Spirited Woman Blogger Team

Plant a Melon and Harvest a Melon

I usually think that writing, painting, or practicing my instrument for a performance is hard, but not after watching the contestants at the Olympic Games.

The Chinese say “If you plant a melon, you’ll harvest a melon; if you plant a bean, you’ll harvest a bean.”

The meaning is clear, your success will always be in proportion to the effort you invested. However, on the Olympic field, hard effort might be enough to qualify, but not for winning medals.

To have a chance of winning, one must endure what the Chinese call bitter practice. This is the melon you must plant. In the past, children with talent began to be trained when quite young. Instead of childhood games they had bitter practice. The result was the immense skill to sing in Chinese opera, perform acrobatics, or win in the Olympics.

Is it right to raise a talented child this way? There are arguments on both sides. Some are bitter as adults, but they still enjoy their fame. Great achievement always comes at a price.

A Chinese poem illustrates this:

The best sword’s shiny sheath comes from endless polishing
The most fragrant of plum blossoms come from the bitterest cold

Mingmei Yip, http://www.mingmeiyip.com
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Rising Above Adversity with Lines

I just went to an exhibit of one of the most renowned modern Chinese painter, Wu Guangzhong (1919-2010).

The reason I like Wu’s painting is because he was one of the few modern painters whose work is affirmative. Throughout its more than 1,000 year history, Chinese painting, with only rare exceptions, always created a serene atmosphere and showed in visual form the inner peace that can be obtained by self-cultivation.

In contrast, what we are shown as contemporary Chinese painting tends to be sarcastic, even nihilistic. It is questionable if it is even Chinese in any meaningful sense because the styles are derived from Western art. The art world suppresses any art that is not sarcastic by controlling art magazines and museum exhibits. This has been very effective for marketing with much contemporary work selling in the tens of millions.

Wu’s art has not a trace of these elements, but it is not sentimental, either. He was the modern Chinese artist who most successfully used traditional imagery but brought it into the modern world.

The effect of traditional Chinese painting is created by the interplay between line and space. Chinese artists were geniuses with lines, from delicately brushed calligraphy to the Great Wall itself. Wu modernized Chinese brush lines by making them longer and more convoluted, flowing in very intricate patterns as if enjoying their freedom. Critics have suggested that he was influenced by Van Gogh and Gauguin, but to me some of his paintings share striking resemblance to those of by Jackson Pollack in their dynamic use of line.

The Chinese say, “To prepare for one minute on stage, ten years labor off stage.” Like any successful artist, Wu’s success required years of hard practice, but unlike most artists he had to survive persecution during the Cultural Revolution. Forced to leave his wife and abandon his brush, he was sent for hard labor in the country side. Lest he be labeled as bourgeoisie or reactionary, he secretly destroyed all of his nude paintings.

But Wu was able to rise above all these adversities. He said somewhere that a hard life can mature a man and give him wisdom. When I look at his wonderful work, which is above all cheerful with dots of bright colors, I sense the same cosmic energy that enabled him to persist despite all his hardships.
Maybe that’s why every time I look at Wu’s paintings I’d feel invigorated and hopeful.

Mingmei Yip, http://www.mingmeiyip.com
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One Cooking Lesson I Will Never Forget

My mother was very proud of her cooking – nothing fancy but very tasty.

Now when I look back I greatly regret that although Mother had cooked for me for almost four decades, I can’t remember any of her dishes except one – pan fried red snapper.

However, there was one of her cooking incidents that I’d never forget. One evening my father, as usual, was out gambling, even though he was already heavily in debt from his previous gambling. That night, Mother cooked for the three of us even though he was not home. I don’t remember any of the dishes, only how much effort she put into cooking them.

Even though our the family didn’t have much money left, Mother decided she would splurge on one lavish meal after so many frugal ones -- we didn’t know if there would be any money for our next meal, let alone a nice one. Even though Father was away, we’d enjoy the food together and there would be plenty left over for him when he returned.

