Chinese Art
Transcript: The beauty of China's art and culture Have you ever heard somebody call nice dishes, "Fine China?" Number 3 Paintings in China Duo Fu An art form perfected by the Chinese Let's take a closer look Number 2 Because they were able to print more and more, poetry became widespread. Paintings honored landscapes in China. They often put poems on their paintings. They wrote the poems in brush and ink using calligraphy. Calligraphy is a Chinese style of writing that is often viewed as art in itself. Poets were even hired to work in the capital city. From these two poems we have read, what can you tell me that they cherished in China's culture? The fact that poets were asked to move and work in the capital city, what does this tell you about how Chinese government felt about poetry? After viewing Porcelain, answer these two questions: 1. Why do you think Porcelain is considered "art"? 2. Why do you think Porcelain was part of the "Silk Road" trade that China exported (sent out)? Number 1 Poetry was abundant (there was a lot) in China. You are about to view some paintings This is what to look for: Don't believe me? Just ask this Muslim traveler who was quoted in 851 A.D., "There is in China a very fine clay from which are made vases... water in these vases is visible through them and yet they are made of clay." A Poem by Duo Fu, called "Spring Landscape" Poem from "Still Night Thoughts" "Before my bed There is bright moonlight So that it seems like frost on the ground; Lifting my head I watch the bright moon, Lowering my head I dream that I'm home." Calligraphy Chinese Art and Poetry Poetry, Paintings, and Porcelain Li Bo was a famous Poet. He wrote some poems celebrating nature. Number 4 Painters often painted landscapes The "Fine China" is Porcelain Another Poet, Another style Porcelain: A Fine Trade Item Though our country has been crushed rivers and hills stay the same; the city is filled with tall trees and the high grasses of spring; even the flowers seem to shed tears for the sadness of our time, and birds grieve at the sight of people parting from their beloved; now for these three months have the beacon fires flared unceasingly while a letter from home is as precious as gold and when I strive to bind up my grey hairs, they are so few the pin will not hold them.