The Art of Wu Wei by Prasad Beaven
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| Stage 1 |
the flow of water to guide me. When satisfied I catch the ink by laying a sheet of paper on the surface of water, from which an abstract, marbled pattern is produced.
After this I usually sit before the pattern and allow my imagination to form recognisable shapes. I start to see mountains, clouds, figures and trees. Man-made structures like houses are not easily discovered as they involve geometric, straight lines of which there are none. To me, these patterns express the continual movement of nature and its underlying generative force from which all organic forms appear.
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| Stage 2 |
The next step is to bring forth what I see. Michelangelo once famously said ‘I saw an angel in the marble block and carved till I set him free’, the key is in seeing.
When my mind becomes busy, or when I try too hard to force forms to appear, the work tends to lose its vitality. Moments of impatience often result in heavier, darker marks that overwhelm the marbling’s more delicate qualities. I have found that the process works best when approached in the same spirit in which it unfolds—quietly, with a relaxed attention. Forms are gradually coaxed out through soft, thin washes of ink, a method not unlike carving a figure from marble. The work proceeds by moving in accordance with a deeper, more subtle current, one that requires far less conscious effort.
It is interesting to relate this process to Wu Wei, often translated as “non-doing.” The initial stage of ink marbling feels closely aligned with this idea,
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| Stage 3 |
as forms arise without deliberate control. The subsequent stage, however, requires discernment and intention. I experience this not as imposing form, but as disciplining myself in accordance with the natural movement of the water—a gradual coming into harmony with its flow. One of the recurring difficulties is the impulse to seek answers too early, to search for a final vision before the work has begun. This urge often leads to frustration, as such efforts tend to produce nothing. Only by relinquishing the need for resolution do I begin the process properly, one stroke at a time, allowing forms to emerge through sustained attention.
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| 'Dao' (Calligraphy) |
Finding the right balance between what is defined and what is left open is equally challenging. The painter Zhang Daqian once spoke of images that “barely emerge out of an elusive haze,” pointing to the power of suggestion as a means of sustaining ambiguity and depth. In the Chinese landscape tradition, such openness was not merely aesthetic but contemplative: officials, wearied by political life, would turn to landscape painting as a way of re-entering accord with the Dao. Spatial depth was essential, allowing the mind to travel beyond the immediate scene and into the vastness it implied.
In my own work, I seek a similar balance. Definite forms offer points of orientation—something for the mind to hold—while more abstract passages allow the marbling to remain visible beneath translucent layers of paint. The original patterns are not erased, but lightly veiled, continuing to glimmer through the surface. This approach echoes a familiar progression in Chinese
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| 'Wu Wei' |
painting: first they painted the Buddha in the cave, then the cave, then the landscape, until the face of the Buddha could be recognised in the mountain itself.







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