Rauschenberg (11) talked about Pollock, he said that what happened on the canvas was not painting, but an ‘event.’ He said that the canvas wasn’t just a canvas, but an ‘arena.’ He meant that the artist is in a struggle, not just with the materials but with themselves. The entire process of creating art is a battle with oneself, of dealing with one's own psychological states, emotions, affections, spirit, and desires. All of these aspects are reflected in Hsieh’s series titles. Once she's dealt with herself, when the audience sees her work, it can move them and trigger memories of similar psychological states.

Part 3: Time, Space, Light, and Sound

Of course, in Hsieh’s work, it wasn’t just about the struggle with the materials and the process of infusing a work with her own psychological state. There were several themes that consistently interested her, and which she consistently spent time researching. She mentioned her constant experiments with light and shadow, the representation of visual space, the visuals of flatness and spatiality, and so on. In her works, you'll find elements like time, space, and also light and sound. These are just a few of the intriguing aspects to consider when appreciating her art, and it's essential to remember that all her works are titled: Non-Space.
When discussing the issue of space, it's essential to understand that space is a concern for all artists. No artist can avoid dealing with the concept of space. We all know that a painting consists of a two-dimensional space, but is this all that a painting can deal with? Even though the vehicle for a painting is two-dimensional, every artist has had to grapple with a conflict with regards to this, because the world itself is three-dimensional – or four dimensional, if we include the dimension of time. So, how can artists represent this three-dimensional, four-dimensional, or even multi-dimensional space or parallel worlds within the two-dimensional space of a painting?
During the Renaissance, around 1420, an artist named Masaccio (12) contemplated how one could represent both time and space. As I mentioned earlier, it's quite challenging to depict three-dimensional space on a two-dimensional plane – however, his work was one of the first to achieve this. When you look at his painting, you can perceive the mountain in the background and the person in the foreground. This is referred to as ‘depth’, and it is this depth that we refer to as the third dimension. A painting has length and width, but not depth. Paintings are flat, so any depth that they contain is false – but Masaccio managed to create an illusion of depth in his work.
Let's set aside the issue of depth for now, and focus on how time is depicted. When it comes to storytelling through art, it's a challenging task, because a painting consists of just one frame. You can imagine the frustration artists faced when trying to convey a lengthy narrative. In this artwork, featuring Jesus, do you noticed the presence of repeated figures? This painting illustrates the well-known biblical story of The Coin in the Fish’s Mouth. In this story, some people confront Jesus and demand taxes from him. Jesus instructed Peter to catch a fish and retrieve a coin from its belly to pay the tax. This is how time was represented in paintings during this period. In 1420, Western artists introduced the concept of single-point perspective. This technique became the standard for artworks during the Renaissance and beyond. It represents what we call physical space, which is the actual, tangible space, and also visual space, which is how we perceive space based on the construction of our eyes. Single-point perspective functions as follows: when we look at objects, there is a single viewpoint, known as the central point, which is the center of the painting. All objects within the artwork gradually diminish in size as they recede into the background. They ultimately converge into a series of diagonal lines that meet at a specific point known as the vanishing point. Art students in the past were required to study perspective, and this system was how the Western tradition expressed space, condensing space into so-called ‘visual space’ and making viewers feel as if they are immersed in the depicted scene. Because the artists based their works on what they saw from their specific viewpoints, when the artist left and viewers came to observe the painting, what they saw was identical to what the artist had seen. However, this approach limited the work’s expression of time and space. Because the artist worked from a fixed point in time and space, works were limited to what the artist could see at the time and location of the painting, and it became harder to represent both space and time within a single frame. Thus, from this point on, works did not feature recurring figures.
This system was strictly adhered to by believers in academicism, while modern artists sought to break free from it. For example, if you look at Monet's series on the Rouen Cathedral, he painted a total of 40 pieces. In this series, the concepts of single-point perspective and depth were eliminated. Monet chose to paint the facade of the cathedral from very close up, which naturally led to the absence of depth in the paintings. But you may also have noticed how, here, he also expresses time. He did this by depicting the same scene at different times of the day, which conveyed a sense of time passing. Cézanne was considered an artist with a poor grasp of perspective. If you look at this painting of his, you might think it looks really confusing. Every object he painted had a different angle. Even though his still-life artwork seems simple, he paints everything from a different angle. This technique is known as multiple viewpoints or multi-point perspective, where objects are shown from multiple angles. I haven't even discussed Chinese art perspectives yet. Cézanne (13), though, painted various perspectives of Sainte-Victoire Mountain from different angles, creating more than 80 paintings of the same subject from different viewpoints.
