#muqi

[jamiemccrimmon]

Muqi, Detail of dusk over fisher's village, from the handscroll "Eight Views of Xiao and Xiang", circa 1250, collected in Nezu Art Museum

[careful-disorder]

Muqi, Six persimmons

"The painter... put upon the paper the fewest possible lines and tones; just enough to cause form, texture and effect to be felt. Every brush-touch must be full-charged with meaning, and useless detail eliminated. Put together all the good points in such a method, and you have the qualities of the highest art" Arthur Wesley Dow about ink wash painting

[detournementsmineurs]

"Dessin d'après... Six Kakis - Mou-k-i" crayon de couleur stabilotone de Pierre Buraglio (circa 1490-1510) à l'exposition “Les Choses” du Louvre, Paris, janvier 2023.

[ooscar88]

(Six Persimmons is) passion... congealed into a stupendous calm —  Arthur Waley.

Muqi, Six Persimmons.

[incorrectggquote]

[loud crash from upstairs]

Miyeon: What was that?

Yuqi: My jacket fell.

Miyeon: That sounded alot louder than a jacket falling.

Yuqi: Well, I was in the jacket when it fell...

[kithas]

A Heartbeat

Made for the 3rd day of the #Demonchildrenweek2019 challenge, in written format! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it ^^ Again, you can also find it here (AO3)

A heartbeat.

The gallery carved into the rock was large, but had its walls smashed, stained with the blood of fighters and comrades who had turned into corpses. And I was all alone, a lone warrior in the middle of an empty battlefield, my vine-like claws stained from the battle. The war was taking too many warriors from us, and the only thing I could do was to claw the enemies out of my way before they did the same thing with my friends. I was unable to help them. I was unable to save them, and now, the only thing I had left were the remains of my brothers in arms, of the enemies with their metallic armors.

A heartbeat.

I was good at what I did, I mowed down enemy warriors like wheat in a good day, but it was not enough, it was never enough. I had too many arms, too many claws, but also, too many friends turned into corpses to hold. To cry. To avenge. Alone in the battlefield, after I had gotten all my enemies to stop moving, the only thing left to do was to hold my comrades in my arms, to look at their broken warmasks, shattered as the projectiles thrown by the enemies rained on our troops. I looked at the ground and I saw the pieces of the warmask, having fallen from my own. I was good ad turning enemy soldiers into corpses, but they were also good at shooting us down.

A heartbeat.

Except it wasn’t a heartbeat, but the enemy troops hammering the ground with their steps, too many to be counted. A wall of warriors advancing from the enemy base, prepared to take me down, to avenge all their friends killed in battle. But I wouldn’t give them a fair battle, I wouldn’t surrender and let them do as they pleased. I would show them how adept my kind can be at killing. Why my nickname is “Red Storm”. I would carve a fear so ingrained in their instincts they would never try to get near the City-tree of Brocken in a million generations. I would make them pay. Even in my last breath, I would end this war, even if there were no comrades left to go with me. I stood up, spreading out all my six spiked arms, and I prepared to take them out. In this life, or in the next one.

A heartbeat. And a cry. “Congratulations!” The doctor said. “It’s a girl!”

[elective-affinities]

Six Persimmons, MuQi, 13th Century, ink on paper 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Six_Persimmons

[skrisk]

Mu Qi Dusk at fishers village, 13th century