- 679
馮超然 1882-1954
估價
5,000 - 8,000 USD
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招標截止
描述
- Feng Chaoran
- 馮超然 仿王時敏山水 水墨紙本 成扇沈從文 題畫七言詩
- ink on paper, folding fan
款識：
〈馮〉仿西廬老人筆意，以奉伯前先生雅正。慎得居士馮超然。
〈沈〉（七言詩詳文不錄）
舊作題山水詩為伯前先生大雅正之。沈從文。
鈐印：〈馮〉「超然」。
〈沈〉「沈從文」。
〈馮〉仿西廬老人筆意，以奉伯前先生雅正。慎得居士馮超然。
〈沈〉（七言詩詳文不錄）
舊作題山水詩為伯前先生大雅正之。沈從文。
鈐印：〈馮〉「超然」。
〈沈〉「沈從文」。
拍品資料及來源
Artist's Inscription:
Feng Chaoran: After Xilu laoren's (Wang Shimin, 1592-1680) painting style, to receive Master Boqian's correction. Shende jushi Feng Chaoran.
Shen Congwen: In the past I dwelt in a cloudy forest; lifting my head I would see mountains and not paintings. Now I find myself in the city; opening my eyes I see paintings that look like mountains. Mountains, paintings--which are true, which false? Those who can truly see are rare among people in the world. Wherever is good scenery they erect a tower; whenever something meets their interest they hurry their horses. When living amid mountains they are blind to their beauty, tired of forests and valleys and regardless of mist. As soon as they leave the mountains for the city, they suffer black winds and dust at dusk. Through a wide garden a crooked path leads to a secluded place. Not having been planting flowers, I have lost my fitness. The painting I see verges on reality, but ultimately it is man-made and not natural. I think back my past life as a distant recluse, when seeing such a thing involved a thousand hurdles. Even for a weathered, broken piece of silk of a few feet, I would spend a fortune without qualms. My friend, where did you acquire this scroll, with a thousand miles of clouds, mountains, and several houses? The distant peaks, so pale, are like jade brows; the near peaks, proud and erect, resemble cut jades. All over the mountains are white clouds; in the middle of the tree branches is the disc-like sun. The even forest suddenly ends where the sky brightens, illuminating distantly the blurry moisture. Deep-green moss on white boulders lines the serpentine road; at the base of the mountain live a few families. Among them lives the Old Man Huayang, who holds a fine branch dripping with pure dew. The mountains and waters are interwoven; fishing boats sail alongside the moon, and rivers swallow the heavens. The all-encompassing winds arise from the edge of the sky; the high sun engenders fog and clouds. In my excitement I yet remember my old bamboo and crane: how can a painting compare to a landscape? When the occasion arises in life, one should enjoy oneself to the utmost. An old poem on a landscape painting, inscribed for Master Boqian's correction. Shen Congwen.
Feng Chaoran: After Xilu laoren's (Wang Shimin, 1592-1680) painting style, to receive Master Boqian's correction. Shende jushi Feng Chaoran.
Shen Congwen: In the past I dwelt in a cloudy forest; lifting my head I would see mountains and not paintings. Now I find myself in the city; opening my eyes I see paintings that look like mountains. Mountains, paintings--which are true, which false? Those who can truly see are rare among people in the world. Wherever is good scenery they erect a tower; whenever something meets their interest they hurry their horses. When living amid mountains they are blind to their beauty, tired of forests and valleys and regardless of mist. As soon as they leave the mountains for the city, they suffer black winds and dust at dusk. Through a wide garden a crooked path leads to a secluded place. Not having been planting flowers, I have lost my fitness. The painting I see verges on reality, but ultimately it is man-made and not natural. I think back my past life as a distant recluse, when seeing such a thing involved a thousand hurdles. Even for a weathered, broken piece of silk of a few feet, I would spend a fortune without qualms. My friend, where did you acquire this scroll, with a thousand miles of clouds, mountains, and several houses? The distant peaks, so pale, are like jade brows; the near peaks, proud and erect, resemble cut jades. All over the mountains are white clouds; in the middle of the tree branches is the disc-like sun. The even forest suddenly ends where the sky brightens, illuminating distantly the blurry moisture. Deep-green moss on white boulders lines the serpentine road; at the base of the mountain live a few families. Among them lives the Old Man Huayang, who holds a fine branch dripping with pure dew. The mountains and waters are interwoven; fishing boats sail alongside the moon, and rivers swallow the heavens. The all-encompassing winds arise from the edge of the sky; the high sun engenders fog and clouds. In my excitement I yet remember my old bamboo and crane: how can a painting compare to a landscape? When the occasion arises in life, one should enjoy oneself to the utmost. An old poem on a landscape painting, inscribed for Master Boqian's correction. Shen Congwen.