Jo Hsieh painted one self-portrait every day; thousands of self-portraits. Was she investigating the changes that emerge through time? Undoubtedly, yes. Putting aside the psychological aspects of self-portraits for now, a work consisting of three thousand self-portraits – one painted every day – absolutely expresses the passage of time, or what you could call the continuous nature of time. This relates strongly to the theories of Bergson on the nature of time. Here, I want to show you a work by Roman Opałka (14). Opałka was an artist who passed away recently. He began this series in 1965. His work is quite interesting; consisting of long chains of written numbers. He started by writing numbers on a black canvas, beginning with the number 1. His works all have the same title, 1 - ∞, and are written with white paint and a brush. After finishing one sheet, he would take a break, and then continue to write numbers on the next sheet, counting up from where the previous sheet left off. However, the background of the next sheet would be slightly lighter, with 1% more white added, so his canvases gradually became gray. He continued to work on this from 1965 until his passing; it was the only piece he worked on in his life. By 2004, his work looked like this. You might think it's just a monochrome painting with nothing on it, but that’s because you can't see the numbers on the original work from the front. If you were to go to the front of the original, you would see that the canvas is covered in numbers – from 5,446,535 to 5,446,919. By 2004, the canvas was already completely white, so the white numbers he wrote on it couldn't be seen. But if you observe it carefully, under the right lighting, you can still make them out. What's even more interesting is that he took a photo each time he painted a new sheet. The photo you see was taken in 1965, and this is was the 2005 photo looked like. He used his entire life to create this single artwork, and this time represents his lifetime – this passage of time is life itself.
Picasso (15) was also exploring time through his work. Picasso, having learned from Cézanne, painted objects from different angles, employing multiple perspectives to discuss time. Throughout this discussion, I've been emphasizing time, but the truth is that time encompasses space. Movement within space gives rise to time. Even when you sit in a space without moving, time still elapses. For instance, while I'm giving this lecture, after two hours, we will have collectively aged by two hours within this space. You can appreciate how significant the concept of time and space is for artists. This is what Picasso aimed to express – the integration of time and two-dimensional space into a painting. That's why he tried to depict three dimensional, four dimensional space within a two-dimensional painting. That’s why he’s associated with Cubism, with the term ‘cubic’ referring to the three dimensions.
Let's move on to Malevich (16). The previous artwork we discussed was from 1907, and it's astonishing how time passes so quickly. By 1914, people were creating works like this. Malevich's painting, often known as Malevich’s Black Square or simply Black Square, shocked many people. While some find it incomprehensible, I personally felt deeply moved upon seeing this piece because it exudes a sense of the divine. The reason is that Malevich, by placing this painting on the wall – or even in the corner of a wall – intentionally sought to break free from the constraints of two-dimensional painting. Two-dimensional painting is not inherently bad – in fact, Hegel argued that painting's unique essence lies in its two-dimensionality, and that by lacking a dimension compared to other media it attains a higher spirituality. The more materialistic something becomes, the lower its spirituality tends to be. If you continuously accumulate wealth, your spirit inevitably becomes vulgar. But two-dimensional paintings, especially when taken to the extremes seen in Malevich's Black Square, attain a higher degree of spirituality. Proof of this can be found in the icons of the Eastern Orthodox Church: Malevich effectively referred to his square as a "new icon."
This work is by Paul Klee (17)，. Jo Hsieh was a great admirer of Klee, and learned a lot from Klee's work. Klee's pieces are filled with musicality – like this one, called Ancient Sound. Klee once made an ambitious statement; he said that he hoped to become an outstanding keyboardist one day. It might seem peculiar coming from a painter, but you might not know that Klee was also a musician. He played the violin exceptionally well, and had even performed in the city's orchestra. And yet, when he made this statement, he wasn't saying he wanted to become a pianist. He meant that he wanted to use the ‘color keyboard,’ or the color scale, to become an exceptional keyboardist. In his mind, this ‘color keyboard’ was similar to a piano keyboard, and if a piano keyboard could create music then a ‘color keyboard’ could undoubtedly create music as well.
This artwork here is by Jo Hsieh. She also uses the color scale, along with the size of color fields and their relationships with each other, to create pieces filled with musicality – like her Time Series. These elements of color and their interactions can convey a sense of time; one which is musical in nature and which addresses both time and space. After World War II, some of these abstract expressionists – also known as lyrical abstraction painters – grappled with materials; some dealt with the problem of lines; while others explored the physical and psychological states involved in the creative process. Lines also have their own speed – slow lines and fast lines each give us a very different feeling.
I mentioned spirituality earlier, which leads us to Rothko(18)'s Rothko Chapel. But even here, this spirituality doesn't actually serve any religious purpose or concern the worship of any God. The Rothko Chapel is more like a temple of art. Inside, Rothko's monochromatic paintings are displayed. Here, I’ve placed Hsieh’s work in this same location, specifically so that you can compare them with Rothko's spiritual space.
I've already mentioned several different types of space before – physical, psychological, and visual space. Of course, we can also use light to complement these spaces. We can suggest sound or light through the arrangement or prosody of color and form. In Rothko's chapel, when you see these very simple monochromatic paintings placed in front of you, he guides you into this so-called spiritual space.

