The realm of contemporary Chinese art has burgeoned alongside the nation’s economic reforms and opening up to the world, capturing global acclaim. Within this illustrious circle of artists, Yin Zhaoyang emerges with a distinct artistic dialect and aura. In the year 2008, amidst a slight wane in the international capital frenzy, the dawn of new artistic challenges greeted Chinese creatives. The essence of Yin’s work, mirroring his persona, reveals an unwavering and meticulous vigour in every facet. This indomitable presence, while reflective of Yin’s developmental milieu, is primarily fueled by his profound contemplations and artistic exegesis on the genesis of Chinese civilisation and its landscapes. The birth of the Mountain and River Series not only shatters the conventional confines of Chinese landscape art but also, through a visceral approach, unveils a vision of China that is deeply rooted in the present: intricate, vibrant, and as imposing as its mountains and rivers.

Embracing the Stone, Guarding the Essence

Yin Zhaoyang’s Mountain and River Series revitalises Chinese landscape painting. The lineage of traditional Chinese landscape art originated in the Six Dynasties, blossomed during the Sui and Tang dynasties, and was perfected in the Song dynasty. By the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties, it was revered above all other painting themes, dubbed the pinnacle of the ‘thirteen branches of painting’,[1] symbolising the zenith of Chinese pictorial art. Yet, by the Qing dynasty and into modern times, the development of ancient landscapes, whether in concept, spatial representation, or brush technique, fell into a pattern of mimicking the ‘Four Masters’ (Four Wangs), leading to a stagnation whose reasons are multifaceted. Notably, traditional landscape painting’s concepts and techniques struggled to break through systematically; and the end of the Qing saw ink wash painting challenged by Western oil painting, causing a profound shift in the artistic environment. Hence, by the 1980s, critic Li Xiaoshan lamented that ‘Chinese painting had reached an impasse’.[2] Yin, a graduate from the Printmaking Department of the Central Academy of Fine Arts, did not receive formal training in traditional ink landscape painting. His education and technique, unencumbered by the Qing dynasty’s landscape influences, allowed him to reflect on the genuine innovations in painting language by comparing them with the landscapes of the Song and Yuan dynasties and the actual scenery of the central plains. This reflection led him back to the innovative origins of China’s early landscape masters such as Li Cheng and Fan Kuan. Using the Taizi Temple (the Prince Temple) at Mount Song as a painting reference, Yin discovered a dual breakthrough in both artistic conception and language.

In 2010, Yin serendipitously discovered a landscape photo in a resort on Mount Song. It depicted a modest, temple-like building nestled among majestic, isolated boulders. Behind the bare branches of winter trees, the small temple’s vermilion walls suggested an ideal spot for deep Zen meditation. This image, encountered as Yin entered his forties, induced a profound and mystical quiver in his destiny. Yin’s latent desire to delve into tradition had been quietly growing; at that moment, it was suddenly and explosively ignited. Like a flash of lightning, colours and lines shifted, crafting mountains and rivers on the canvas, while the fervent desire to create radiated out from these works. The grandeur of these landscapes is rich, intricate, vibrant, and intense, sharply contrasting with the detached and inactive nature of traditional landscape art.

In The South Side of the Mountain in High Autumn (《山阳秋高》2012.002) and Yichuan (《伊川》2012.001), Yin masterfully manipulates the textures and hues of oil painting to forge two distinct spatial experiences: one vertically majestic, the other expansively horizontal. This fusion of intricate detail with an overarching sense of liberation creates a canvas where depth and unity coexist seamlessly. The tactile quality of the colour blocks and the weathered essence of the central plains’ landscapes establish an effective dialogue between depiction and perception. Hence, Yin’s visual narrative space unfolds, shifting from the intensity of human figures to the boundlessness of natural vistas.

