the Past to Serve the Present
Elements in the Art of Zhu Wei
Zhu Wei is famously a painter of political and social subjects who
regularly draws on motifs from traditional Chinese painting. He
juxtaposes ancient and unmistakably modern figures to offer reflections
on Chinese life and society from the perspective of the era of reform
and opening that began in the early 1980s. He also works with
traditional media, but evolved his own ways of using them. There are
clear connections to the period of the Cultural Revolution and
quotations from the art of the imperial past marshaled to tell stories
of the more recent past. The mood is gently ironic. Cadres in their Mao
jackets and motifs from Song or Yuan dynasty paintings seem equally
distant in both being part of history. Zhu Wei’s art reflects a
culture and society that have changed dramatically, so that the
questions of what is enduring, and how we are to understand the recent
past come to the fore.
Zhu Wei’s most recent work is a series of paintings under the title
“Vernal Equinox,” which carries his art in a new direction. In
“Vernal Equinox No. 3” (Fig.
weightless figures levitate against an undefined ground amid flowers and
leaves. Their faces are impassive, but variously register glum
indifference, distress, surprise, or satisfaction. Hands are tucked into
pockets or folded into sleeves recalling the idea of passively
“looking on with folded arms.” Scale varies, but not
consistently enough to indicate recession or space. Hair whooshes
up as though the figures are dropping, or blowing in the breeze like
seeds of germinating trees. Looking rather like untethered balloons, the
figures are unconnected, neither looking at each other or at us.
the lower left, a branch of peach blossoms in luxuriant bloom is larger
than any of the figures and anchors the painting. This is a quotation
from an anonymous small round fan of the Southern Song (960-1278), here
painted much larger and on paper instead of silk (Fig.
On the left and right borders are impressions of large seals, deployed
in the manner of collectors’ inventory seals, half on the painting and
half on a now-missing mounting. One legend is “www,” an incomplete
website address. In most, we see the characters Zhu Wei, cut in half
vertically. These are interspersed with smaller seals, with such legends
as “Eight or Nine Out of Ten” (Shi you ba jiu), “Zhu Wei
Authentication Seal” (Zhu Wei yin jian), or “www zhuweiartden
com.” There is a small signature on the right edge in a variant
of seal script.
The series title reminds that it is spring and these floating figures
may be falling in love. It is the traditional motif of the thickly
blossoming peace blossoms that confirms the romantic connection. The
poet Tao Qian (365-427) gave peach blossoms a measure of fame when he
wrote the “Peach Blossom Spring Preface” about a remote valley far
from the strife of a war-torn world. In later centuries peach blossoms
were increasingly associated with sensual pleasure such as in the
popular seventeenth century play Peach Blossom Fan. In
Vernal Equinox No. 1, while peach blossoms communicate romance, the
individual experience is inequitable. Some figures float in contentment;
earth-bound figures are left merely to think about love, to dwell on
memories or longings. The “Vernal Equinox” series will many more
images. When it is complete, we will have a better idea of how these
individual stories are resolved.
Like many of Zhu Wei’s works in recent years, the “Vernal Equinox”
paintings are patinated and the colors made more nuanced by rinsing and
further working the painting surface. How does Zhu Wei achieve this
distinctive effect? Early in his painting career, Zhu Wei elected to
work in the traditional media of soft-haired brush, ink and paper. He,
however, manipulates them in unconventional ways. The mulberry-bark
paper, which is made in Anhui province to his specifications, has to be
strong and resilient to hold up under the repeated soakings. He antiques
the paper by brushing on a mustard-colored wash. The paper being treated
lies on a wooden grid or nubby carpet which creates interesting patterns
as pigments puddle in the hollows of indentations. Zhu Wei keeps watch
as the paper dries, sometimes soaking up or washing off unwanted
carefully considers the elements that will best express his thoughts,
distilling designs from multiple sketches. For the key persona model
sketches (fenben 粉本)
are made. The model sketch allows him to shift the figures around, to
multiply them (the characters often appear in pairs), and to recombine
them in different contexts. With the main elements in place, lines are
inked with a traditional brush. In the modern era, because Chinese
characters are written with pens, pencils and computers, the soft brush
is no longer a necessity of daily life, but a aesthetic exercise. Zhu
Wei inks such lines as are needed with a deft and light touch. The forms
are primarily formed with color washes in both vivid and muted tones.