 

Part 4: Blue Philosophy

接Next, I'd like to discuss a theme that was of crucial significance for Jo Hsieh, which is the ‘philosophy of blue.’ Hsieh herself has said that blue is the color of philosophy. I'll quote her words: "I use blue as the foundational color of my thoughts." Now, why can blue be used as the foundational color for thinking? Why not red? Yellow? Green? There are so many colors in the world. So why blue, specifically?
When it comes to the color blue, it's important to understand how unique it is in the context of art history. Blue is, in fact, not an ordinary color. If we trace the history of the color blue, we find that ancient people did not recognize it. Look at the works of Homer (19) – there's no mention of the color blue. You might find this strange, since Homer's epic is about the war and sailing to Troy, so you would expect it to mention the sea, and thus the color blue. But what word did Homer use to describe the sea? In Homer's work, the sea is described as ‘οἶνοψ πόντος’: deep burgundy, or ‘wine-dark,’ indicating that the ancient Greeks did not recognize the color blue. Aristotle (20), who studied colors, identified only five colors: black, white, red, yellow, and green. No blue. Were the ancient Greeks colorblind? Could they not see the color blue? You might then ask: "What about the sky?" Is the sky blue? Some argue that the sky is gray, while others say it's white. In the East, the sky is often described as ‘fish-belly white.’ So, is the sky definitely blue? As for the sea, as I mentioned earlier, it was described as a deep wine-red by Homer. So, it seems that blue was not a recognized color in ancient times. But we can’t blame the Ancient Greeks for this, because – when we look closely – we see that blue is relatively rare in nature. The color blue is not abundant in the natural world. Even to cultivate a blue water lily, you need to spend a lot of time grafting and using special techniques. By contrast, green, red, and yellow are much more common in nature. So, blue is indeed a very special color.
The first appearance of the word ‘blue’ in language and the earliest production of blue pigment were in ancient Egypt. The Egyptians were the first to create blue pigments, and they traded these pigments throughout the ancient world. It was through this trade that the concept of the color blue began to spread to other languages and cultures. Blue has always been one of the rarest and most expensive colors because the production of blue pigments was quite challenging and the raw materials were scarce. As a result, blue has often been associated with royalty and the elite, as only they could afford or get hold of this color. This rarity and exclusivity made blue a special and valuable color, and it wasn't commonly used by ordinary artists.
This tradition of using blue sparingly continued into the Middle Ages. In the Basilica di San Vitale in Ravenna, Italy – an important example of Byzantine art – you can see the use of blue in the mosaic work. The blue areas in this church, as you can observe in the image, are created using small stone pieces. The Byzantine mosaic technique involved using pigments mixed with glass, with the glass still in a molten state. You'll notice that blue is used sparingly, because it was more expensive, so there is only a small amount of blue here. However, it appears in the depiction of the universe, where Jesus is situated, and not the Earth. During that time, people didn't yet know that the Earth was round – but, to them, the universe was round. So the universe was often depicted as a circular shape. This is why Jo Hsieh considered the circle to be essential, and in her blue series, you can see all these circular shapes. The circle symbolizes the universe, and in this context, Jesus is depicted astride the universe.
In the Middle Ages, blue indeed became associated with the color of the sky. Medieval paintings were often found in handwritten copies of the Bible, and were made very small in order to fit the dimensions of a book. This famous work by the Limbourg brothers (21) is one such example. If you wanted to paint something like this, you needed blue pigments, and at this time blue pigments were extremely expensive. They were made by grinding lapis lazuli, a blue-colored gemstone, into a fine powder so that it could be used as paint. It was a particularly costly material. Later, in 1305, the painter Giotto (22) was commissioned to decorate a small chapel by one of the wealthiest bankers in the region at that time. This banker specialized in usury, or high-interest loans, and he came from a family known for practicing usury. This man’s father, who also engaged in this practice, was specifically featured in Dante's Divine Comedy as a representation of someone condemned to hell. The banker, fearing that he might also end up in hell, spent a significant amount of money to have Giotto decorate the chapel. He built the chapel, paid Giotto to decorate it, and deliberately used a lot of blue in its decoration, believing that it would help him get into heaven – although, of course, that’s not how it works.
The widespread use and popularization of blue pigments mainly occurred during the industrial era. With industrial advancements, it became possible to manufacture blue pigments using chemical processes, leading to the production of various shades of blue. In fact, there are many different shades of blue available today, as any artist will known. Hsieh used a variety of shades of blue in her paintings, such as azure, navy blue, cobalt blue, and more. The blue that she primarily uses is one of her own creation, specially blended and customized to create a shade of blue that is uniquely her own. In the 19th century, following the Industrial Revolution, blue became more common, and artists began to incorporate it extensively into their works. However, for artists, blue also carries unique meanings. For example, Picasso is well known for his ‘Blue Period’, during which time his artworks were dominated by blue tones. The main reason for this was Picasso's melancholic state of mind: blue is often associated with feelings of sadness or depression in art.