The sublimity of Mountain and River, as opposed to traditional Shan Shui (山水), further stems from the profound physical impact generated by Yin’s uninhibited brushwork on vast canvases. Representative works such as Hills Beyond a River (Triptych) (《隔江山色》2019.001) and Shan Shui (《山水》2024.001) break free from the confines of literati scrolls and the restrictions of cave statuary. Even the Shan Shui series, rendered in acrylic on paper, approaches the grandeur of wall murals. Such expansive canvases demand exceptional visual mastery. Just as A Panorama of Rivers and Mountains (《千里江山图》) and Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains (《富春山居图》) are immortalised for their intricate yet harmonious visuals, the Mount Song series validates Yin’s adeptness in this realm. Furthermore, he has carved out a distinctive planar construction language, enriched by his dialectic exploration of Cézanne and German Expressionism. This language system initially draws from the spirit of Cézanne, shattering the academic European Renaissance convention of single-point perspective realism. It integrates lines, colours, light and shadow, planes and perspective through a comprehensive painting approach that marries natural forms with their cultural significance. Furthermore, Yin, through his exploration of German Expressionism, dialectically considers the possibilities of painting in the wake of impacts from new art forms such as performance, video, mechanical reproduction, and multimedia. The early works of Gerhard Richter, along with the figurative paintings of George Baselitz, offered Yin inspiration. By discovering his own structural and spatial methods of expression, Yin achieves a new dynamic unity in his paintings, positioning the imagery between momentum and stasis, reflecting an uninterrupted state born from the collision of body and soul. This contemporary potential in painting reaffirms that the sophistication, authenticity, and enduring appeal seen in the works of Chinese landscape masters such as Liang Kai, Bada Shanren, and Huang Binhong derive from an integrated approach. Such an approach cannot be explored solely through artistic technique without a grounding in humanistic literacy. Therefore, Yin, through his critical reflection on postmodernity, embarks on a return to humanism.

Obviously, Yin was not the first artist to recognise the importance of returning to tradition. Yet it wasn’t until his fortuitous encounter with the Taizi Temple that he firmly established his conviction to ‘return’. He aimed for more than merely incorporating a ‘Chinese style’ into his oil paintings, particularly with Zao Wou-Ki and Chu The-Chun already setting high standards on the international stage. The concept of ‘returning’ transcends mere spatial borrowing, pattern collage, and media conversion; it fundamentally entails a dialogue with the essence of traditional art to chart a path towards systematic transformation.

Before this epiphany, Yin had dedicated over a decade to reflecting on and learning from Chinese traditional art, yet without finding that singularity of breakthrough. He was in search of an intuitive and direct avenue of breakthrough, one that began with the act of image-making, eschewing a mere conceptual pursuit: ‘What I find unacceptable is for an artist to reduce painting’s language to the semblance of academic research – if someone’s work reeks of academia, that is not a compliment. Rather, it might well be the most biting satire of an artist.’[3]

Mount Song, located in central Henan, boasts a complex topography and special cultural significance. One of China’s Five Great Mountains, it features a rich variety of rock formations and colours. The mountain range, exposing geology spanning five periods (approximately 3.6 billion years), presents an intriguing arrangement of rocks and folds, and its relationship with the mountain’s water systems and vegetation lends this natural landscape considerable sculptural quality. The highest point of Mount Song is at an elevation of 1,512 metres, with 72 peaks covering an area of 450 square kilometres. Looking up at the summit from the base, one experiences a unique sense of impact: the dense rocks convey a sense of foreboding, as if dark clouds are descending upon the city at any moment. The sublimity generated from this view is profoundly direct. This natural form of this immense mountain bears a strong continuity with Yin’s past visual explorations of physical struggle and spiritual rupture. The photo of the Taizi Temple discovered by Yin may seem like a still frame, but the ensuing exploration of the subject of Mount Song and the theme of sublimity is dynamically endless.