But when Mother was carrying the steaming dishes to the table in the living room, the door bell rang. During those days, our only visitors were usually not friends but debt collectors. Frightened, Mother’s hands shook and all the dishes fell. Meat, fish, vegetables crashed to make pretty but no longer edible blossoms on the floor.  

We didn’t pick up the dishes but held our breath and waited till the intruder’s footsteps vanished. Of course we went to bed with none of the food in our stomach but only in our imagination and maybe later in our dreams.

I don’t remember if Mother ever cooked another lavish meal after that. But from then on, I never wasted even a grain of rice  – or anything else for that matter.

Mingmei Yip, http://www.mingmeiyip.com
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Are You Deaf?

When I was younger, I was quite judgmental.

When on a bus, or the street, or the ferry, I’d mentally dissect  other passengers on the basis of their appearance or their manner (to me). Wouldn’t that middle-aged woman look better if she would lift her mouth, so that instead of looking like a capsized boat, it would form a pretty crescent moon? And that young girl if only she would pluck her downward-slanting brows so that instead of looking depressed, she’d look cheerful and energetic? What hadn’t that old man had surgery on that  bad-luck mole right underneath his eye which looked a big black tear?

But then two incidents taught me not to be so critical of other people. One time I went to visit a friend and found that she had a guest, a young girl, who was living with her temporarily. The girl was very quiet, polite and didn’t bother us. But I decided that I didn’t like her based only on one reason. She swung her feet all the time – eating, talking, writing, reading. The Chinese say, “Swinging trees have fallen leaves; swinging people have no luck.” Because people who constantly rock their bodies will not achieve anything of importance.

When the girl was out of the room my friend asked me how I felt about her and I told her how annoying she was to me. 

My friend looked shocked. “Oh, that poor girl, you don’t know how much she has suffered! She swam here to escape from China; her only brother was eaten by sharks on the way. She had no one when she arrived. Our church took her in and helped her find a job in a factory and rent a room. But because she was not fast enough, she was soon fired and got behind in paying her rent. One evening when she went home, she arrived to find her door locked. Her landlord had thrown all her belongings onto the street. She was now homeless. So I took her in until we can find her another job. The doctor feared she might commit suicide and put her on medication. That’s why the swinging.”

It took another incident for me to fully learn my lesson. When I was an assistant professor at the Chinese University, three or four times a week I’d take a van up the hill to the University Library. I liked to browse the rare books there, but not the young man who checked my identity. He always looked at me suspiciously, maybe thinking I was a student pretending to be a professor. But then when I asked him questions he never replied, only started at me.

One time I was so annoyed that I blurted out, “Are you deaf?”

But he still didn’t reply, only stared harder at me with blank eyes!

Then later when I happened to mention this to a colleague, he looked completely shocked. “Oh, did you really ask him that? Everyone knows that the poor guy is deaf.”

Mingmei Yip, http://www.mingmeiyip.com
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Forgetfulness Soup

A Chinese legend tells us that after people have passed away but before they go on to reincarnate, they arrive at Helpless Bridge.

Guarding this bridge is Grandma Meng who will offer you a bowl of Forgetfulness Soup. If you accept this soup and gulp it down, you’ll forget all the troubles, miseries, and sufferings in your life that has just ended. But if you have the courage to refuse the soup, you will remember everything into your next lives. Some want only to forget, while others -- especially if they had wealth, fame, a beautiful wife or handsome husband -- choose to remember.  

Some refuse to drink the Forgetfulness Soup because their heart won’t let them forget their loves ones. Ironically, sometimes the one you love the most  is not the one who bears you children and shares your home. For a hundred different reasons, the two of you could not spend your life together.

And there are those who cannot makeup their minds – to remember or to forget? Should I drink and forget or decline and remember?  This moment will decide your memories – or lack of them – for all your lifetimes to come.

But there is a third choice. That you don’t eat the soup but wait on the bridge for your loved one to join you. Because one day he or she must also cross the bridge. If you remain, not only will you delay your chance to reincarnate and remain a ghost for a long time, but because there are always so many crossing the bridge, you may miss each other forever.