Before finalizing the eyes and hair, he rinses the paper under the tap,
crunching the painting here and there. It is a process that takes
finesse, experience and a little courage because, more than once, the
paper has given way, spoiling the painting. Despite the risk, it seems
worth doing as the results are intriguing: an antiqued surface, mottled
and cracked, with a distinctive texture and depth. The relatively slow
pace at which he produces art, recalls the Tang dynasty poet Du Fu’s
description of a contemporary who simply could not be rushed: “Ten
days to paint a pine tree, five days to paint a rock.”
This observation could equally apply to Zhu Wei’s preparation of
materials and compositions.
Enhancing the connection with dynastic Chinese painting are the seals
mentioned above and Zhu Wei’s calligraphy. He inscribes and signs his
paintings in a distinctive hand that is inspired by the clerical script
(li shu) of the third to first centuries BCE. When the inscriptions are
written in white on vertical black panels, they form strong graphic
elements in the composition and resemble the calligraphy on
archaeologically-excavated wooden or bamboo slips. At other times the
vertical rows seem to float like propaganda slogans that, during Zhu
Wei’s youth, hung from balloons at major gatherings.
Zhu Wei’s art has been shaped by the unique circumstances of his age
and life experience. Growing up in an army household, Zhu Wei was an
impetuous youth with little inclination to do his parents’ bidding. In
1982 at age sixteen he enlisted in the People’s Liberation Army. At
the time, the status of the army was in momentary decline. During the
Great Proletariat Cultural Revolution, the PLA had enjoyed high position
due to its having preserved China from devolving into a full-fledged
civil war in 1967-1968. As the only government organization reliably
loyal to the Central Government, the PLA had restored order after the
chaos unleashed by the Red Guards. From the summer of 1968, the PLA was
directing the Cultural Revolution with Mao’s wife Jiang Qing serving
as the PLA’s cultural impresario. The arrest in 1976 of Jiang Qing and
the Gang of Four (characters who would later appear in his paintings)
and their conviction in 1981 tarnished the military’s heroic
reputation. The momentous redirection of government policy to economic
reform and engagement with the outside world further diminished the role
of the army. Because his father was a soldier, Zhu Wei was aware of this
shift in perception, but, given his interest in art, enlisting in the
army trumped the alternative of following his mother into medicine.
After three years as a regular enlistee, Zhu was admitted to the PLA Art
Academy in the Haidian district of Beijing, and his enthusiasm for all
things visual was put to the test. The training was both rigorous and
tedious. One exercise was to practice drawing lines and circles with a
rolled up paper tube. The tip of the tube had to be inked just so. The
arm had to be suspended above the paper; leaning an elbow on the table
resulted in an uneven line. Too much pressure and the hollow tube would
crunch and bend. Hours of drawing lines and circles with a squishy paper
tube drove some young minds to distraction. If one lasted, then the
discipline took hold and eventually provided precision, deftness of
touch, patience, and a sense of pride.
study of approved literature and political thought provided another
strand for Zhu Wei’s art: the poetry of Mao Zedong (1893-1976), and
the recitation of official slogans such as Art must serve the people,
The past should serve the present, Hold high the great red banner,
Implement the Four Modernizations. At the same time, the restrictive
atmosphere of the military encouraged day-dreaming and the creation of
an imaginative world. Because of his decade-long association with the
PLA, when he began painting, soldiers and officials frequently appear in
his works as well as the mind-numbing tedium of meetings. Graduating
from the Art Academy in 1989, Zhu drew an assignment that was not to his
liking, so he turned to what would become a second major influence in
his art, film.