Furthermore, Wassily Kandinsky was part of an interesting group called The Blue Rider, or Der Blaue Reiter, and he too praised the color blue. Der Blaue Reiter was a highly spiritual movement. That same year, Kandinsky wrote a book titled Concerning the Spiritual in Art, in which he illustrates the spiritual aspect of their artistic vision. Kandinsky's colleague, Franz Marc, was particularly fond of blue horses, and when he painted his piece – Blue Horses – they acquired a regal and spiritual quality. Monet painted his Blue Water Lilies – although, as I previously mentioned, blue water lilies are not real water lilies and are exceedingly rare. But, they are also filled with blue hues.
The first monochromatic blue painting was this one, created by the Russian Constructivist painter Aleksander Rodchenko (23) in 1921. He painted the world's earliest monochromatic works – red, yellow, and blue. Blue is one of the primary colors, and thus serves as one of the starting points for all other colors – all other colors are derived from these three.
Joan Miró had a strong affinity for blue as well. I mentioned earlier the relationship between Hsieh and Miró’s use of Automatism, but Miró also saw blue as an important color. In his painting Catalan Peasant with a Guitar, Miró uses blue to infuse the painting with nostalgia and homesickness – Miró was, himself, Catalonian, and this was his hometown. Moreover, in 1925, Miró created this piece. This pieces consists solely of a shade of blue and two pieces of text – one that reads: “Photo,” and on another side: "This is the color of my dreams." For Miró, blue symbolized his dreams, and held profound personal significance. Miró later painted the renowned pieces Blue I, Blue II, and Blue III, which are all now housed in the Pompidou Center, demonstrating the unique significance that blue held for him. These works feature blue backgrounds with various points or star-like elements, and these red streaks. Some interpret these red parts as shooting stars or meteors, others thing these round shapes are stars. Jo Hsieh’s art also often incorporates many circular elements and star-like points against a blue backdrop – these, too, appear to symbolize the cosmos, or some kind of complex, multi-dimensional space, or spiritual realm. In his Jazz series, Henri Matisse's uses beautiful shades of blue. This piece features a person with a red heart, this starry yellow background is set against a blue background. Hsieh once noted that she uses blue as ‘the background of her thoughts.’ In 1952, Ad Reinhardt began painting monochromatic blue canvases, which, upon closer inspection, are revealed to have a blue cross within them.
Yves Klein (24) is perhaps the artist most frequently mentioned in conjunction with Jo Hsieh, and Hsieh herself does not deny her admiration and reverence for him. Klein was a French artist, born in 1928, who passed away in 1962 at the age of 34. Despite his short life, he is considered one of the most significant artists of his era. Both of Klein's parents were artists, which provided him with a very liberal upbringing. They never had any particular career aspirations for their child, and Klein himself didn't initially plan on becoming an artist. Klein's primary interest was, in fact, judo. He even traveled to Japan to study it, eventually attaining a fourth-degree black belt. Upon his return to France, he sought to establish a dojo, but faced difficulties because his Japanese credentials weren't recognized in France. He attempted to join a judo association, but was similarly unsuccessful. In the end, he was able to open his own independent dojo. In addition to teaching judo, he placed great importance on meditation and contemplation, believing that a person's skill in judo was related to their mental state, not just their technique. He required his students to meditate and attain a state of deep concentration before their judo practice. To facilitate this, he created monochromatic paintings and hung them on the dojo walls for his students to contemplate. One day, an art critic named Pierre Restany (25), who was originally focused on promoting abstract art, visited Klein. He found Klein's monochromatic paintings intriguing and organized an exhibition for him. This chance encounter inadvertently brought Klein's into the art world, leading him to create more monochromatic works.
This is his most famous blue monochromatic painting. But Klein created monochromatic paintings in various colors, including orange and green. It's said that he predominantly painted in orange and green during his early career, and it was also said that the creation of these monochromatic paintings was related to his personal religious beliefs – one of them, the Pink Cross, coming from India. However, he became upset when he noticed that many people were purchasing his monochromatic paintings to decorate their homes. As a result, he made a decision to create only blue monochromatic paintings. But why did he think that this would discourage those private collectors who didn’t understand his work? Why would that have stopped them from using his paintings to decorate their homes?