The hues of Mount Song’s rocks are notably unique. On one side, the mountain’s bare surfaces reveal a grey hue intertwined with patches of green vegetation, resembling sheep grazing on a sunlit prairie. Conversely, weathering causes the mountain’s rocks to loosen and crumble and roll down to create ravines, where the fractures expose vibrant reds and greens. This vivid construction and colour scheme, traditionally interpreted via ink-brush techniques by masters such as Guan Tong, Li Cheng, and Fan Kuan, was meant to augment the art’s spirit and resonance. Yet this approach often overlooked the sublime essence attributed to physical form and colour. Jing Hao’s Notes on Brushwork (《笔法记》) lamented the waning tradition of colour categorisation in Tang dynasty landscapes: ‘Assigning colours based on category has been a skill of the ages; akin to ink blending with water, it prospered in our Tang dynasty. Thus, Zhang Zao’s depictions of trees and rocks brimmed with vitality and nuance, his ink layers subtle yet profound. His unique vision was extraordinary, eschewing the use of multicolour; a brilliance unmatched in history, unparalleled.’[4] The school of colour, epitomised by blue-green landscapes, focused on capturing opulence but failed to grasp the more profound, sublime character of the central plains’ rocks and stones.

Historical regrets are redressed through Yin Zhaoyang’s bold and direct approach. His forthright technique unveils the visual sublimity obscured by the literati aura of the Song and Yuan dynasties. After the late Tang and Five Dynasties, a significant shift occurred in the Chinese cultural temperament, moving away from the heroic spirit that marked the Shang, Zhou, Han, and Tang eras. Yet Yin Zhaoyang, with contemporary artistic language, resurrects this thread long buried in the annals of art history. The density of oil paint, the fluidity of acrylics, and the innovative use of modern brushes to achieve new forms of splattering, pointillism, and palette knife techniques, have all contributed to a dramatic elevation in the dimensionality of his works. This depth, solemnity, and tragic grandeur, distinct from themes of retreat, leisure, modesty, and playfulness, are recognised as a transformation of power.[5]

Yin Zhaoyang’s approach in capturing the essence of Mount Song started with a bold and direct ‘charge’, but many critics failed to recognise his nuanced ‘Embracing the Stone, Guarding the Essence’ strategy. This subtler approach is key to transforming traditional landscapes into the profound majesty of mountains and rivers.

In Chinese traditional painting, landscapes can be both a triumph and a downfall. Only by breaking through the conventional landscape to extract the loftier concept of mountains and rivers can one propose a new way to escape traditional restraints. This potential is not merely a spur-of-the-moment inspiration but also the activation of a deeply embedded gene.

The solemn hymns in the Book of Songs consistently convey the sublime impact of expansive landscapes and rivers:

In the glorious era of Zhou!

Ascending its towering mountains,

reaching the lofty peaks,

akin to the broad rivers.

Beneath the vault of heaven,

gathering the essence of the age.

Such was the command of Zhou.^[6]

Ancient texts reveal a civilisation nurtured by majestic mountains and vast rivers, exhibiting a robust vitality within its grandeur and bravery. The essence of the sublime, rooted in the heights of Mount Song, is celebrated in the Book of Songs•Greater Odes•Song Gao (《诗经•大雅•崧高》), lauding this distinctly Chinese form of sublimity:

Majestic peaks reach for the heavens,

their grandeur unparalleled.

In ancient China, our ancestors held a deep, innate reverence for the mountains and rivers. This reverence stemmed from a dichotomy of visual experiences: the sheer magnitude of these natural formations highlighted the gap between the power of nature and human capability; and beyond what the eye could see, the limitless potential of imagination evoked awe. Thus, Yin had to engage in dialogue with nature through the tangible landscapes before him, using art as a medium. In such dialogues, his paintings became meaningful systems of signs. To construct such a system required formidable strength to lift massive stones and an incredible steadiness to guard the truth of this burdensome journey.