In 1990 he enrolled in the Beijing Film Academy for three years and
began to assemble in memory hundreds of classic films. At the end of
1992, in anticipation of completing the course and having to make a
living, Zhu Wei began to think about painting as a career. For what he
had to say, painting was the language with which he was most competent.
The art of film making, however, gave him a unique perspective. The
framing of many paintings resonates with a film shot or a full-screen
close up; some compositions bear a resemblance to story boards, or to
movie sets. More importantly, film informed the way that Zhu thought
about painting as narration. He conceived of his paintings in terms of
allegory and story telling. In any given series, the paintings
communicate with each other like scenes in a film or like a succession
of frames. However striking they are individually, the paintings are
more revealing in aggregate. They are less like a traditional narrative
handscroll, or a series of album leaves, and closer in mood to a
sequence of film clips.
Popular culture contributed further contemporary influences. Elements
from novels, plays and rock music appear in his paintings. Zhu Wei was
captivated by the immediacy of rock music. Cui Jian, one of the key
figures of China’s new music scene, wrote lyrics that became Zhu
Wei’s text, providing inspiration for images and inscriptions. In the
regular patterning of bars and bold ink dots in the series “Descended
from the Red Flag” or “Story of sister Zhao,” one can sense the
insistent beat of rock music.
ALLUSIONS and ILLUSIONS
When Zhu Wei considers pictures of China’s rich visual past, he
gravitates to the art of the imperial painting academies, especially the
idealized realism of Song dynasty painting. His incorporation of
traditional motifs from court works, however, does not mean that Zhu Wei
could have won a position in an imperial painting academy. In dynastic
China, serving as a court artist required not only technical facility,
but also a certain disposition, a willingness to paint whatever the
court required. Under emperor Huizong (r. 1100-1125) rigorous
examinations were instituted to select painters. In skill and
imagination, Zhu Wei would have passed with ease. More difficult would
have been the requirement to conform to a style specified by the court.
As one mid-twelfth century author wrote:
What was esteemed at that time was formal likeness alone. If anyone had
personal attainments and could not avoid being expressive or free, then
it would be said that he was not in accordance with the rules or that he
did not continue the heritage of a master.
One suspects that Zhu Wei would not have made the cut, for although he
paints with the precision and meticulous techniques of an academy
painter, his style is uniquely his own. Zhu Wei is gifted and
disciplined but also opinionated. During the reign of Emperor
Huizong’s father Shenzong (r. 1068-1085) artists were recommended to
the court rather than selected by examination and his father was more
tolerant. After Emperor Shenzong ascended the throne, a famous painter
named Cui Bai (active second half 11th c.) was summoned to court at the
beginning of the Xining reign (1068-1077). Biographies relate that
although Cui Bai was an exceptional painter, he was said to be overly
casual and unable to fulfill his responsibilities. By circumstance and
inclination, Zhu Wei has a bit of the independent personality of a Cui
While Song dynasty court painting has the greatest drawing power for Zhu
Wei, his taste is admirably eclectics. He reveres Fan Kuan’s
monumental landscape of about 1000 CE, Traveling among Streams and
Mountains (hanging scroll, Taipei Palace Museum) with its breathtaking
scale. He esteems the court paintings of the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries, such as Water Studies by the court painter Ma Yuan (active
ca. 1190-1230, handscroll, Beijing Palace Museum) and the Flower Basket
by Li Song (active ca. 1190-1230) with its precise brushwork and
balanced use of strong colors (Fig.
