Shen Qin should have steered clear of mountains and rivers, yet he could not avoid the Qinhuai River. Why avoid mountains and rivers? Because in China, mountains and rivers are never just geographical features; they represent a way of viewing nature. In the cultural context of China, words related to “viewing” always refer to people, and mountains and rivers are no exception. “Drifters of the Qinhuai” is a piece of leisurely writing seen in Shen Qin’s studio, every sentence rings true. The artist is from Nanjing, he has left Nanjing, and he is enjoying a state of wandering. Therefore, we cannot avoid the Qinhuai River either. Looking at the phrase “A Bowl of Qinhuai River ” from a textual perspective, it is straightforward and humble, like the familiar Shen Qin standing right before us, speaking in the Nanjing dialect. To Shen Qin, the Qinhuai River is his soil. Regardless of how the painter self-deprecatingly calls himself a “drifter,” the Qinhuai River will always be there, neither too fast nor too far to drift away from. The Qinhuai River shaped Shen Qin, and leaving the Qinhuai River also shaped him. If we place the “Qinhuai River” within the context of Chinese culture, we can refer to it as “Jiangnan.” Since the Six Dynasties period, in various themes such as literature, literati, art, and society, the term “Jiangnan” has transcended geography, becoming associated with an aesthetic and social state related to ideals. When discussing art, “Qinhuai” and “Jiangnan” share the same vein, equally damp and moist, with the familiar musty smell lingering in the air. However, “Qinhuai” has a few more lights and a bit more hustle and bustle than “Jiangnan,” and Shen Qin, who grew up by this river, is no exception.

If “a bowl of Qinhuai River” is scooped out, does it mean there’s a lack of water? If the “Qinhuai River” and “Jiangnan” share the same vein, then at least three possibilities must be confronted when discussing Shen Qin’s works: First, the water has been drunk; second, the water has been poured out; third, the water scooped out has been poured back into the river. These three possibilities should coexist simultaneously, and the artist’s works should be understood in a detached manner. “The water has been drunk” is the explicit characteristic of Shen Qin’s works, a Shen-style inheritance of the Jiangnan context. Ink and brush, rusty yet compellingly ancient, with the beauty of the northern mountain surpassing that of the southern. Between the rusty beauty, mountains and waters overlap, with the traces of their intersection resembling rust; amidst the rusty beauty, a southern painter portrays northern mountains yet outshines the southern. “The water has been poured out” represents Shen Qin’s escape technique in his works. Shen Qin uses “technique” to control “art”, as a means of escape. When facing the “Qinhuai River”, what we are actually confronting is a relatively stable and classic aesthetic criterion of Jiangnan. For the artist, this criterion is both a cure and a disease. We may find it difficult to scoop up a bowl of water to pour back in, but there is a method to scoop the water out of the river. If there is no way to add, then one must subtract. Shen Qin’s “technique” is to use extreme forms to reduce the constraints of “method”. The methods of brushwork, line, density, and space—Shen Qin reduces and controls them to a critical point of “change”, which is the unique beauty of his landscapes. “The water scooped out has been poured back into the river” is related to Shen Qin’s departure. Leaving Nanjing thirty years ago, heading north to Shijiazhuang, was a choice of life and also a choice made by life. Returning to the bank of the Qinhuai River, the water in the bowl is returned. At this moment, the water is not like it was in the ’85, reflecting sunlight, lying with dust in the bowl. Likewise, the “Qinhuai River” is not the same as it was back then, though it still echoes with the sound of oars and lanterns. The departure and return of an individual reflect in both life and art. Like the sudden appearance of black lines between the mountains and rivers in Shen Qin’s paintings, like the erroneous strokes and chaotic characters on the canvas, existing simultaneously for both supplementation and destruction, these are the ripples when pouring back the water.

Just as eight years ago, when curating the “30s Shen Qin” exhibition, facing so many artworks again after eight years, I still haven’t found the right words to describe them properly. The metaphor of a bowl of water, much like Shen Qin’s meticulously painted works, makes it difficult for me to add anything superfluous. Observing a certain state of being is also a form of imagination. Between Shen Qin scooping water and returning, there is something else to ponder: How long and how deep is the Qinhuai River, and how large is Shen Qin’s bowl, after all?

——Lin Shuchuan