International Artist Article - China -- 2000
written by Scott Burdick and edited by Jennifer King

The World

Scott Burdick and his wife Susan Lyon had a transforming experience in China. A month on the roads, in a country full of contrasts, impressed upon both artists how important it is to give yourself up to the process of painting rather than to strive for a masterpiece.

Painting in the Forbidden City

"Tea House in the Forbidden City"  oil  8 1/2" by 13"

Scott Burdick, "Great Wall", charcoal sketch

Scott Burdick "Su-Wa-Lee" oil - 14" by 11"

      "That was surreal", my wife Susan said upon leaving the dark interior of the Chinese Traditional Medical Center, a dank, foul-smelling building constructed by the Chinese government as a place to sell traditional herbs to tourists. The oppressive fluorescent lighting, ancient leaking air-conditioner and severe, Communist-style speech from the tough-as-nails nurse who took my pulse and examined my tongue made me feel as if I'd stepped right into a Kafka novel.
       This atmosphere seemed even more shocking after spending the day at the Great Wall and then the Ming Tombs, both utterly spectacular monuments of a civilization so vast in scales of time, size and beauty that we had a hard time absorbing even a tiny slice of it. Unlike many of the crumbling historic sites in the rest of the world, the government is preserving these places with a farsightedness almost inconceivable anywhere else. At the Ming tombs, for example, several of the largest treasure-filled caverns have been left unopened so future generations can use more advanced technologies on the artifacts within. 
      As I now look over these memories, as well as the paintings and photographs I brought back from our trip, one word comes to the fore — contrast. China is in such a period of transition that old and new coexist like nowhere else I've ever seen. Farmers till their fields with methods Marco Polo would have recognized, while in the hazy distance, the steaming towers of nuclear power plants rise up incongruously. Meanwhile, horses, cars and bicycles compete for dominance of the streets, their vastly differing speeds making for an adrenaline-filled ride no matter which you are using. 
      From the visual perspective of an artist, this rapidly changing country of contrasts was absolute heaven. While we went expecting to find great subjects for paintings, we came away with so much more than we ever imagined — experiences and ideas that altered forever our view, not only of China, but of ourselves as artists.

Susan painting in a park in Beijing

Susan Lyon "Off to Market"  charcoal  23" by 12"

Susan Lyon,Knitting a Red Shawl   10 by 8 oil

A safe and welcome environment

      Most people we'd told about our month-long trip thought we were brave or simply crazy. But within the first day, any fears we had dissolved away. People in China were so universally friendly and excited to see a Western traveler that we felt at times like mini-celebrities. Complete strangers were constantly asking to have their pictures taken with us, and even when I went exploring in the poorest, most remote villages, I felt welcomed and safe. After so many decades of imposed isolation, the Chinese people are almost desperate to embrace the rest of the world.
      The drawback of this was that if I set my easel up anywhere on the street or near a market, I was instantly surrounded by throngs of people. Within minutes, even before I'd put down a brush stroke, there would be so many curious people pressing inward that I could barely lift my arms. Invariably, we would have to pack up immediately and look for a more isolated spot. Because of this inevitable outcome, Susan and I contented ourselves with painting mostly landscapes and architectural scenes, while I used my camera to gather references of subjects that would have to wait until we returned to the studio.

Susan Lyon, Newspaper Stand  10 by 8  oil

Scott Burdick, "Taoranting Park"  Beijing, China - oil - 8" by 6"

The Chinese paint to improve themselves

      One of the most surprising things we discovered was the different way the average person viewed Art in China. Nearly everyone I met, regardless of their profession, said that they practiced painting or calligraphy. To most Chinese, the process of painting itself is far more important than in the West. Painting is seen as a way of improving oneself, and the fact that the final work may be less than a masterpiece matters little. To the Chinese, just as the actual word repeated over and over in meditation means little, so too are the brush and ink merely catalysts in attaining a deeper consciousness of the world and the self.
      This attitude was a wonderful surprise to me. I'm so used to hearing people in my own country tell me that they used to paint, but since they didn't have the time to get good enough to sell their work, they saw no point in painting at all. The Chinese philosophy, on the other hand, is more in keeping with my own outlook since often times, in doing a painting of some object or scene, I end up learning far more about myself and am actually surprised at the way the painting comes out. At its best, it's like watching someone else paint through my hand. The Chinese term for this is "wu-hsin", literally translated "no mind", which suggests a state where one allows the mind to react and perceive without trying to consciously control it.

Scott Burdick, "Guilin Bridge"   Oil   6" by 8"

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