Zhu Wei is a particular fan of the work of the early Qing dynasty
(1644-1911) individualists Zhu Da (Bada Shanren, 1626-1705) and Shitao
(1642-1707), both of whom were descendents of the Ming dynasty imperial
clan. Their idiosyncratic works defined life-long struggles to create
identity and find acceptance under Manchu rule. In the dangerous world
of the early Qing dynasty, when Ming loyalist generals were still
battling Manchu forces, both Bada Shanren and Shitao hid their imperial
lineage and were guarded in making friends. Bada’s paintings of birds
and fish show a keen awareness of the dangers lurking in relationships.
His birds anxiously eye each other, alert to hidden agendas (Fig.
This sense of caution informs the cast of characters that people Zhu
Wei’s paintings and, beyond body language, it is the eyes that
communicate emotions. While some appear self-satisfied or tolerant, many
are watchful, wary, and still others are resigned, bitter, or
vindictive. They all seem to be negotiating their way through social
mine fields, careful not to misstep. The series of paintings of children
performing on a tightrope is evocative of the paranoia that typified the
aftermath of the era of class struggle in 1990s China. The children have
the anxious expressions of kids who are accustomed to being punished but
are not sure why. Earnestly concentrating on finding the right balance,
they strive to please with a good performance.
His well-known series titled “Utopia” features huge heads on sturdy
bodies participating in official meetings. In a sequence of as many as
fifty paintings, party members listen with respect, with boredom,
sometimes dutifully taking notes with stubby fountain pens. Because Zhu
Wei has sat through many of these meetings, his portrayals are
sympathetic for he knows what it is to struggle to keep attention. Small
details are entertaining: a People’s Representative has an ear stud
suggesting punk leanings; a large worm hole in a robust banana plant
hints that it is past its prime. The meetings feature huge red flags and
a cheerful floral display of the sort that graces the dais at every
formal gathering (Fig.
basket of flowers adapted from the Li Song album leaf of figure four
fits well as an emblem of the modern court. The vivid fresh flowers form
a contrast with the grizzled, vacuous, or attentive faces listening to
the drone of speeches that will reveal the new party line.
Juxtaposition of polychrome realism and artful criticism is not new to
the twentieth century. In Chinese painting history, although the
writing brush was the implement of choice for scholars wishing to hint
at discontent, vivid color was also employed to lodge silent complaints,
especially in vegetable and flower paintings.
Here “realism” does not mean fidelity to the phenomenological world
but rather to psychological reality, the truth that is found in Zen
Buddhist and literati monochrome ink painting.
Mixing ancient and modern elements often results in humorous and ironic
pictures. In The Trials of a Long Journey No. 2 of 1994, for example,
there is a visual quotation from the twelfth century handscroll The
Night Revels of Han Xizai (Beijing Palace Museum, attributed to Gu
Hongzhong of the tenth century). The Night Revels was said to have been
commissioned to record the rakish Minister Han Xizai’s evening
soirees. In the Song dynasty handscroll, the women provide the
full-range of entertainment from music and dance to sexual favors. In
the background of Zhu Wei’s painting, one sees a pair of figures from
The Night Revels composition: a man with his arm around the shoulder of
a young girl urges her off to a tryst. The irony (and irreverence) of
Zhu Wei’s work comes from the series title, “The Trials of a Long
Journey,” or in Chinese “a thousand mountains, ten thousand
rivers,” a reference to the Long March.
Another traditional source tapped by Zhu Wei is the lore of the horse.
In dynastic Chinese literature and painting, horses were frequent
metaphors for human talent in all its variety. The noble stallion, the
lazy mount, the abused steed, the starving nag all appear in literary
allegories and paintings. Horses are depicted responding to their riders
in the excitement of the hunt, interacting with their handlers, enjoying
or enduring the existence that it is their lot. The intelligence and
awareness of such horses, is captured in a well-known wall painting in
the tomb of Lou Rui, the prince of Dongan of the Northern Qi (550-575).
Among the equestriennes parading on the walls, a few steeds startle us
as they look askance or directly out at the viewer.
The wall painter seems to tell us that these hard-working horses know
that they are metaphors.