Stirring Depths of Desire:

Yin’s Mountain and River series masterfully integrates with the traditions of Western painting. The force that greets the viewer in Yin’s art is undeniable. At first glance, one might think he simply channels the natural essence of the Mount Song region, presenting it through a straightforward method that could be mistaken for a Chinese-inflected variant of Western Expressionism. This interpretation, however, lacks depth. Art risks banality when creators mistake the immediate for the superficial. Western art historian Kenneth Clark, in his analysis of the significance of landscape painting, regarded it as an artistic transformation of natural vistas, imbued with human reflection on nature, emphasising aspects such as symbols, fact and order.[7] Landscape art has been a crucial agent in the evolution of modern Western art. J.M.W. Turner explored the dynamism and impact of natural views; the Impressionists investigated the interplay of colour and light; while Expressionism sought to reinterpret external scenes emotionally. Yin’s paintings, on the other hand, convey the profound human narratives that lie behind natural sceneries, resonating with the stirring depths of desire.

Art inherently carries an ornamental trait, but this should not be confused with superficiality. The landscape paintings of the Romantic era in the West often serve as a timely caution. For instance, Turner’s maritime works, with their vivid interplay of light and shadow, evoke the restless dynamism of the natural world, stirring a sense of awe. Such awe reflects the tension between humanity’s technological advances and the retaliatory forces of nature during the industrial age. The notion of the sublime in Turner’s pieces echoes the philosophy of Edmund Burke, a conservative British thinker: ‘Whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime.’[8]

Contrary to the depiction of conflict between man and nature seen in Western modernism, Yin’s renditions of the Mount Song series capture the awe that nature instils in the human spirit. This connection between man and nature creates a visual representation of deep, resonant desire. The true impact of these desires extends beyond a mere reverence for nature; it touches on the courage to face adversity with gratitude for our very existence.

Works such as Cold Branches and Scared Magpies (《寒枝惊鹊》2015.003), Dusk in the Mountains (《山中黄昏》2016.001), Vast History – Polar Day (《浩瀚史—极昼》2020.003), and Thunder (《惊雷》2018.009) reflect the zeitgeist. While these pieces draw their inspiration from Mount Song and feature Yin’s acquaintances, the art transcends the personal through its unique language, striking a chord with a universal audience. In this era, marked by the aftermath of consumerism, individuals navigate a society saturated with spectacle, where myriad images mediate and assault, veiling the true depth of their desires: ‘One cannot abstractly contrast the spectacle to actual social activity: such a division is itself divided. The spectacle which inverts the real is in fact produced.’[9]

After the reform and opening-up of China, the overall spiritual state of the Chinese people became more positive, pragmatic, and enthusiastic. Amidst the tide of the market economy, various possibilities emerged. It was as if a thousand years of stagnant circumstances had finally encountered shattered hopes. However, in the swift tide of progress, the authentic desires and emotions of the people are often engulfed and carried forward by the sweeping torrents of history.

Yin has always possessed a keen sensitivity to the harsh realities of what can be termed ‘The Harshness of Youth’ era. This anxious state of mind wasn’t shelved with the development of the Mount Song series. On the contrary, through a momentary pause and re-establishment with life via art, he unearthed the sense of the absurd from familiar contexts, creating new scenarios.

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Take Cold Branches and Scared Magpies (《寒枝惊鹊》) as an example. The figures in the painting are Yin’s friends and family accompanying him on a leisurely outing on Mount Song, amidst light-hearted conversation and laughter. What was merely a routine sketching trip, not intended as performance art, transformed unexpectedly under Yin’s direction. By outfitting the group in prop-like attire and dispersing them in a certain area of the mountains to momentarily pause, the initial warmth and exuberance abruptly shifted to a chilling, empty solitude. The loneliness and perplexity of individual existence became starkly evident against the backdrop of rocks and ancient trees. This intense isolation, not anticipated by Yin, emerged naturally. Yet, through this real scene, he discovered, documented, and intensified the isolation, integrating it into his invented sublime visual system. The expressive desire he uncovered was validated in the structured form, thereby extending the vitality of his art to achieve a state of enduring ambition.[10] Such a visual field, emerging from the specific individuals on Mount Song, might not be found in the annals of world painting history, yet this authentic sublimity resonates universally, evoking a sense of déjà vu.

