Lecture from January 9, 2026 – Daoist Talks XI
“The Dot and Emptiness” was the theme of my lecture at the beginning of the year, held on the occasion of Prof. Wolfgang Kubin’s 80th birthday. I mentioned earlier that I wanted to summarize this talk after my trip to China.
I plan to publish two more articles about the incredibly beautiful Yunnan trip, but a short break might be nice right now. Those will follow later.
As for the lecture, I was well prepared and it was received very well, though I was a bit too nervous at first. I wasn’t entirely sure if the audience would connect with the topic right away. Fortunately, they did. Here is a condensed summary. I recommend it to anyone interested in the true nature of Chinese painting. If you understand the essence of this article, you have understood a massive part of Chinese art.
The Creative Dot and the Primal Force of Daoism
Wolfgang Kubin and I once realized that we share a strong affinity for Daoism and Zen. When he suggested we present together on his birthday, the topic of “the dot and emptiness” was quickly decided. I will approach this from a Daoist and Zen Buddhist perspective, specifically through the lens of classical Chinese painting texts. We are only interested in the philosophical aspect of Daoism here, not the popular religious views, the hocus-pocus, or the esoteric angles.
If all goes well, you will look at a dot in Chinese painting or calligraphy completely differently after this. Even more, if you understand these two concepts, you grasp the majority of Chinese Xieyi (写意 – xiěyì) painting and calligraphy.
To many, a dot is a small, manageable thing. Emptiness, on the other hand, is infinite. What connects these two poles? Old Chinese texts often describe the painter as a creator who builds the entire universe with their brushwork. Let’s do a brief mental exercise to understand this.
First, what is a bad dot? It is nothing and does nothing; in Chinese terms, it can just be blown off the paper. A good dot, conversely, is something. It cannot be blown away. As the teachings say, a good dot sits “three inches into the table.”
Creating a Dot
How do we create a good dot? Imagine holding a brush with both hands. One hand pushes left, the other right; one pulls back, the other pushes forward, up, and down – all with equal force. This creates a strong mental force field. The tip of the brush strikes down into the paper with this concentrated power like a sharp rock. We don’t actually hit the table, of course—our brush tip just meets the paper.
By doing this, we create the foundation for a good dot. We build a mental framework that allows us to give the dot philosophical weight. This exercise is deeply Daoist: a perfect interplay of opposing forces, Yin and Yang (阴阳 – yīnyáng).
The Dot as Cosmos and the Gate to Emptiness
The dot is not just a manifestation of the Dao (道 – dào); it carries the cosmos within it. How can the smallest element in a picture hold the same spiritual dimension as the entire universe?
We take our brush again. Our task is to breathe meaning into the shape of the dot. When true mastery is reached, the brush glides naturally in a state of Wu Wei (无为 – wúwéi), effortless action in harmony with the natural flow of being. You no longer think about the technique.
Our brush tip touches the paper, pulls up slightly to anchor itself, increases pressure, and moves in a barely perceptible circle to create a full outer line. Then, we release the pressure and return near the starting point.
The dot is fundamentally a circle. It is a circular line, and at its core is emptiness. It is a dot, a line, a circle, and emptiness all at once. A line is essentially a stretched-out dot. This brings us to the Wan Shi (万事 – wànshì), the ten thousand things that arise from the dot and emptiness.
From Dot to Enso
Let’s take this further. We enlarge the circle and create an Enso (圆相 – yuánxiàng). Painting an Enso is a meditative Zen practice. A western observer might just see a simple circle, but Japanese art scholars consider the Enso the highest spiritual form of artistic creation.
The artist uses a single stroke. They present themselves completely bare, without colors or ornaments. With this one stroke, they show the world exactly how far they have come in their philosophical understanding. An Enso might strongly emphasize the contrast of Yin and Yang, look elegant, or be drawn with a blunt brush or even straw. It always deals with the highest philosophical questions, offering the viewer a space for reflection. The dot is the essence of the beginning; the Enso carries this thought into infinity.
Emptiness as Fullness – The Active Power of Liu Bai (留白)
With the Enso, we open the gate to emptiness. In Daoism, emptiness is the silent background where the interplay of Yin and Yang takes place. It keeps the balance and prevents either force from stagnating.
In the West, we often view emptiness as an absence. In Buddhism and Zen, emptiness (Sunyata / 空 – kōng) is the exact opposite: it is fullness. It is the fullness of possibilities where all manifestations are latent, much like a blank canvas.
In painting, we must understand emptiness as an active element that gives the picture depth, rhythm, and dynamics. It ensures that the Qi (气 – qì), the vital energy, can flow through and beyond the surface. Furthermore, it directs the eye, builds tension, and resolves it. It represents the unspoken, the implied, what resonates between the lines.
This conscious shaping of emptiness is called Liu Bai (留白 – liúbái), or “leaving white.” It is not just unpainted paper; it is an active, integral part of the composition. The painter’s mastery lies in shaping the invisible so it has just as strong a presence as the visible—another perfect expression of Yin and Yang. When we begin to look primarily at the emptiness in Chinese painting, our entire understanding of the image shifts.
A fundamental rule in Chinese painting is: “Respect the black, but revere the white.” Lao Zi wrote something very similar: 知其白，守其黑 (zhī qí bái, shǒu qí hēi). Daoism teaches that the Dao is nameless and empty, yet the source of all things. As Lao Zi put it, a vessel is only useful because of its inner emptiness that allows it to hold something.
The Unity of Dot and Emptiness
The Chinese artist tries to capture the inner essence and spiritual harmony of a subject, not its outer reality. To let Qi flow through the image, mastering emptiness is essential.
During the lecture, I used Liang Kai‘s painting “Li Bai Strolling” as an example. Liang Kai represents Zen, while the poet Li Bai represents Daoism. Westerners usually look at the center of a picture first. In this painting, the center is empty. Excluding the red seal, over 80 to 90 percent of the surface is unpainted. Li Bai’s figure is drawn with minimalist, expressive strokes that generate power, while the image remains calm and poetic. This is Yin and Yang at work. The emptiness acts as a resting point for the eye, a pause where the image’s energy can gather and release. The greatest power lies in the subtle and implied.
Let’s finish with one last thought experiment. Look at the entire painting as a dot and an Enso. The black spot—Li Bai’s hair—is the anchor point where our large, imaginary brush hits the paper. With a large circular motion, the entire figure is outlined, and the center we focus on is emptiness.
The dot is the visible focus, but emptiness is the context, the resonance, and the echo that gives the dot its infinite dimension. Together they form a unity, inviting us to recognize the emptiness in the smallest detail and the fullness in nothingness.
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