Learning to See, Not Just to Paint

I have held the brush for more than thirty-five years, but the first thing I teach is not technique. It is how to see.

Learning to see, not just to paint.

How to hold the brush, how to read the gradations of ink, how to not fear the empty space. As students learn the techniques of traditional East Asian painting alongside the philosophy within them, at some point they begin to trust their own hand and eye.

Every student can discover

I believe every student can build confidence and creativity through the practice of painting. At first, even drawing a single line makes the hand tremble; but within patience and encouragement, anyone finds their own brushstroke. There are not, on one side, people who can paint and, on the other, people who cannot.

In class I often quote the famous opening of the ‘Xue Er’ chapter of Confucius's Analects: ‘To learn, and in due time to practice what you have learned — is that not a joy?’ Curiosity leads us to learn something from outside ourselves. But learning alone does not make it ours; the practicing is what is needed, and that practicing is what we call training. As the training repeats, there comes a moment when the learning arrives as your own — and it is in that moment that the true joy of learning comes.

Slowly, but deeply

East Asian painting is not a painting finished quickly. To draw a single orchid leaf, you lift and set down the brush hundreds of times. In that repetition the hand learns, the eye opens, the mind grows still. I believe that slow time is the greatest gift this painting gives.

Beginner or long-practiced, there is always a place in my studio. What matters is not skill, but a heart ready to look for a long time.