Meditating with Zhao Mengfu (1254-1322)

The wind blows hard in the steppes. The rider, a Tungusian gentleman, outlined in a few clear and lively lines, had to dismount. Scanning the horizon, he shields his gaze with the long sleeve of his tunic. His impressive mount, too, must protect itself, and turns its back on the breath that hurtles towards it. Its tail and its mane alone bear witness to the force of the wind which makes the horse shiver, whose head lowered close to the ground seeks a little respite. This breath, however, is life itself which crosses the world and which comes to animate the Buddhist prayer flags, which the Mongols hang at the back of their yurt. This breath is also the call heard by these nomadic people who, moving their herds and their families, go where the winds take them. The painter Zhao Mengfu, who recreates the scene for us, is not a Mongol.

Instead, he frequents the imposing wood and stone buildings of the Song, the Chinese imperial family. But after the fall of the latter under the blows of the Mongol push, this literate official of the court will agree to work for the new masters of the place, the Mongol dynasty of Yuan. His art will create a bridge between these two worlds. For this, he draws inspiration from the work of a distant predecessor, the painter Han Gan who, in the 8th century, became known for his fascination with horses. Zhao Mengfu gives all his letters of nobility to these Mongolian mounts, a little rustic but so resistant to bad weather, so tough in combat, and so persevering on long marches.