Idealized Labor:
Material and Social Manifestations of Riziculture and Sericulture in Imperial China
Philip K. Hu
Institute of Fine Arts, New York University
Paper prepared for the conference
“Discourses and Practices of Everyday Life in Imperial China”
Organized by the Institute of History and Philology, Academia Sinica, Taipei
Columbia University, New York
October 25-27, 2002
Draft only; please do not cite without permission of the author
In China, farming practices are deeply rooted in the distant past. In a civilization long
known for its great dependence and achievements on agriculture as well as sericulture, it
is hardly surprising to find systematic depictions of ploughing, harvesting, cultivation of
mulberry trees, and rearing of silkworms for the weaving of silk, but the extent to which
they have been appreciated, framed, and manipulated through history has yet to be fully
explored. Independent images of the daily tasks associated with tilling and weaving have
a very long history in China. Depictions of sericulture have been found on bronze vessels
of the Warring States period between 475 and 221 B.C., while portrayals of fields
ploughed by oxen appear in pictorial stones and wall murals of the Han dynasty between
206 B.C. and A.D. 220. The genesis of a fully developed pictorial cycle, however, only
came about in the mid-12th century, during the latter part of the Southern Song dynasty, in
the form of the so-called “Illustrations of Tilling and Weaving” (Gengzhi tu). From this
time on, the pictorial theme not only spawned numerous recensions and variations, but
also became increasingly popular as subject matter and decorative motifs in diverse
material forms. My paper today will begin with a brief account of the principal versions
of the Gengzhi tu from the Southern Song through the Qing periods. Then, by focusing
on Gengzhi tu themes in prints, paintings, and porcelain of the Qing period, I hope to
show how the theme underwent parallel developments at various levels of production and
social consumption. In doing so, the artistic, cultural, and political factors which have
sustained this theme may be better understood across the boundaries of period or
medium.
The earliest known work entitled Gengzhi tu (Illustrations of Tilling and
Weaving) was based on the Gengzhi shi (Poems on Tilling and Weaving), a set of 45
verses (21 on rice cultivation, and 24 on rearing silkworms for the manufacture of silk)
composed for the Southern Song court around 1145 by Lou Shu (1090-1162), who was
serving as a county magistrate near the imperial capital Hangzhou. Sometime around
1210, Lou Shu’s poems were engraved on stone by his grandsons with the support of their
uncle, the Grand Secretary Lou You. A quarter-century or so later, in 1237, an edition of
the poems was published with accompanying woodblock illustrations by Wang Gang, a
prominent military officer from Jiangxi province. Although this too has not survived, it
is widely believed to have been the seminal illustrated edition.
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The Southern Song version of the Gengzhi tu, whose compositions are preserved
in a Japanese edition of 1676, is geographically specific even though no place names are
explicitly stated.
At this point in time, rice cultivation in paddies, the planting of
mulberry trees, and the raising of silkworms were distinctly southern Chinese activities.
The emergence of the Lou Shu’s original Gengzhi tu cycle in 1145 is closely linked to the
removal of the Song imperial house from Kaifeng in the north to Hangzhou in the south
less than two decades earlier, in 1127. The poems and pictures they generated were
clearly a statement of the new focus on the political economy of the Southern Song court,
since wheat and millet could not be grown in the climatic zones of the vastly shrunken
empire.
The Gengzhi tu series of pictures was well known during the early Ming dynasty
by virtue of its inclusion in the Yongle dadian (Great Encyclopaedia of the Yongle
Period) around 1407, but that portion of the work is unfortunately now lost. The treatise
Tiangong kaiwu (Exploitation of the Work of Nature) published by Song Yingxing (b.
1587) in 1637 must also be mentioned as having included many related illustrations of
agricultural and sericultural activities showcasing the latest technological advancements;
it may well have served as a catalyst for the later revival of the Gengzhi tu pictorial cycle.
Gengzhi tu representations reached a heightened level of development in the early
Qing dynasty. From the beginning of his long reign, the Kangxi emperor expressed great
interest in agricultural activities of the empire. He established experimental ricefields on
the periphery of the Fengze yuan (Garden of Abundant Marshes) in Beijing, where in
1681 or so he discovered the existence of a fragrant, early ripening type of rice called yu
dao (“imperial rice”). Ready for harvest in the sixth lunar month, as opposed to the usual
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varieties which ripen only in the ninth month, this “imperial rice” underwent a full decade
of development and testing in Beijing and Chengde; large-scale cultivation exclusively
for palace consumption took place in Chengde, where the growing season was even
shorter than that of Beijing. It was formally introduced by the emperor to his high
officials in 1691. In 1715, the miracle rice was introduced to Suzhou, Nanjing, and other
places in the Jiangnan region in south-central China, where two crops a year could be
harvested.