Klein once said that, for himself, blue is "without dimension." Notice the resemblance to Jo Hsieh’s concept of Non-Space? When Hsieh’s works are displayed, are they paintings, sculptures, installations, or murals? They are none of these. Now, look at what blue is – it is without dimension. As Klein said, it transcends dimension. So Hsieh’s Non-Space is not space; it does not possess space; it is beyond space. What she aspires to create goes beyond what we've just defined as space. Artists aim to set high goals for themselves. Klein asserted that he would not paint in any other color; only blue. He mentioned that blue may suggest the sea and the sky, but neither the sea nor the sky is blue. When you scoop up seawater, it's not blue at all, and when you fly into the sky, you won't see blue. Thus, he stated that while blue may allude to the sea and the sky, it is essentially the most abstract color in all of nature. Thus, he put forward the abstraction of blue. So, blue cannot be turned into blue apples, blue plates, or blue tables, because blue is fundamentally abstract. Even blue flowers are rare. We can't see any blue trees, and blue people only exist in a movie called "Avatar."
Klein also created blue discs, like this one, the color of which is ‘Klein blue.’ We will come back to the idea of the circle shape later. His works also include things like this relief, on top of which he added sponges. He placed sponges directly on the canvas. Speaking of Klein’s blue, as I mentioned earlier: don’t think that Klein was merely painting pictures. This is one of his most famous blue monochrome paintings, created in 1960. At the time, he was researching this particular blue with a friend, and ended up patenting it. This color is known as International Klein Blue (IKB), and other people could not use it or sell it. He applied for a patent for this blue, making it a color that only he could use. He applied the blue with a roller, so in a work like this, there are basically no brushstrokes, because the roller applies the color very evenly. This work has a different shape to most paintings. Klein didn’t consider his works to be paintings – that's why their shapes are different from typical paintings, with rounded corners. They are not paintings – they have no dimension, and no frame. Traditional paintings are always confined within a frame, but Klein wanted to convey that this is not a painting, and he didn't want to confine this blue within a conventional frame. All the corners are elliptical, and his works even include some spherical three-dimensional objects, similar to Jo Hsieh’s works. In fact, Klein once created an entire room installation, covering the gallery floor with his International Klein Blue. In this corner, you just have this tiny monochromatic blue painting. In this context, you won’t think about paintings and artworks; instead, you encounter a meticulously run, highly specialized, indescribable and spiritually captivating space.
Klein once even painted his good friend, Arman, blue. He looked quite different after that transformation. Klein's International Klein Blue is, of course, patented. But recently, a paint company called Ressource acquired the rights for this color from the Klein Foundation and developed ‘Klein Blue’ paint, which you can purchase. It's not very expensive – you could paint your home in that color, if you wanted. Of course, Klein would probably be furious if he knew this: he regarded this color as sacred ritual implement, and turning it into just another for-profit brand of paint would have been unacceptable to him.
Next, let’s look at this work by Lucio Fontana (26), where he took a blue-painted canvas and cut it twice. This adds an intriguing dimension to the discussion of space. Have these cuts disrupted the canvas's two-dimensional space? Or is this space a reflection of reality? Is it a spiritual space, an imaginative space, or simply a gap? There are many possible interpretations. Here, Fontana explores the relationship between light and blue space, creating an ‘Ambiante Spatiale’ (Spatial Atmosphere).
This is a work by James Turrell (27), who is known as a light artist, and is also skilled at using blue light. We know that, in her works, Jo Hsieh emphasized the use of blue pigments with different degrees of chromatic light. Colors in fact possess the characteristic of luminosity, and colors with a higher luminosity present a stronger light, while those with lower luminosity represent less intense light. Through the study of color or colored light, and even the use of actual light, we can create a depth environment.
Eastern artists also contemplated the thinking behind color, or the abstraction of color. Lee Ufan (28) is a well-known representative of monochromatic painting in Korea. His work is minimal, but profoundly pure, guiding us into a space of purity. It's important to remember that blue often evokes feelings of mental calmness, spiritual depth, profound serenity, and can even lead us into a state of tranquility.
Meanwhile, when we talk about circles, an important figure in the Japanese Gutai art movement comes to mind: Jiro Yoshihara (29). He was known for creating countless circles in his art, embodying a distinctly Eastern perspective. If there's one significant difference between the works of Jo Hsieh and Yves Klein, it might be their backgrounds. It would be worth delving deeper into how Jo Hsieh integrated her Eastern background and philosophical thinking into her work. Creating a simple circle in calligraphy might seem trivial, but for artists like Jiro Yoshihara, the circle is the beginning of everything – the beginning of the world, perhaps. In the famous artwork Vitruvian Man by Leonardo da Vinci, the human figure is placed inside a perfect circle, with his navel at the center. The navel symbolizes the source of life, so the circle represents the cosmos and the birth of life.