Why are horses wandering through Zhu Wei’s paintings? Often upstaged
by foreground heads that partly obscure them, the horses seems to have
personal meanings. One source that he has used multiple times is a horse
and groom painting that is attributed to the great scholar, painter, and
calligrapher Zhao Mengfu (1254-1322). In Training the Horse (Fig.
the groom stands in the conventional position to the right of the
horses’ head. What is unconventional is the stiff wind that whips the
horse’s tail and mane as well as the groom’s sleeves, robe, and
whiskers making the title of the painting ironic. How can one train a
horse in a gale-force wind that swallows up all sound? Zhu Wei links the
image to the military life that he had known for ten years. As in other
series, he experimented with the horse and groom, rearranging them,
juxtaposing them with other figures. In Racing Horse on a Rainy Night,
No. 3, the groom is replaced by a soldier who sits on the ground with a
cloth-wrapped bundle of simple victuals next to him (Fig.
In the pinched expression on his face we can feel the wind’s cold
bite. In another version, Racing Horse on a Rainy Night, No. 5 (1998),
the “groom” is a female cadre with her head wrapped in scarf, while
the horse’s long tail is blown around her shoulder (Fig.
Because Zhu Wei was born in the year of the horse (in the Chinese
vernacular, he belongs to horse, is a horse), we cannot discount the
possibility that some of these steeds represent the artist himself. This
connection is made more likely in Racing Horse on a Rainy Night, No. 5
where the otherwise rarely-seen sprigs of bamboo (zhu 竹)
makes a homophonic pun on the artist’s surname. Again, ancient and
recent past are deployed to serve the present.
The poet Tao Yuanming, who was cited above as the author of Peach
Blossom Spring preface, had a lack of patience for the pomposity of rank
and class airs. Tao had the talent to serve in a government position and
took a post at his wife’s insistent urging. Less than three months
into his service, Tao was told that, to receive a visiting official of
higher rank, he had to don a particular robe and belt as a sign of
respect. To Tao, the arbitrary distinction was cause for resignation
just eighty days after taking office. The event made him realize that
rural poverty was preferable to the onerous - if well compensated -
protocol of bureaucracy. Zhu Wei can identify with this attitude.
Although not trained as a sculptor, Zhu Wei has been inspired by
difficulties of expression in his two-dimensional art to create witty
and stylish three-dimensional paintings. (If China can have “silent
poetry,” then it should be possible to have “three-dimensional
painting.”) Zhu Wei’s monumental bronze figures of Party cadres lean
forward about to tip over. Their bulky physicality expresses things that
could not be easily conveyed on paper. First created in 1999 at the time
of the fiftieth anniversary of the People’s Republic of China, the
pair of enormous figures in politically-correct Mao jackets stand at
attention with shoulders back, arms at their sides, heads raised. They
are rooted to the ground even as they eagerly press forward 往前进.
The solidity bespeaks unflinching confidence; the uplifted heads suggest
respect for higher authority, while the absence of eyes suggests blind,
The surface is the most fragile aspect of the sculptures, and a telling
feature. The bronze (or in some cases, painted fiberglass) figures have
a dusty encrustation created with sandy mud from the banks of the
Yangtze River. They look like freshly-excavated objects: they resemble
artifacts to be housed in a museum and studied as historical relics as
part of China’s cultural heritage. When a pair was shown in the atrium
of the IBM Building in New York, the installers did not understand that
the patination was part of the sculpture and scrubbed them clean. The
earthen patination situates these sculptures with tomb figurines as
examples of the ideal servant in the afterlife - silent, loyal,
sycophantic. This cynical interpretation does not credit the reality
that the CCP has many hardworking members who actively contribute to
society. cadres are a weighty presence and wield great power. Like these
immobile bronze behemoths, they are impossible to dismiss.
Zhu Wei’s creation of art is an unusual amalgam of past and present.