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The sublime sensations evoked by real-life scenes reinforce Yin’s conviction that his grand landscapes possess a more profound sense of reality than superficially embellished abstract art. Yin attributes his deep connection to Mount Song to two main factors. First, the exposed textures of Mount Song sparked soul-stirring inspiration. Second, the authenticity of these scenes validated his deep appreciation for the solemnity and depth characteristic of Song dynasty paintings.[11] Notably, many modern art luminaries, such as Giorgio de Chirico and Cy Twombly, have navigated similar artistic trials. De Chirico reinterpreted scenes from Italian towns, casting them in an eerie, absurd light, whereas Twombly’s sparse, abstract strokes hinted at the traces of human presence. Both artists sought refuge in the classical ethos of the West, crafting sublime realms through an introspective visual language.[12] However, their later works diverged significantly. De Chirico delved into art history, whereas Twombly used the language of art – brushwork, spatial composition and colour – to reinterpret classical grandeur.[13] As a result, de Chirico’s neoclassicism veered towards frivolous illustration, while Twombly’s understated canvases revealed increasing depth.

Yin’s sublime visuality pays homage to an inherent and cohesive visual system. His command over grand landscapes resonates with cultural theorist Pierre Boudieu’s insights into this field:

The degree of artistic competence depends not only on the degree to which the available system of classification is mastered, but also on the degree of complexity or subtlety of this system of classification, and it is therefore measurable by the ability to operate a fairly large number of successive divisions in the universe of representations and thus to determine rather fine classes.[14]

Although he had been immersed in modern art heavily influenced by Western culture from a young age, Yin felt a more profound affinity for the landscapes of China. His hometown, Nanyang, was once graced by the presence of Zhuge Kongming, a symbol of ancient Chinese virtues. As history marched on, these once-familiar terrains suffered wear and, at times, were even engulfed by the relentless flow of history.

Yet the paintings, steeped in the rich cultural essence of the Central Plains, breathe new life into these ancient narratives, evoking a wistful senes of rebirth. For instance, Yichuan (《伊川》), set in the Longmen Grottoes, a nexus of ancient Chinese stone carvings. The cultural layers of this locale run deep, beyond its artistic heritage. This sacred ground, populated by stone Buddhas, was also where Bai Qi, the notorious ‘God of Slaughter’, made his mark in history with the bloodshed of 240,000 at the Battle of Yique. Yin’s early portraits were inspired by Francis Bacon’s idea that beneath the flesh and bones lies a deeper, hidden structure.[15] The landscapes, with their visible beauty and underlying narratives, encapsulate the intricate tapestry of human culture. Yichuan (《伊川》) intertwines the complexity of the scene with its historical significance, weaving a narrative that, while rooted in China, resonates with universal themes of human nature and cultural legacy.

Yin, well-versed in lithography, harbours a special affinity for stones. Northern Dynasties stone carvings, Wei steles, and Northern landscape paintings serve as crucial referents in his exploration of artistic origins. The rocks in his paintings embody the cultural force of stone carvings and calligraphy. The Book of Songs (《诗经》) mentions that ‘Stones from other hills can be used to polish jade’: in the process of jade carving, civilisation gradually takes shape.

When an impulse reaches a certain momentum, vitality gains resilience. This cultural resilience is perpetuated through meaningful visual forms (culture-patterns). Archaeological findings suggest various isolated cultural relics once dotted the Yellow River’s banks. Under diverse pressures, only some settlements persisted, eventually sparking a flame that grew into Erligang, Erlitou, and the Shang-Zhou civilisations, thus birthing China.[16]

The culture of the Central Plains shares a material and symbolic connection with its landscapes. Yin, through visual sublimity and an intuitive impulse towards rocks, uncovers the primal force of the Central Plains. His depictions of Mount Song, carved out stroke by stroke, compose a solemn and profound visual epic, reinvigorating the significance of Eulogyin the Book of Songs.