When your day comes, would you drink this Forgetfulness Soup?

Mingmei Yip, http://www.mingmeiyip.com
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My Great Uncle's Advice

I had a Great Uncle who was like a second father to my own father. Great Uncle was a famous general during the Sino-Japanese War but when the war ended he became a school principal.

Great Uncle possessed a trait that most military men don’t – a great love for art, especially painting. This greatly influenced his daughter who became a famous muralist in America.

Decades ago in Hong Kong, when Great Uncle learned that I was taking painting lessons, he would often send me art books from Taiwan. Each book was attached with a note explaining a certain artist’s style which made him or her popular. He always reminded me that I should take time to develop a style that was my own. The art books were usually included whenever he would sent a letter to my father.

Twenty-five years ago when I was a professor of music in Hong Kong and my father having passed away years ago, a friend invited me to visit her in the United States for the summer. The last day of my visit, it suddenly came to my mind that Great Uncle should be living right here in the city I was visiting.

I remembered my father had mentioned that in his old age, Great Uncle had moved here to be with his painter daughter. But since I’d lost all contact with Great Uncle for so many years, the only thing I could do was to pick up the phone book and look for his daughter. There were all together four with the same name, so I tried one by one by asking, “Are you so and so’s daughter?” until I hit the jackpot!

Unfortunately my joy was shattered when the cold voice at the other end of the line said, “He passed away last year.”

Tears filled my eyes. I’d lost my chance to thank Great Uncle -- who gave me all the art books and great advices on paintings – with whom I had never had the chance to “rub shoulders” on this Red Dust.

But fortunately Grand Uncle’s “Don’t imitate the others, be original and find your own style!” still lingers in my heart.

Mingmei Yip, http://www.mingmeiyip.com
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Meditation in Painting

Mingmei’s Guan Yin painting

Recently I showed my Guan Yin (Chinese Goddess of Compassion) paintings to a friend who works in the media but is also a painter. He was very  complimentary about my work, especially the fastidious strokes and the multiplicity of colors.

“The brushstrokes and the delicate colors are amazing. However, you must be very patient. Could you even breathe while you were doing this painting?”

I laughed. “Painting is hard work for me, but not tedious. What I really enjoy is placing the strokes and watching the colors of the picture slowly emerge upon the empty paper before my eyes.”

I explained, that because painting takes absolute concentration, it can be a form of meditation. My mind empties of trivial nuisances and is complete with the painting, moment by moment. It may sound like a cliché, but I really feel that I become one with my strokes.

Since Guan Yin is a Buddhist Goddess with whom I feel a very strong personal connection, sometimes I feel I have arrived at the still point that is nearest to the truth. So instead of feeling bored, this is as close as I can be to actually being enlightened.

Mingmei Yip, http://www.mingmeiyip.com
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Manchurian Han Banquet - The Imperial Feast of the Nouveau Riche

I believe the most elaborate meal on earth is the Manchurian Han Banquet. Originally intended to celebrate Emperor Kangxi’s 66th birthday it is now mostly served to China’s nouveau riche.

This famous meal would take many chefs three months’ of traveling to different provinces to gather all materials, then three weeks with many assistant chefs to prepare, and finally three days to try and test all the one hundred and three dishes. In addition, there are the eighty-eight small dishes with their eighty-eight different condiments.

And the eighty-eighty medium dishes with their eighty-eight different peicai. Peicai is matching food, such as celery to go with Peking duck, dried vegetable with marinated pork, black fungus with fish fillet, chives with pig’s liver.

This lavish meal is set out on imperial-yellow tablecloths with matching seat covers, both embroidered with colorful clouds and dragons. Waitresses would dress up as Qing dynasty princesses, and pour the most expensive Big Red Robe tea into three-legged cups, styled after 3,000 year old wine-offering tripod.