Visually, his paintings are more easily associated with the professional
class of painters in dynastic China and yet the messages of empathy and
social criticism are very clearly in the tradition of the educated
elite. His awareness of the weight that words and images have carried in
both traditional and modern China make his art both fascinating and
obscure: messages are deeply imbedded in layered allusions and small
details. As he enters his forties, Zhu Wei continues his keen
observations of self and society, interested in a broad range of
cultural issues. His commentaries are tempered with humor, the edginess
is softened with humanity. In the best tradition of Chinese expressive
art, Zhu Wei’s paintings record quickly changing social norms, human
foibles, and political absurdities, in short, the life that he is
witnessing and the history that is unfolding before us.
Zhu Wei, “Vernal Equinox No. 3,” ink and color on paper, 121 x 143
Anonymous, Song dynasty, Peach Blossoms, round fan, ink and color on
silk, 24.8 x 27 cm. Beijing Palace Museum. From Nie Chongzheng ed.,
Gugong bowuyuan cang wenwu zhenpin daxi: Jin Tang liang Song
huihua: huaniao zoujin (Shanghai: Kexue jishu, 2004), pl. 49.
Zhu Da (1626-1705), Lotus and Birds, ca. 1690, detail, handscroll, ink
on satin, 27.3 x 205.1 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York,
Bequest of John M. Crawford, Jr. 1988. 朱耷《莲池禽鸟图》
Li Song (active ca. 1190-1230), Flower Basket, album leaf, ink and
colors on silk, 19.1 x 26.5 cm. Beijing Palace Museum. 李嵩《花篮图》
Zhu Wei, Utopia No. 46, 2005, ink and color on paper, 120 x 120 cm.
Mengfu (1254-1322), Training a Horse, album leaf, ink on paper, 22.7 x
49 cm. Taipei Palace Museum. From National Palace Museum, Hua ma ming
pin tezhan tulu (Taipei: National Palace Museum, 1990), p. 33. 赵孟?《调良图》
Zhu Wei, Racing Horse on a Rainy Night, No. 3, ink and color on paper,
1997, 66 x 66 cm, Private Collection. From Zhu Wei’s Diary (Hong Kong,
Plum Blossoms Ltd, 2000), p. 214.
Zhu Wei, Racing Horse on a Rainy Night, No. 5, ink and color on paper,
1998, 131 x 131 cm, Private Collection. From Zhu Wei’s Diary (Hong
Kong, Plum Blossoms Ltd, 2000), p. 216.
 Tao Yuanming (365-427), “The Peach Blossom Spring,” James
Robert Hightower, translated and annotated, The Poetry of T’ao
Ch’ien (Oxford: Clarendon, 1970), pp. 254-256. Kong Shangren (),
The Peach Blossom Fan, trans. Chen Shih-hsiang and Harold Acton, The
Peach Blossom Fan by K’ung Shang-jen (Berkeley and Los Angeles:
Univ. of California, 1976).
Zhu Jingxuan (active mid 9th c.), Tang chao minghua lu (early
840s), quoting Du Fu’s (712-770) appraisal of the painter
Wang Zai. 朱景玄《唐朝名画录》妙品上八人,
For example see Plum Blossoms Ltd., Zhu Wei Diary (Hong Kong: Plum
Blossoms International, 2000), New Positions in the Brocade Battle,
no. 3, p. 79, Box No. 3, p. 274.
Deng Chun, Hua ji, juan 10邓椿《画继》卷十:
 Alfreda Murck, "Paintings of Stem Lettuce, Cabbage, and Weeds:
Allusions to Tu Fu's Garden", Archives of Asian Art (亚洲艺术档案)
48 (1995), 32-47. 中译:
Plum Blossoms Ltd., Zhu Wei Diary (Hong Kong: Plum Blossoms
International, 2000), p. 47.
