You paint a line. A brave line. Or a timid line. But one that expresses at the core who you are in that moment. Sometimes the line is happy enough by itself. So stop. Sometimes it begs for company. I tell you now, there are ten thousand lines you could draw next to your original one. All except a handful of those will but weaken or neutralize your first. It is a challenge to effortlessly and without hesitation (for that is the only approach with any odds at all) paint the line that will shine in its own right while brightening the first.
OK, now go have a conversation with your friend.
Same thing, right?
(I just have my conversations on paper occasionally.)
I am far more intrigued by the space within the form itself, and the form of the space around the form ("negative space" or emptiness itself ). Some artists are interested in presenting what the eye sees. I am interested in painting what the spirit sees.
"It is the stage where the ch'i of the painter is effortlessly transmitted through the painting. In one respect, it might be described as the stage at which his whole personality is revealed in a painting, since the co-ordination of brushstrokes and of the composition is a direct expression of his character.
Such an interpretation, however, misses the vital point: that all the steps of the painter's arduous training, all his accumulation of all the means available, all his efforts in the long process of the development of the self, should be directed by the concept of Tao and so be ritual acts sanctifying the painting that he produces.
Then the tactility of the brushwork is evidence
less of the personal touch than of the power of Tao. The anonymity
of the ritual act is, in effect, oneness with Tao. And painting
is not self-expression but an expression of the harmony of
Tao." The Way of Chinese Painting
The Way of Chinese Painting, by Mai-mai Sze.