Those who were awed by the power and beauty of Ju Ming's wood sculptures of eight years ago—"Ox Cart," "Baby Chickens," "Iron Crutch Li," and "Lu Chih-shen"—will surely be equally stunned by his powerful recent portrayals of historic Chinese figures.
Shortly after his return from the United States last year, Ju surprised by suddenly discarding the countryside models he had embraced, along with his kungfu series. Instead, his newly carved figures, complete with colors, were drawn from all walks of life; they quickly became a focus of debate in local artistic circles. Many expressed disappointment at the sudden relinquishment of his traditional models. And even today, the argument persists over whether or not Ju's colored carvings are a success.
But Ju, in whom we have much confidence, did not care at all about the negative criticism he was receiving. He desires only that his creative work be meaningful. In any case, while others were engaged in obstinate arguments, Ju was to surprise them once more, since he was paying undivided attention not to wood, but to clay. His accomplishments in clay, though not equal to his early triumph in wood carving, reveal forcefully groping endeavors toward new ground.
Then, while still fascinated by clay, Ju turned again to wood in order to depict the great men of Chinese history. After almost a year, he has pioneered a new land for sculpture in his carvings of historical Chinese personages. One after another, powerful, vivid figures have been shaped by his facile knife and ax. The force of these figures is such that they appear to have entered into their wooden shapes directly from the Chinese opera stages, from recordings of legends, from the pantheon surrounding religious altars....
Character and spirit radiate from the figures
To be more precise, these historical, great, sometimes brave, always interesting, even legendary figures were not actually completed in the span of a year. They must be traced back in time to his early experiences of Chinese opera, of traditional festivities, of timeless religion, and of uncanny tales. Actually, they all existed in Ju's mind long before the first trace of his knife on the virgin wood.
The impulse to carve a series of great men came to Ju several years ago. Once he remarked: "The great figures of the past are not entirely from real history, but from the soil. People of the old society, even those without education, were able to intuitively comprehend a great man's personality, ambition, and moral fortitude, and to assess these as the criteria of his behavior. However, recognition of such men by today's children, growing up in a modern society and fully educated in Chinese history, is not from the substance of daily living, but from textbooks. Our typical textbook examples of great men gradually become meaningless."
Ju intends that for Chinese of this, the next, and generation after generation, this impression will remain forcefully alive: "The blood of the Chinese people flows from a vast heritage of great men." Viewing his efforts from this vantage, we realize how compelling are his intentions. "The figures I have created are genuine Chinese," he says. Along with his earlier Confucius and Kuan Yu (a general later deified as China's god of war), his works now include the legendary ruler Huangti and the father of the Republic of China, Dr. Sun Yat-sen, symbolizing the unifying spirit in China; Chu Yuan (343-290 B.C.), a poet-patriot and martyr still honored today on the Dragon-Boat Festival, a national holiday; Li Po (701-762), one of China's greatest poets, admired for his refined and romantic nature; Hsuan Tzang, a high Buddhist priest, who brought back from India valued Buddhist scriptures after enduring great hardships; Chiu Chin, a woman revolutionary executed by the Manchus, and a symbol of feminine bravery and resoluteness; and Wu Hsun, a beggar who founded several schools with the money he accumulated as an expression of his concern for society.
The carved wood leaps through the air, radiating energy
Ju has also sculpted the famous Wu Sung, who killed a tiger with his bare hands; the Goddess of Mercy, who embodies the power to save all beings; Koxinga, the general who expelled the Dutch forces from Taiwan; Su Wu, a heroically loyal Han Dynasty emissary who spent 19 years as a Hun captive; Chuko Liang, the all-wise prime minister of the Kingdom of Shu during the Three Kingdoms Period; and Hua Mu-lan, a loving daughter who went to war in place of her aged father.
Ju's recent carvings demonstrate two interesting personal facts: He particularly loves—and without reservation—figures from the past who are well known and can be discussed in detail. And he is, also, specially attracted to legendary figures.
As a result of these two items, we may profitably probe the scenes of his childhood. He was born during the Second World War in Tunghsiao, Miaoli, in central Taiwan, and grew up having a close kinship with the land. In the countryside, familiarity with historical figures was not the result of textbooks, but the legacy of noisy outdoor Taiwanese opera stages, the stories told by grandparents on summer nights, and story tellers holding forth in temple courtyards. These sources gave life to figures from both real history and legends. Although many of the details of stories related in such ways may not be entirely accurate, the characters of the subjects are portrayed clearly and definitively. Once such stories are experienced, they are never again forgotten.