Lou Rui tomb wall painting, detail, Northern Qi (), Shanxi Province
Cultural Heritage Research Institute. From Bei Qi Dongan wang Lou
Rui mu 《北齐东安王娄睿墓》
color plate 32.
First published in ZHU WEI'S ALBUM OF INK PAINTINGS 1998-2008, p.26-36, published by Plum Blossoms (International) Ltd., Hong Kong, 2008
Reprinted in Oriental Art . Master, December 2011, p.92-97
Murck earned a PhD at Princeton University in Chinese art and
archaeology with an emphasis on the history of Chinese painting. She
worked in the Asian Art Department at the Metropolitan Museum of Art,
New York, from 1979-1991. Since 1991 she has lived with her husband
Christian Murck in Taipei and Beijing. She has published articles on
Chinese art and a book on how eleventh century scholars used poetry in
painting to express dissent: Poetry and Painting in Song China: The
Subtle Art of Dissent (Harvard University Asia Center, 2000). She
is a lecturer at the Central Academy of Fine Arts, and is a researcher
in the Palace Museum’s Painting and Calligraphy Research Center and a
consultant to the Palace Museum’s English web-page.
1. 朱伟，《开春图三号》，水墨设色纸本，121 x 143厘米]
2. 佚名，宋代，《桃花图》，团扇，水墨设色绢本，24.8 x
3. 朱耷（1626-1705），《莲池禽鸟图》，1690年，详情，卷轴，水墨缎本，27.3 x
205.1厘米。大都会艺术博物馆藏，纽约，小John M. Crawford于1988年遗产捐赠。
4. 李嵩（活跃于公元1190-1230年），《花篮图》，册页，水墨设色绢本，19.1 x 26.5厘米。北京故宫博物院藏。
5. 朱伟，《乌托邦五十号》，2005年，水墨设色纸本，120 x 103厘米
6. 赵孟俯（1254-1322），《调良图》，册页，水墨纸本，22.7 x
7. 朱伟，《雨夜跑马图三号》，水墨设色纸本，1997年，66 x 66厘米，私人收藏。摘自《朱伟日记》（香港：Plum
8. 朱伟，《雨夜跑马图五号》，水墨设色纸本，1998年，131 x 131厘米，私人收藏。摘自《朱伟日记》（香港：Plum
 陶渊明（365-427），《桃花源记》，James Robert Hightower翻译成英文并注释，选自《陶潜诗作》（The
Poetry of T’ao Ch’ien）（牛津：Clarendon出版，1970），pp.
Acton翻译成英文，选自《孔尚任的桃花扇》（The Peach Blossom Fan by K’ung Shang-jen）（伯克利与洛杉矶：加利福尼亚大学出版，1976）。
 参考朱景玄（约公元9世纪中期）《唐朝名画录》（9世纪40年代前期）妙品上八人, 杜甫对王宰的评价：“十日画一松，五日画一石”.
 例如万玉堂有限公司出版的《朱伟日记》（香港：万玉堂国际公司出版，2000），新编花营锦阵三号，p. 79，盒子三号，p. 274。
 邓椿《画继》卷十，(收入《画史丛书》第一册，255－356页), 273页。
 Alfreda Murck, "Paintings of Stem Lettuce, Cabbage, and Weeds:
Allusions to Tu Fu's Garden", Archives of Asian Art (亚洲艺术档案) 48 (1995),
32-47. 中译: 姜斐德《以莴苣、白菜和野草为画——杜甫菜园的隐喻》《清华美术》, 2005-12.
 《万水千山二号》, Plum Blossoms Ltd., Zhu Wei Diary (Hong Kong: Plum
Blossoms International, 2000), 47页.
 Lou Rui tomb wall painting, detail, Northern Qi (550-577), Shanxi
Province Cultural Heritage Research Institute.《北齐东安王娄睿墓》
首次刊发于香港Plum Blossoms国际有限公司2008年出版《朱伟水墨册页 1998－2008》，第26-36页