Mount Song has been revered since ancient times by the people of the Central Plains. This reverence for nature was transformed into tangible worship: ceremonial offerings, stone carvings, and sculptures. With the arrival of Bodhidharma, crossing the river on a reed, Mount Song became the cradle of Zen Buddhism. The myth of Mount Song is shaped not only by its natural essence but also by the human culture bestowed upon it. Yin’s encounter with the Taizi Temple also marks the dialogue of profound significance in his personal artistic journey.

Yin’s nuanced application of red unlocks a critical dimension in his paintings’ mystique. In pieces such as A Chan Temple at Dusk (《黄昏禅寺》2022.006), Shaoshi Mountain after Snow (《少室雪霁》2018.011), and A Chan Temple(《禅寺》2015.008), varying hues of red articulate a sublime duality: the rigour of ascetic practice and the serenity of meditation. This thematic echo finds a parallel in Liang Kai’s Shakyamuni Emerging from the Mountains (《出山释迦图》), where a solitary figure in red, set against a backdrop of straightforward ink mountains, embodies the resolve of Samadhi’s fiery spirit. Since his initial encounter with the Taizi Temple, Yin’s repeated forays into the mountains – over seventy visits – have been dedicated to an immersive study of colour, resulting in a palette that is both richer and more nuanced. Red, in his work, can depict the agonies of purgatory in Cold Branches and Scared Magpies No. 2 (《寒枝惊雀之二》2018.012), yet in Shan Shui (《山水》2024.001), it captures the hopeful hues of dawn and dusk. While masters of Western art such as Raphael, Titian, Reynolds, Gauguin, and Matisse have skilfully employed red, an artist who embraces red with such persistent depth and multifaceted impact is exceedingly rare. Yin’s paintings offer a profound exploration of red’s dynamic interplay with the profound cravings of the human spirit.

Rejuvenating the Landscapes:

Yin Zhaoyang’s Mountain and River series offers effective value in a postmodern sense. It proposes a way of viewing that is organic, dialectic and open. This method is a sublime postscript to Yin’s visual sublimity. He captures the spirit of the present with spontaneous visual experiences and creation, reconstructing an understanding of the landscapes. Such an open visual field is, for the art of painting, a declaration of anti-modernism that does not conform to a non-absolute modernity. Anti-modern does not mean abandoning innovation: ‘The antimoderns’ creative process is not based on the mere repetition of the past but on the transformation of the relics of the past.’[17]

Landscape painting, especially after Cézanne discovered its new possibilities in promoting avant-garde art, became another gateway for the transformation in Yin’s painting language. Art historian W.T.J. Mitchell points out that ‘Landscape is not a genre of art but a medium.’[18] The medium of landscape painting becomes more flexible in its exploration of the artistic field because it abstracts from the specific social roles of portraits.

To Yin, Cézanne is akin to a paternal figure, inspiring him to seek unity between content and form. Beyond the simplistic ‘cylinders, spheres, and cones’, many artists interpret Cézanne solely from the perspective of form or a preconceived notion of reconstructing the order of painting. For Yin, however, Cézanne’s work does more than deconstruct the materiality of the external world and reintegrate space. Cézanne’s refinement of classicism is key to the continuous extension of Cézanne’s painting. Cézanne broke away from the single-point perspective composition prescribed by the Renaissance, not merely replacing content with painting but returning to Giotto’s question of how to interpret universal humanity in an unprecedented way.

Therefore, the Mount Song series is not simply about applying a preset style filter to any image to turn it into a game. The profound implications behind it must be organically integrated with the painterliness that is continuously adjusted through bodily communication during creation. Only then can the created spatial planes become intriguing. The medium of landscape painting must form effective value transformation through a form with special significance. Like Cézanne, Yin infuses his resilience into this medium, breaking away from the ‘form pleasing spirit’ and rejuvenating the landscapes. Such new landscapes, in turn, enrich Yin’s adeptness in figure painting; through this, the entire system undergoes an organic transformation.