Regular and bountiful harvests have always been symbols of peace,
prosperity, social harmony, and good government, and thus expressions of patriotic pride.
Needless to say, multiple harvests made possible by direct imperial intervention would
have been regarded as confirmation of Qing rule as mandated by Heaven.
During his southern inspection tour of 1689, the Kangxi emperor was presented
with a version of the pictorial cycle. Duly impressed, he decided upon his return to
Beijing to commission an updated set, for which he would contribute a preface and
poems to accompany each picture. The artist selected for this task was Jiao Bingzhen
(act. 1680-1720), who served as an official of the fifth rank in the Directorate of
Astronomy (Qintian jian) during the period when it was headed by a Jesuit missionary;
Jiao evidently acquired techniques of perspectival painting and chiaschuro from the
Westerners at court. Taking as his model the Gengzhi tu version made available to him
by the emperor, Jiao made certain adjustments that resulted in a total of 46 pictures
equally divided between the two sections. Apart from the original version or versions (on
silk and on paper) produced by the artist for transfer onto engraved woodblocks, later
copyists also produced numerous painted sets based on the printed edition.
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The initial printing of this revived Gengzhi tu did not take place until 1696, and
thereafter several other printings were made. The preface of the Kangxi emperor was
written in 41 columns of running script and subsequently engraved.
It is a very
interesting and personal text, far too long to present here in its entirety but for a few
passages:
As I diligently labor day and night, examining [the principles of] rulership, I
always remember that the most important thing for the people is food and
clothing. . . . As for the one who is entrusted with a sovereign state under Heaven,
he truly cannot afford not to think about these issues. . . .
During each of my inspection tours to the provinces I listened to folk
songs, and I was also happy to observe agricultural activities, the characteristics of
lands in the north and south, the correct way of sowing seeds for millet and
glutinous rice, the differences between the early and late seasonal breaks, and the
method of catching and exterminating unfledged locusts. I often love to inquire
about these things and to get to know about them all very clearly. . . .
The ancients have this saying: “Those who dress in silken garments ought
to think of the cold suffered by weaving women, and those who partake of grain
ought to remember the hardship of farmers.” I ponder these matters very carefully
and attentively, and find them most profound and apposite.
Therefore, the
illustrations of tilling and weaving have been copied [by my order], each
comprising twenty-three pictures. For each of these illustrations I composed a
poem to sing the praises of laborious toil, and had them inscribed onto the
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pictures. The labor of farmers which causes them to have callused hands and feet,
as well as the distress of women who reel silk from cocoons and work the looms,
are completely represented with great fidelity from the beginning to the end of the
work.
Following precedents [of the Southern Song and later periods],
woodblocks have been engraved for the purpose of preservation [of the
illustrations], in order that they be shown to our descendants and subjects, so that
they may all know that every single grain which they eat is the result of difficult
work and every piece of cloth that they wear is not easily manufactured. . . . Only
by teaching the people of the whole world to cherish their respective occupations,
to be diligent and frugal, can ample food and clothing be ensured, so that all can
enter the realms of peace, harmony, prosperity, and longevity. These, then, are my
sincere good wishes for the well-being of the people!
The preface is followed by 23 illustrations of rice-planting activities, from the soaking of
seeds and ploughing to harvest-related activities such as husking and milling. These are
continued by 23 pictures of sericultural and weaving activities, starting with the bathing
of silkworm eggs through to the weaving, dyeing, and tailoring of silk fabrics.
The five-character regulated verses originally composed by Lou Shu are all placed
in blank areas within the woodblock frame of the illustrations, while the seven-character
quatrains composed by the Kangxi emperor are superimposed on the wide upper registers.
The imperial poetic compositions were actually transcribed on the original painted silk set
of the Gengzhi tu by the scholar-official Yan Yudun (1650-1713), a descendant of the
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famous Ming literatus Wen Zhengming (1470-1559). Yan mimicked the large runningscript calligraphy for which the emperor was known, as he did in much of the imperial
literature that issued from the palace.
Several versions of this 1696 edition exist,
including those with duochromatic prints using red and black ink, and those later handtinted with watercolors to evoke Jiao Bingzhen’s painted set.
The commissioning of an updated Gengzhi tu cycle by the Kangxi emperor in
1696 was motivated by a number of factors. First, the Manchu ruler realized that the
reintroduction of a well established native Chinese pictorial theme would help to
reinforce the legitimacy of Qing rule in general and that of his own reign in particular.
Any unpalatable truths about the quotidian aspects of rural life were suppressed in favor
of the workers’ contentment and virtue within a stable social hierarchy. The pictures also
embodied the emperor’s direct role in the implementation of rice cultivation, the growing
of mulberry trees, and the production of silk in northern China through improved
irrigation as well as more efficient cultivation, harvesting, and weaving methods.