 

Ｑ＆Ａ

        Many thanks to Professor Chen for taking us on a journey through the history of Western art, starting with Ancient Greece and Rome. I think that everyone was listening keenly during that lecture, and no-one was falling asleep in the middle of it. The person to my side was very excited and was taking notes the whole way through. We have a bit of time, now, so if any members of the audience have any questions, or anything they want to learn more about…

 

Q1：I'd like to ask the professor… earlier, you mentioned that the blue in the front and the sphere in the back are definitely different. Could you please teach us how, in a non-professional context, we can discern the nuances in the artwork? Because you've provided a lot of information about the pigments she used. Thank you, Professor.

A1：This is a very difficult question to answer, because distinguishing the quality of artwork is also a profession. So, if an artist wants to master the skill of using blue pigments beautifully, it may take them more than a decade. When you look at the state of the pigments on one sphere and compare it to the state of pigments on another sphere, you can tell that the person who created this sphere had been playing with pigments for about ten years, and the one who created that sphere had been playing with them for maybe just ten days. Still – the two-hour sphere isn’t bad. They only worked on it for two hours. But those with a discerning eye can tell what the results would be after ten days, and that this is the result of ten years of work. My results after two days, or two hours, you ask how we can tell which is which, but it’s quite hard to say. Because we’ve been doing this since junior high school until now, about 40 years, and it's difficult to explain how to discern skills developed over 40 years in just 5 minutes.
Still, I can certainly give you some principles to consider. For example, the state of color harmony, the fixative state of the pigments, and the technical aspects of handling materials – such as how binders are used, the pigment blending, and whether the fixative properties of the pigments have been handled properly. Additionally, the way colors are applied – for example, in the case of Jo Hsieh's blue, there is some variation exhibited but the color is still very unified. So, you wouldn't feel like it's made up of many different pigments; you would think that this should be how it originally looked. But, in reality, it's achieved through many layers and the application of various colors to achieve a highly consistent, uniform appearance. However, their pigments are not in a uniform state. You can clearly differentiate which ones were applied first and which ones later. Also, various pigment colors are kept separate, and not blended. These are what we call aesthetic principles. In fact, they are not difficult to understand, but appreciating these things takes years of experience. I strongly encourage anyone interested in art, regardless of their field of expertise, to engage with art every day. If you don't look at art, it's impossible to understand it. When I studied art history in France, none of my classmates were artists; they were all literature or history majors, among other disciplines. Yet, they were able to understand the reasoning behind these works of art, because they often came from art-collecting families, or their parents were art collectors, or they themselves owned antique shops. They had been immersed in the world of art since a young age. So, understanding art is quite simple – you just need to engage with art every day. If you immerse yourself in it daily, you'll undoubtedly gain a deeper understanding of it.

 

Q2：Professor, I have another question. Her artwork is unique because she uses her hands, and doesn't use brushes. So, I just wanted to ask you about that.

A2：Yes, that was her choice. Handling the materials with her hands to achieve that uniform appearance is different from using brushes. Did she wear gloves? So she must have constantly been washing her hands. Could it affect her health? I believe it could have. In fact, being an artist comes with professional risks. Artists have a very fragile profession, and they often get sick. If they don't pay attention to their working conditions, it can often lead to health issues.

 

Q3：Teacher, may I ask if you think Jo Hsieh managed to break free from conventional artistic norms? How does she differ from someone like Kandinsky?

A3：Are you referring to Kandinsky's points, lines, and planes? I think when Kandinsky discussed the points, lines, and planes, he was presenting a principle. We know that Kandinsky wrote the book Point and Line to Plane while teaching at the Bauhaus. He was teaching the principles of form, somewhat similar to the principles of form that we teach today. It was necessary for him to provide systematic discourse to convey certain principles or theories of form, and, of course, he delved into some conceptual issues as well. However, I view him as having presented a principle. How individual artists use that principle can become highly personalized.
For Jo Hsieh, what a point means to her, or the winding of lines, the direction of lines, the speed of lines, the thickness of lines – all of these have personal significance in her work. They relate to the state she was in when creating her art. So, when you ask how she differs from Kandinsky, I can tell you that Kandinsky's work is more focused on those principles of the point, line, and plane. In that aspect, she is very different. However, Kandinsky introduced a matter of principle, which are these questions of structure and composition.

 

Q4：Teacher, my question is quite simple. You mentioned that you cried when you saw Malevich’s painting earlier. I'm curious, if you were to see all of Klein's blue paintings today, would they move you?

A4：I saw Klein's work at the Pompidou Center when I was quite young, because at the time I was studying in Paris. Looking back, I don't think I was able to fully grasp the depth of his work as a young person. I might have had some theoretical knowledge and ideas about Klein, but my life experiences and depth of understanding weren’t enough to truly comprehend what Klein was trying to convey through that shade of blue. However, I should mention that Klein had a bit of a mischievous and unconventional side. He liked doing inexplicable things, and some people thought he was just playing around. There are lots of things I’ve heard about him. For instance, he once organized an exhibition that was completely empty. People entered the gallery, and there would be nothing on the walls, no sculptures on the floor, just nothing. But the gallery served blue cocktails. So every visitor would have a blue cocktail, and after they drank them, Klein claimed that their urine would turn blue when they went home. Some people criticized him, saying he was tricking them and that there was nothing in the exhibition. In response, Klein said, "Who said there was nothing in this exhibition? My exhibition is filled with the spiritual adhesive." What he meant was that for the two weeks leading up to the exhibition, he meditated and contemplated in the gallery space every day. He claimed that he had filled the entire space with the spiritual essence of the artist. Who can really understand what he was talking about? I couldn't see or touch that spiritual essence. Furthermore, the spiritual realm is something that requires the right channeling, and if I'm not engaged in spiritual practice or prayer, I wouldn't feel it when interacting with artwork in that way.

 

Q5：I mean to say, the impact of blue and black on you.

A5：It's not a matter of blue or black, because both artists express things very deeply, perhaps with slight differences. However, when I saw Malevich’s work a couple of years ago, I was already quite old. I felt that my life has reached a point where it was reaching that black stage. So, when I saw it, I had a strong feeling. I felt that the artwork was very liberating. What I want to say is that Jo Hsieh was pursuing a kind of spiritual freedom. I believe that's what it is. Not just Jo Hsieh – many artists are pursuing this, and I am too because I'm also getting older. I feel there's not much to cling to in life, but if one can attain spiritual freedom, then life is not in vain.

A Philosophy of Color – Footnotes

 

1.  ←Back to Article

Maurice Merleau-Ponty (March 14, 1908 – May 3, 1961) was a renowned philosopher and one of the leading figures of the French phenomenological movement.