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Depicting the secluded ambiance of a monastery, Fan Kuan’s Travelers in Snowy Mountains (triptych) (《雪景寒林图》) enriches the canvas with the moisture of mountains and rivers, leaving ample space for the sky and earth. In contrast, Yin’s An Ancient Temple in Archaic Rocks (《古寺苍岩》2015.010) crafts a different sense of desolation through the juxtaposition of warm and cool colours, alongside the dynamic of the speed and direction of brushstrokes. When portraying the high mountains of the north, Fan Kuan’s Travelers Among Mountains and Streams (《溪山行旅图》) introduces a misty, ethereal aura, adding majesty to the scattered rocks; Yin’s Shan Shui (《山水》2020.001) employs expansive colour blocks, rendering the space with a profound depth. Guo Xi’s Early Spring (《早春图》) perfectly encompasses the ‘three distances’ technique, and with fishermen’s cottages sprinkled at the foreground, it infuses the landscape with life, echoing the sentiment that ‘a mountain without people is lifeless’; Yin’s An Autumn Scene Beyond a River (《隔江秋色》2021.002) employs wilderness brushwork to convey a reverence faced with mountains and rivers. These contrasts signify Yin’s reinterpretation of the ancient relics of the Central Plains. How many palaces and temples have been instantaneously wiped out by the numerous ‘Heyin Incidents’? How many fleeting beautiful scenes have lamented the degradation of landscapes and rivers?

The notion that such differentiation in expression benefits significantly from the ‘stones of other mountains’ of Western Expressionism is not entirely accurate. Although Yin’s earlier pieces nod stylistically to British modernist artists such as Francis Bacon and Lucian Freud, his body of work, from its foundational intent to its vigour, harbours a distinctive primal energy. Yin delves into the crucial transition of humanity from barbarism to civilisation, converting this spiritual journey into a palpable visual narrative. This primal energy and visual expression not only deeply resonate with the genesis and flow of Chinese civilisation (Central Plains culture) but also embody an exceptional universality.

The physical struggle and the profound impact of stone form the genesis of Yin’s visual impulse. Yin’s early works impressively capture the melding of flesh and stone. Amid the complex entanglement of organic and inorganic forms, Yin discovers a gateway for transmuting spiritual states into tangible imagery. In times of uncertainty, amid the currents of reform and opening up, Yin harbours an unyielding energy, an unplaceable force, enveloped in an aura of indescribability. It is only through the act of painting, the deliberate strokes and contours on canvas, that this primal wildness is subdued. In the West, this resigned confrontation with environment and destiny often finds a parallel in the myth of Sisyphus. Ancient China offers a more optimistic narrative of stone-moving: the tale of Yu Gong moving the mountains. Yin’s Mount Song series embodies this very narrative of perseverance.

Encountering the Taizi Temple merely opened the door to a new realm. The more than seventy journeys into the mountains that followed constituted Yin’s twelve-year artistic meditation through the Mount Song series. Despite the external trendiness of Chinese abstract art in the marketplace, Yin hesitates to fully embrace pure abstraction. He argues that the essence of Chinese visual tradition lies in the interplay of resemblance and dissimilarity. Moreover, he contends that pure abstraction could inadvertently lure individuals into a superficial engagement with form and colour, thereby diluting the expansive implications of art.[19]

In 2010, a pivotal moment marked the overall transition of contemporary Chinese art. As the American subprime mortgage crisis deepened, Western capital, the primary benefactor of Chinese contemporary art, began to wane. In its place, Chinese cultural capital stepped in, notably through a surge of contemporary art museums in China. This period also saw active academic discussions and exhibition practices exploring the relationship between contemporary art and tradition.[20] Simultaneously, as the quick gains from emulating Western contemporaries receded, artists with a deeper pursuit began to seriously consider how to find an original visual language within a new historical context. Yin’s narrative on desire does not start or centre around text. His lofty language reorganises the landscape and, by merging with the potential inherent in modern painting and engaging in dialogue with ancient art, accomplishes a rejuvenation of the mountains and rivers.