Nevertheless, the character of a great historical figure, as represented over and over in various community presentations, is not of ultimate importance. Most important is the spirit represented. Due to his fortunate childhood, Ju is cognizant of both character and spirit, and he expresses them powerfully.
A rare and commendable aspect of Ju's sculptures is their freedom from the stereotyped traditional images that have been branded on the public mind. Because he insists on emphasizing the original color and grain of the wood, Ju puts great stress on style and characterization. The countenances and bearing of his wood figures make his point.
Ju Ming's figures—Bearing witness for all China
Though Ju had already freed himself of the influences of triteness in his artistic work a few years ago, a few traces of the commonplace are revealed in his first historical statues—Kuan Yu, Confucius, and the late President Chiang Kai-shek. But his recent works are completely different. This time, he was determined to carve a series of figures uniquely revealing of spirit and character: full of life, they either sit or stand, squat or stoop, run or kick, unlike the earlier, passive, motionless portrayals.
His recent works please us with their unrestrained imagination and precision characterizations, each unique in facial expression and posture. It is obvious that Ju, seeking a completely different approach from the unified style, has overcome all difficulties. His works explain the great differences between artist and artisan. Each figure, though not actually colored, leaves the impressions of color in the planes travelled by his knife.
In the tradition of China, the art of sculpture consistently surrenders to religion or Chinese drama. From generation to generation, even the greatest masters were not able to carry their art outside the domains of temple and stage. Over the ages, from the carved subject matter, we catch only the features of the figures, not the originating styles of carving masters. This is why, though countless fine artistic works suffuse the history of Chinese sculpture, the names of the masters are unknown to the public.
Ju is likely the very first Chinese wood sculptor who has not been an illustrator of religion and drama. The shapes under his knife are not only of the great figures themselves, but of Ju's unique internal characterizations. That is to say, when we contemplate Ju's statue of Chi Kung, the legendary mad monk, we not only recognize it immediately as Chi Kung, but we are also aware, without any doubt, that it is Ju's work. His dextrous knife shapes not only Chi Kung's appearance, but also the traits of his character. All the while, Ju's unique vision peers from his wooden monk.
What, after all, is the essential element of Ju's peerless style?
"I (do not) believe that respect for tradition requires resistance to advances."—Ju Ming
No more than his manner of "using the big knife and broad ax." In other words, carving a great piece of wood in large sweeps, leaving clear, deep traces. Such techniques result in powerfully artistic work, simple and natural—the hallmark of Ju's style, the most daring breakthrough ever in the millennial tradition of Chinese wood carving. The smoothness and delicacy of finish of traditional wood carving—showing no trace of the carver's knife—is a test of craftsmanship. However, it is not a test of creativeness...of artistry. Sculptures created by traditional methods scarcely fill the three dimensions, because the carver's focus is a planar surface.
In the past, some critics have cried that the fronts of Ju's pieces are better done than the backs, and that an upper half will be better finished than the lower half—that Ju did not give equal emphasis to all areas. The criticisms are correct. However, they also explain that Ju only created, and still only creates, points of emphasis in accomplishing his artistic work. Relinquishment and simplification in Ju's works possess the same function as the purposeful white space in Chinese water and ink paintings.
Ju discussed his motivation for the two series, The World of Mortals and Great Historical Figures: "Since early childhood, I have been inclined to aspire after famous men of noble character. Although they are dead, their significance remains. The Great Historical Figures series is different from The World of Mortals, because the latter are of the common people. I carved them to express my respect for them."
Ju's historical figures are simplified, realistic portrayals, whereas The World of Mortals demonstrates impressionistic approaches. The former reveal their pursuit of dignity; the latter, a taste for the spur of the moment.
"Some say carving the great historical figures is only walking an old road—retracing traditional Chinese subject matter. So what? I don't believe that a mere switch in subject matter signifies advancing. Nor do I believe that respect for tradition requires resistance to advances," asserted Ju.
And, while it is true that, for the past year, Ju's knife and ax have again sought out China's deep-rooted tradition, on a journey to re-create the great historical figures as they have existed in his mind since childhood, his historical works are only one phase of his creativity, or, should we say, an echo.
When we view Ju Ming's Great Historical Figures, it seems we have returned to the soaring imagination of our own childhood worlds, full of wonderful stories. We do so not through the drawn cadences of the old men of the countryside, but via Ju's relentless ax and unerring knife. Ju has, indeed, told us, one after another, traditional stories with "a thousand twists and a hundred turns," shaping tales into forms.
Ju's wood sculptures of the great figures seem to appear in the middle of a remote road across history. Through their forceful being, they bear witness for all China and all the Chinese people.