 

2.  ←Back to Article

Leonardo da Vinci (April 15, 1452 – May 2, 1519) was a representative figure of humanism during the Renaissance-period and one of the most famous artists in history.He was a scholar in the Florentine Republic during the Italian Renaissance and is often referred to as one of the three great figures of the Renaissance alongside Michelangelo and Raphael.

 

3.  ←Back to Article

Wassily Kandinsky (Russian: Василий Васильевич Кандинский, December 16, 1866 – December 13, 1944) was a Russian-born painter and art theorist, considered a pioneer of abstract art along with Piet Mondrian and Kazimir Malevich. He was also a co-founder of the short-lived but influential art group known as The Blue Rider (Der Blaue Reiter).

 

4.  ←Back to Article

Sigmund Freud (May 6, 1856 – September 23, 1939) was an Austrian psychologist, psychoanalyst, and philosopher, known as the founder of psychoanalysis. He was one of the most influential thinkers of the 20th century.

 

5.  ←Back to Article

André-Aimé-René Masson (January 4, 1896 – October 28, 1987) was a French artist. His work is considered a bridge between surrealism and abstract expressionism. A proponent of automatic art, his Automatic Drawing (1924) is now part of the permanent collection at the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

 

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Comte de Lautréamont (real name Isidore Lucien Ducasse, April 4, 1846 – November 24, 1870) was a French poet born in Uruguay. His only two works, The Songs of Maldoror and Poems, had a significant impact on modern art and literature, particularly on surrealism and situationism. Lautréamont passed away at the young age of 24.

 

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Joan Miró i Ferrà (April 20, 1893 – December 25, 1983) was a Catalan painter, sculptor, ceramicist, and printmaker, and a representative figure within the surrealist movement. He is often listed alongside Picasso and Dalí as one of the three great Spanish artists of the post-modern era.

 

8.  ←Back to Article

Jean-Paul Charles Aymard Sartre (June 21, 1905 – April 15, 1980) was a French philosopher. He was a key figure in existentialism and phenomenological philosophy, and one of the leading figures in 20th-century French philosophy and Marxism.

 

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Jackson Pollock (January 28, 1912 – August 11, 1956) was an influential American painter and a major force in the abstract expressionist movement. He was famous for his unique style of ‘drip painting.’

 

10.  ←Back to Article

Henri Émile Benoît Matisse (December 31, 1869 – November 3, 1954) was a French painter, the founder and main representative of the Fauvist movement, and also a sculptor and printmaker. Fauvism advocated for Impressionist theories and ushered in the first art movement of the 20th century. Matisse's style was characterized by bold and flat colors, unrestricted lines, a sense of humor in his structures, vibrant colors, and relaxed themes. These features made him one of the most important figures in modern art.

 

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Robert Rauschenberg (October 22, 1925 – May 12, 2008) was an American painter and graphic artist. He became famous in the 1950s for his ‘combines’, artworks that used non-traditional materials and objects to create innovative combinations.

 

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Masaccio (December 21, 1401 – Autumn 1428), originally named Tommaso di Ser Giovanni di Simone, was a great painter of the 15th-century Italian Renaissance. His frescoes are considered to have been the first major milestones of humanism, and he was the first artist to use perspective in his paintings.

13.  ←Back to Article

Paul Cézanne (January 19, 1839 – October 22, 1906) was a renowned French painter whose style bridged the gap between Impressionism and Cubism. His work had a significant influence on Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso. Among his most famous works is the Mont Sainte-Victoire series of paintings. Each painting in this series showed variations and progress as he reanalyzed the structural relationship between form and color elements by observing a single landscape theme from different visual angles. This deconstructed the unchanging principles of perspective that had been in place for over 400 years and laid the foundation for the development of Cubism and abstract art.

 

14.  ←Back to Article

Roman Opałka (August 31, 1931 – August 9, 2011) was a Polish artist. Starting in 1965, Opałka would write a number on a canvas with an area of 196,135 square centimeters every day. He also periodically photographed his own image. These two practices became his most famous works.

 

15.  ←Back to Article

Pablo Ruiz Picasso (October 25, 1881 – April 8, 1973) was a renowned Spanish artist who became famous in France. Along with Georges Braque, he was one of the founders of Cubism and a leading figure of 20th-century modern art.

16.  ←Back to Article

Kazimir Severinovich Malevich (Russian: Казимир Северинович Малевич, February 11, 1879 – May 15, 1935) was the founder of Russian Suprematism, a Constructivist, and a geometric abstract painter. His most famous works include Black Square (1915) and White on White (1918).

 

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Paul Klee (December 18, 1879 – June 29, 1940) was a Swiss-German painter. He created many monochromatic prints and line drawings, and his style has been associated with Surrealism, Cubism, and Expressionism.

 

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Mark Rothko (September 25, 1903 – February 25, 1970) had a diverse career, including acting, stage management, painting, and waiting tables. In 1929, he became a part-time teacher at the Brooklyn Jewish Center and was one of the founding members of the Expressionist movement. He took art classes under the guidance of the Cubist artist Max Weber. Under Weber's mentorship, Rothko began to see art as a tool for emotional and religious expression.