Agricultural practices of the Qing period had advanced considerably beyond that of the
Song period, and Jiao Bingzhen’s updated illustrations certainly took this into
consideration. Apart from the overall reorganization of pictures, Jiao Bingzhen’s 46
images show the latest ploughing and harvesting implements with regard to riziculture,
and also more sophisticated looms and other machinery for silk production.
The quasi-scientific thrust of the Kangxi-period Gengzhi tu is emphasized by the
perspectival, Western technique of visual representation employed by Jiao Bingzhen.
The engraving of Jiao’s designs onto woodblocks made possible mass production and
speedy dissemination throughout the empire. There were, to be sure, deluxe editions
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reserved for imperial perusal, but simpler sets of prints stitch-bound in book form or
mounted as album leaves were routinely presented to high officials in the bureaucracy.
These, once dispersed throughout the empire, could be copied, recut, and reprinted for
mass markets, as was the case.
Woodblock-printed sets of the Gengzhi tu were made primarily for distribution
outside the palace. The Kangxi emperor also ordered the production of painted sets based
on Jiao Bingzhen’s updated images. Numerous such sets are known to have been made
so that they could be placed in various quarters of the imperial palaces in Beijing,
Chengde, and Shenyang. A number of these have survived and are housed in various
collections. The National Palace Museum in Taibei has an album of tilling and weaving
pictures that was painted by the court artist Leng Mei during the Kangxi period and
subsequently deposited in the Yangxin dian (Hall of Mental Cultivation).
Although the Song, Yuan, and Ming versions of the Gengzhi tu continued to be
employed as models, it was Jiao Bingzhen’s rendition of 1696 that served as the principal
model for copyists during the Qing period. A remarkable 52-leaf album of Gengzhi tu
pictures, commissioned by Prince Yong (the future Yongzheng emperor) between 1712
and 1722, is preserved in the Palace Museum in Beijing. Apart from containing a
complete set of 46 illustrations, six additional pictures were made. As these were not
accompanied by poetic inscriptions, the spaces above them were left blank. The prince
had his distinctive portrait inserted in each composition as the main figure performing
agricultural activities, and in many of the sericultural pictures his consort is also shown as
the principal female figure. To be sure, many elaborate sets of costume portraits were
commissioned during the Yongzheng reign, as seen in these examples, but the Gengzhi tu
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album represents one of the very few known from the pre-accession period. As heir
apparent, Prince Yong’s choice of the Gengzhi tu for a set of costume portraits was
carefully orchestrated.
By having himself portrayed tilling the soil, engaging in
backbreaking agricultural labor, and having female members of his household represented
as industrious weavers, the prince was in fact proclaiming his legitimate position in the
imperial succession and his role as a future ruler, being concerned with the most
fundamental aspects of the political economy. He was clearly also paying homage to his
father, the elderly Kangxi emperor who had so energetically revived the theme. Having
the album done while the Kangxi emperor was still alive was one of the most expedient
ways of assuring him that his legacy would be continued.
Early in his reign, the Qianlong emperor took pains to put his own mark on the
Gengzhi tu theme. Following in the footsteps of his grandfather, he commissioned his
own woodblock-printed version in 1739, with a fresh set of imperial prefaces, poems, and
pictures believed to have been executed by the court painter Chen Mei (act. mid-18th
century) but based on those by Jiao Bingzhen. In 1769, the Qianlong emperor ordered the
pictures and poems on the Gengzhi tu executed by the Yuan-dynasty artist Cheng Qi (act.
second half of 13th century) to be engraved on stone, from which rubbings could then be
taken and widely disseminated. But the 1696 version by Jiao Bingzhen was still the
preferred model, as demonstrated by a number of works now in the National Palace
Museum, such as a Qianlong painted album of the same subject by Chen Mei, as well as
an anonymous album of paintings.
Apart from painted sets, miniature albums were also made, some provided with
their own cases and others placed within the tiny but lavishly decorated treasure-box
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ensembles (duobao ge). One such miniaturized treatment of the theme by court artists
was made during the early Qianlong period (between 1736-1745) and deposited in the
Hall of Mental Cultivation. It is divided into two cases (one containing 23 pictures of
tilling and the other 23 of weaving). Each case contains four volumes measuring only
9.54 cm in the vertical dimension, 5.4 cm across, and only 1.64-1.74 cm in thickness.
The first volume of the “tilling” pictures contains the preface of Kangxi emperor. The
pictures are all in ink and color on silk and every one is accompanied by a caption title.