Dishes range from the ordinary to the bizarre: four-delicacies soup, gold thread porridge, lotus prawns, sweet-scented osmanthus and dry scallops, mandarin duck thin milk, panda tasting bamboo, phoenix spreading the wings, braised shark-fin phoenix tails, tiger skin and rabbit meat, dragon and phoenix heartthrob, French bean goldfish, pearl and white jelly fungus, osmanthus and pigeon eggs….

Among these dishes is the One Hundred Happiness, consisting of one hundred carps’ whiskers meticulously collected, cooked, and arranged in the shape of one hundred different writing styles of the character shou, longevity.

Another one is a vegetarian dish which looks like a painting. On its top left hand corner shines a red sun with golden rays under which soars white cranes above luscious tress and colorful houses. The sun is made from a carrot, its rays pickled radish, the flying cranes tofu cut into different shapes. The trees are seaweed and the houses different kinds of mushrooms.

I don’t know if I’ll ever have a chance to taste this imperial banquet – or would even want to. But I feel satisfied just by looking at the pictures of its amazing dishes.

Mingmei Yip, http://www.mingmeiyip.com
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The Long Forgotten Cook

Baili Xi was a scholar who lived in China over one thousand years ago. Because of poverty, he was not able to start a family until his 30s.

After his first son was born, Bai announced that now that he had fulfilled his obligation to continue the family line, he had decided to travel beyond his village to see more of the world. Hoping that he would find fortune and make the family rich, his wife expressed her full support.

When the eve of his departure came, Bai’s wife killed the only hen in the house, to be able to cook her husband a good farewell meal. But then she discovered they were so poor that there was no firewood. So she tore down the door and burned it to start a fire.

After a very satisfying meal, husband and wife bid each other goodbye. The wife said, “Husband, my only wish is that when you make it big someday, don’t forget your wife and child of the old days.”

Unfortunately Bai traveled for 40 years before he met his long-sought success. Instead of becoming an honored high government officials, he lived as a cow herder, a beggar, even a slave. Bai did find a way to go home once to look for his wife and son but they were nowhere to be found.

Forty years later, the King of the state of Qin heard of Bai’s reputation for learning and bought him from his owner by paying five sheets of sheep skin. At 77, his talent at last recognized, Bai finally met success as the King’s minister.

One time when Bai was celebrating his success at a banquet in the palace, an old woman who did laundry there offered to sing him a song:
            Remembering the farewell dinner,
            A hen is killed,
            A door burned
            Rice cooked and consumed.
            When wealth arrives, the old cook is forgotten.

It was then that Bai realized the old woman was his long lost wife. After 40 long years they were at last reunited. The song that Bai’s wife sang is a qin song still played today. (The qin is the oldest Chinese stringed instrument.)

Mingmei Yip, http://www.mingmeiyip.com
Click here to read more of Mingmei's posts.            

The Success of Best-Selling Authors

Mingmei pictured with author Lee Child.

Last Saturday I was at the Fiction Panel of the Hunter College Writing Center’s annual writer’s conference. This event is organized by Lewis Burke Frumkes, Director of the Writing Center, who has built the Center into one of the preeminent ones in the U.S. The conference always have many famous best-selling authors and so provide a chance to meet them and hear their experiences. The conference this year was one of the best I’ve attended for a long time. In addition, I also had the chance to meet many mega-selling authors including Mary Higgins Clark, Lee Child, and Harlan Coben.

Though extremely successful, these authors are very approachable and patient with new and aspiring authors. I've learnt so much from them that I want to share some of the wisdom they acquired over their careers.

After overcoming all the hurdles and finally getting published, all authors are eager to reach their ultimate goal  - getting on the New York best-selling list, which is almost as hard as winning a lottery.

Lee Child said that most of the time – except for a few lucky ones – it’ll take ten years before an author has a break-out book. That means you need to keep writing one book after another to have a chance at hitting the jackpot. Another best selling author gave similar advice, saying “success is not necessarily because you’re the best author, but the most stubborn.”

What I like about these authors is that they are very practical in their approach. Instead of rosy pictures, they tell it like it is..

As the Chinese say, “Plant a melon to reap a melon.”

Mingmei Yip, http://www.mingmeiyip.com
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