 

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The Homeric Epic is the earliest epic in ancient Greek literature and one of the most popular and influential literary works. It is a classic example of European narrative poetry, rich in content, and its storylines and character images have provided abundant material for many European writers in the centuries that followed. It is traditionally attributed to the blind Ancient Greek poet Homer, and it consists of two long epic poems: the Iliad and the Odyssey. There is ongoing debate about Homer's birthdate, birthplace, and whether he was a real historical figure. The most widely accepted view is that he may have lived in a Greek colony on the Anatolian coast between the 9th and 8th centuries BC. Both epics are divided into 24 books, with the Iliad consisting of 15,693 lines and the Odyssey consisting of 12,110 lines. Originally, these two epics were likely part of an ancient oral tradition based on myth, passed down through the recitation of bards. If Homer was a real historical figure, he is believed to be the one who organized and standardized these two epics. In reality, the Homeric Epic represents the distilled essence of mythical narratives and hero stories passed down orally in Greek culture for centuries. The question of the historical existence of Homer is one of the earliest and most debated issues in Western classical scholarship, known as ‘the Homeric Question.’

 

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Aristotle (Greek: Αριστοτέλης, Aristotélēs, 384 BC – 322 BC) was an ancient Greek philosopher, a student of Plato, and a teacher of Alexander the Great. He, along with Plato and Socrates (Plato's teacher), is revered as one of the founders of Western philosophy. Aristotle's works constitute the first comprehensive system of Western philosophy, covering topics such as ethics, aesthetics, logic, science, politics, and metaphysics.

 

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The Limbourg Brothers were famous 14th-century and early 15th-century French illuminators, known for their exquisite manuscript paintings. They were composed of three brothers: the elder Paul de Limbourg, Jean de Limbourg, and the youngest sibling, Herman de Limbourg. Their major works include the illustrations for the book of hours Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry (The Very Rich Hours of the Duke of Berry).

 

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Giotto di Bondone (circa 1267 – January 8, 1337) was an Italian painter and architect. He is considered the initiator of the Italian Renaissance and is renowned as the ‘Father of European Painting’ or the ‘Father of Western Painting.’ In English, he is commonly referred to mononymously as Giotto, similar to his name in Chinese. Art historians believe that Giotto is his true name, rather than an abbreviation of Ambrogio (Ambrogiotto) or Angelo (Angiolotto). Historians believe that Giotto was the first artist to attempt to create a sense of perspective and depth in his paintings. In his later years, Giotto's style changed somewhat. During this period, Gothic art was prevalent, characterized by elongated figures and an increased sense of weightlessness. However, Giotto's famous style of using perspective in the background remained unchanged. The development of Giotto’s style of painting stopped for about 100 years after his death, due to the prevalence of the Black Death in Europe, leading up to the era of Leonardo da Vinci.

 

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Alexander Rodchenko (Russian: Александр Михайлович Родченко, December 5, 1891 – December 3, 1956) was a Soviet artist, sculptor, and photographer, and one of the founders of Constructivism and the Soviet design school.

 

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Yves Klein (April 28, 1928 – June 6, 1962) was a French artist and an important figure in the post-war European art scene. In 1960, the art critic Pierre Restany proposed the Nouveau Réalisme movement, and Klein was one of its leading figures. He was an early proponent of performance art and is also considered a pioneer of minimalism and pop art. He is well-known for his monochromatic paintings.

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Pierre Restany (June 24, 1930 – May 29, 2003) was one of the most important art critics, art historians, and cultural philosophers in post-World War II France. He and artist Yves Klein founded the Nouveau Réalisme movement in 1960. They issued a manifesto in Milan and successfully organized numerous significant art events and exhibitions from 1960 to 1970.

 

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Lucio Fontana (February 19, 1899 – September 7, 1968) was an Argentine/Italian artist. In 1946, he founded the Altamira Academy in Buenos Aires with his students and published the White Manifesto, in which he stated that: “Matter, color and sound in motion, are the phenomena whose simultaneous development makes up the new art.” His most well-known artistic contributions are a series of ‘cut’ canvases. He is considered one of the pioneers of minimalism.

 

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James Turrell (born May 6, 1943) is a contemporary American artist known for his use of space and light as creative materials. His most famous ongoing work is the Roden Crater, located in Flagstaff, Arizona, USA. Turrell transformed the extinct volcano's caldera into an observatory for observing various natural phenomena in the sky with the naked eye.

 

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Lee Ufan (Korean: 이우환, born June 24, 1936) is a South Korean minimalist painter and sculptor. In the late 1960s, Lee was inspired and developed the theory of Mono-ha in Yoshishige Saitō's class at Tama Art University, becoming a central figure in this movement.

 

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Jiro Yoshihara (Japanese: 吉原治良, January 1, 1905 – February 10, 1972) was a Japanese painter and art scholar. He is best known for his 1950s gestural abstract paintings and his 1960s hard-edge paintings inspired by Zen Buddhism. He was the founder and mentor in the avant-garde art group, the Gutai Art Association.