Each picture is followed by poems composed by the Kangxi, Yongzheng, and Qianlong
emperors; they were inscribed in gold ink on black paper by the official Zhang Zhao and
the gold decorative borders surrounding the texts all depict twin dragons clamoring for a
pearl. Although such miniature versions were based on Jiao Bingzhen’s model, court
artists often took liberties in rearranging various parts of the compositions, just as Jiao
made changes to Lou Shu’s original pictorial scheme.
The broad appeal of this thematic set of words and images continued well into the
nineteenth century, when still more editions of the Gengzhi tu appeared.
It even
transcended the medium of paintings and prints, finding great popularity in the decorative
arts (for example, lacquerware and carved jades) and as motifs for China’s domestic and
export porcelain industries.
Many sets of the 1696 Gengzhi tu pictures, which were originally monochromatic
prints, were attractively hand-tinted to make them appear more like paintings or color
prints, and a number found their way into European collections, as is the case with these
leaves from albums in the Bibliothèque nationale de France and the Bavarian State
Library (Bayerische Staatsbibliothek) in Munich. Painted versions of the Gengzhi tu
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were also made for the export market. An undated album in the Bibliothèque nationale
de France entitled Nongjia gengtian tu (“Illustrations of Agricultural Scenes”), which is
believed to have been made around 1746, exemplifies the style that appealed to such a
market. Although the compositions were very closely based on the 1696 prototype, they
were rendered in a style typical of export pictures, as seen in these selected leaves.
Watercolors, rather than the traditional Chinese mineral pigments, were employed, but
more importantly, the poetic inscriptions, clearly deemed superfluous for a non-Chinese
audience, have been left out.
The printing of the Gengzhi tu from woodblocks in 1696 had a significant and
virtually instantaneous impact on many forms of decorative art. In the realm of porcelain
production, the nearly four dozen Gengzhi tu illustrations, perfect for adaptation to large
sets of porcelain, were applied to a wide variety of ceramic forms during the later Kangxi
period, i.e. between 1696 and 1722. Examples include large round dishes decorated with
famille verte enamels such as this pair in the Musée Guimet in Paris, another fine pair in
the Porzellansammlung of the Zwinger in Dresden, as well as these large mallet-shaped
vases in wucai or “five-color” enamels, from the Musée Guimet and the Palace Museum
in Beijing. The square compositions of Jiao Bingzhen’s 1696 woodblock series were
freely adapted to various porcelain shapes and adjusted to take into account threedimensional surfaces, but these Kangxi porcelains retain the corresponding poetic
inscriptions. However, later porcelain examples, such as a Qianlong-period moon flask
(bianhu) in the Tianjin Museum with a “tilling” scene, often dispensed with the
inscriptions altogether.
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The porcelain examples shown were manufactured in considerable quantities for
the domestic popular and élite markets, but there were also unique or limited-edition
works made for imperial consumption.
One of the most interesting and contrived
treatments of the Gengzhi tu theme is to be seen in an 18th-century set of albums from the
Palace Museum, Beijing, featuring white porcelain panels decorated with the full
complement of pictures in sepia ink, with each picture facing poetic inscriptions by the
Qianlong emperor. Here, the conflation of woodblock-printed books, painted albums,
and ceramic forms is made even more remarkable by the act of miniaturization. A
number of significant changes may be observed: the more or less square compositions of
the 1696 pictures have become tall rectangular ones; the poems by Lou Shu and the
Kangxi emperor have been omitted, leaving only the short caption titles; the experience
of viewing a pair of pictures upon opening each double-spread of an album has been
altered by having the Qianlong inscriptions taking up all the left-hand leaves; and finally,
the redistribution of the 46 pictures and the 46 texts across four separate albums, rather
than the traditional one or two, reflects the flamboyance of many Qianlong-period
artifacts.
This brief excursus into the everyday world of tilling and weaving pictures shows
how a very simple theme in Chinese visual culture survived and developed through time,
lending itself to popular and sophisticated applications across a wide range of media.
Ostensibly representations of agricultural life, Gengzhi tu pictures have had profound
social and political meanings attached to them, but all too often only their decorative
functions have been stressed. Beginning in the Southern Song as exclusive painted
specimens for the imperial court, Gengzhi tu pictures became far more accessible through
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woodblock-printing in the Ming. However, it was the Kangxi-period revival of the
pictorial theme in 1696 that set the stage for its widespread appearance in new forms.
Within China, the Gengzhi tu pictures functioned as reminders of imperial interests in
rice and silk culture. By virtue of their appearance in many vivid prints and striking
porcelains of the Qing period which were made for export or brought to Europe, they
played an important role as iconic emblems of a Cathay that mixed, matched, and
recycled images of its artistry, industry, and productivity.
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