The formation of traditional landscape painting and the choices of Chinese traditional thought are interrelated. Wang Wei in his discussion on landscape painting said, ‘In painting landscapes, the intention precedes the brush.’[21] This intention is linked to the philosophies of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism. Confucianism states that ‘The benevolent enjoy the mountains, the wise enjoy the waters,’ thus guiding early landscape painting and distinguishing it from Western landscape art at its inception. As the traditional spirits of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism have become distant from contemporary Chinese society, the spiritual support for landscape painting has also lost its societal foundation.

Despite enjoying the dividends of the times, Yin consistently harboured a deep vigilance, often tinged with the kind of worries associated with Han Xizai. Despite living in an era of peace, during which the Central Plains were gradually revitalised, the landscapes of other civilisations were still not free from the shadows of war. Even in the case of the poetic profundity found in the works depicting the Battle of Lepanto, the most expressive paintings find a critique-laden artistic order between meaning and form. Protected by the peace of his era, Yin, akin to Han Xizai – who found himself in the Southern Tang far from the northern conflicts, though distant from war in the tranquility of the south – carried within him an unrest about the turmoil in the north and a melancholy over the ephemeral nature of human existence against the backdrop of the universe.

In the journey towards the globalisation of world art, what possibilities remain for traditional painting? How many more dimensions can painting reveal after the fusion of Eastern and Western techniques? Joseph Conrad, through Heart of Darkness, metaphorically traverses empires’ ebbs and flows with rivers, from the Nile to the Thames, critiquing the issues of hegemonic cultures. In a similar vein, Yin Zhaoyang’s critical examination of landscape and scene painting redirects pure form towards significant form, broadening the artistic inquiry initiated by Cézanne with Mont Sainte-Victoire – the painterly unity of content and form.

As the old literati collectively exited the stage, a profound gap inevitably emerged between the context of ancient landscape painting and contemporary Chinese society, one where the once-vast ocean could no longer be confined to a single cup of water. Western modern civilisation, tainted by the original sin of imperialism, could not truly win people over by virtue. In the post-consumerist era, Chinese landscapes and Western scenic paintings are destined to be the two traditions that postmodernity seeks to transform. What Yin pursues is the dialectics and organic quality that contemporary art can offer, not a contrived landscape or scenery relying on so-called tradition to create a culture of speculative authority. Even more commendable is his recognition of the non-absoluteness of postmodern art. His paintings, though vigorous, do not lack rational contemplation:

Mere emotional venting is a particularly low-grade endeavour. I believe there are two main threads for a person: one is self-reflection. The other is the consideration of the external environment and space. I think these two considerations form a complete world for a person.[22]

Regarding the contemporaneity of art, Yin believes it is not merely a matter of language, methodology, and output. He urges a return to a basic principle: the richness of the art world. This world comprises at least two dimensions: the individual’s spiritual journey and the era’s complexity. For Yin, the spectacle of visual representation spans both dimensions. Contemporaneity, distinct from the concept of modernity with its emphasis on current progress, is seen through Yin’s intuitive sense of living in a time of richness and dramatic change.[23] His art reflects his experiences; it challenges, breaks through, settles, restructures, regenerates, and revitalises. As the philosopher Arthur Danto discussed regarding the end of art, if the inner symbols of painting can perpetually renew themselves, then painting will pulsate with life and flourish.[24]

Lastly, is Wang Wei’s principle ‘the intention precedes the brush’ accurate? Yes, but also no. The profound visual essence of mountains and rivers is an unending journey, akin to finding one’s way by feeling the stones in a river. Hence, Yin has ceaselessly refined and expanded upon the Eastern and Western traditions of landscape and scenic painting, forging a distinctive postmodern painting domain. Through his bold initial strokes, the middle tones of ‘Embracing the Stone, Guarding the Essence’, and the concluding revitalisation, Yin’s Mount Song series ultimately unfolds into a panorama brimming with endless possibilities.