The Essence of Chinese Painting (VIII)
Mu Qi’s Six Persimmons (六柿圖) is a thirteenth-century ink painting traditionally attributed to the Chan monk Muqi Fachang. In this interpretation, I examine its composition, brushwork and possible meanings from the perspective of a painter and student of Chinese art. The reading offered here is my own; it is not a claim to have recovered the painter’s intention.
My approach combines the perspective of a painter with my long-standing study of Chinese painting, calligraphy and art theory.
Six Persimmons by Mu Qi (Mu Qi Fa Chang 牧谿 法常):
Six Persimmons, attributed to Muqi Fachang [1], shows six fruits against an undefined ground. Their bodies range from pale outlines to dense dark ink. One fruit sits below the others, and the intervals keep the small group from becoming a regular row.
Despite its significance, it is surprising that so little is known about the content and meaning of the work. Usually, only the surface is scratched, and it is difficult to understand why six persimmons were chosen instead of seven or eight. Often, we only hear opinions such as “that the picture is above everything that can be expressed with words,” which does not help us any further.
Mu Qi – The painter:
Mu Chi or Muqi or Muxi (牧谿), also known as Fachang (法常), was a Chinese Chan Buddhist monk [2] and painter who lived in the 13th century, around the end of the Southern Song dynasty. He is one of the greatest Chan painters in history.
Muqi’s work became especially influential in Japan, where important examples were preserved in Zen temples. Its reception in China and Japan was not identical. This does not mean that all surviving Chan paintings are in Japan, or that they all share the same cultural-property designation.
For this reading, I pay close attention to each difference in placement and brushwork. These details may sustain an interpretation even where the artist’s intentions cannot be established.
Six Persimmons – The content:
The subject is persimmons, or kaki—not figs. Their ordinary appearance matters to my reading. Rather than assuming a fixed symbolic message, I want to look at how these particular fruits are painted. In Buddhist terms, I associate this refusal to settle immediately on a meaning with non-attachment; this is my response to the work, not a documented reason for Muqi’s choice.
If we take a closer look at the six persimmons, we can observe that the leftmost and rightmost ones remind me of an ensō, the circle familiar in Japanese Zen painting [3].
From this, I read the painting as a passage through life. This is a personal analogy, rather than an identification with the Buddhist Wheel of Life. We enter the world with nothing as if coming from the light. In our early years, we are innocent and inexperienced (persimmon #2 from left), but full of vitality. During adolescence, we start at the very bottom (#3), looking up to our superiors. The view of #3 from above reinforces that association for me. We reach the zenith of our life and work (#4) and become superiors ourselves. From then on, it’s a downhill journey until we leave this life with nothing and merge with the great Dao.
The painting style:
From a painter’s perspective, the objects in the painting appear quite differently. While some of the persimmons on the left reflect their quality quite well, this is not the case in the right section. In fact, viewed in isolation, #5 doesn’t look much like a persimmon. In my interpretation, persimmon #5 stands for age and decay. “The paint is off,” so to speak.
Another observation that supports this interpretation is that the stalks of fruits 1-3 all point to the zenith of being. At #5, you can see decay, and persimmon #6 points out of the picture, out of this existence.
A comparison with a photo of six persimmons is fascinating. It becomes particularly clear what xie yi [4] can do. The comparison makes me notice how Muqi’s changing ink tones and edges give the fruits character. Painting and photography make different choices; my interest here is in what the brush brings to this arrangement.
Why Six persimmons?
Why six? My eye reads the arrangement as one plus five: a larger, darker fruit holds a prominent position among the others. I find it useful to consider the group through the relationship of host and guest, rather than treat the number six as a code that must have one solution.
For a better understanding of this thought, let’s look at this album sheet by Zhu Da [5] below. Essentially, it’s about a group of trees. And, of course, the same applies here – Zhu Da did not arrange the trees arbitrarily. In the center stands the host tree, and around it are the guest trees. This principle of zhu-ke [6] is essential in China, not just in Chinese painting but also in society. If we look at the arrangement of the persimmons, we might see it differently now.
How do the six objects communicate with each other in Mu Qi’s painting? In my reading, the larger, darker fruit acts as host. I imagine it inclining towards the others, which seem to look up to it.
If I allow the persimmons to stand for people, I can see a master with five novices. The darker, more prominent fruit becomes the host, and the others gather around it. Alongside my comparison with the ensō, this offers another way into the image—not a final key that excludes other readings.
Footnotes
[1] Asian Art Museum: The Heart of Zen. The museum identifies Persimmons as thirteenth century, attributed to Muqi, ink on paper, from Ryokoin in Kyoto. ↩
[2] Kyoto National Museum: Song and Yuan Buddhist Painting, on Muqi, Chan painting and its reception in Japan. ↩
[3] Ensō (円相) is the Japanese term for a brushed circle in Zen art. See Asian Art Museum: Enso. The comparison with Muqi’s fruits is mine, not evidence of a direct historical link. ↩
[4] Xiěyì (写意), often translated as “writing ideas” or freehand painting, places emphasis on expressive brushwork. See Xieyi Painting. ↩
[5] Bada Shanren (八大山人), also known as Zhu Da (朱耷), 1626–1705. See The Metropolitan Museum of Art: Landscape album for the artist’s name and dates; this is not a provenance identification of the illustrated leaf. ↩
[6] Zhǔ-kè (主客): host and guest. Here I use the terms to discuss a leading form and the surrounding forms in a composition. ↩
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