Each time I spend a substantial stretch away from home, some buttons in me get reset. From Copenhagen to Prague, from Tokyo to Beijing, distance and a string of museum visits kept shifting how I see things. When I finally came home, the studio looked slightly strange. Ideas that felt urgent before the trip sat there like notes written by someone else. I usually need a round of cleaning and reorganizing before I can find the mindset for painting again.
Before I left, I had been deep in pears. There were drafts and unfinished paintings waiting. I struggled to return to them. It took quite a while to find the mood to sit down and finish what I had started. Meanwhile it became very clear that I was not in the pear mood anymore.
The first of these is a watercolor and pencil piece. Before the trip, I finished the pencil draft, and had a few plans for the coloring. Looking at it now, I would rather it stay in that monochromatic vibe. The only parts I made saturated arethe pear and the knife. In Chinese, pear 梨 (lí) shares its sound with 离 (lí), to leave, and 分梨 (fēn lí), “to divide a pear,” sounds exactly like 分离 (fēnlí), “separation.”. That is why halved pears carry a small domestic superstition: you don’t split a pear with someone you don’t want to part from. The woman looks worried, almost miserable, staring at the halved pear on the table. The pear pattern on the wall behind her echoes what is going on in her mind: a repetition of li, li, … pear, parting, pear, parting. I hoped the painting would tell a story. I also hoped it would tell, a little sideways, my own separation from the theme. The pears are still there, printed all over the wall behind her, but the one in front of her has already been cut.
Parting, watercolor and pencil on paper, 11 x 14.5in, August 2026
The second painting introduces a new character. A rabbit has found a pear. The rabbit is based on a stuffed animal of mine named Blue. Blue has accompanied me for many years, it was fun to bring him to life a little and put him in a painting. I think of this one as a transition. The pear is still in the picture, but it has been handed over.
Blue, oil on canvas board, 11 x 14in, August 2026Blue
The third is a girl and a rabbit. In the draft, it was a girl holding a pear before the trip, but rabbit completes the design so much better. I have a fondness for rabbits; it has been my nickname in the family for as long as I can remember. The girl is imagined, though she carries a vague resemblance to a much earlier version of me. So I am going to paint myself either way, as the girl, or as the rabbit.
Company, oil on canvas board, 16 x 20 in, August 2026
I first saw Pablo Picasso’s Still Life with Pitcher and Apples decades ago at the Musée national Picasso-Paris. It’s a mid-sized canvas (65 × 43 cm) with a simple domestic arrangement painted in a realistic style and muted colors. When surrounded by the artist’s more famous Cubist experiments, this piece was actually quite eye-catching to me.
The painting dates from 1919, right in the middle of Picasso’s so-called “return to classicism” period. After the visual fireworks of Cubism and the disruption of World War I, many artists (including Picasso) felt a pull toward order, solidity, and older traditions. For him, the turning point came during a 1917 trip to Italy. Walking among the ancient ruins and frescoes of Pompeii and Herculaneum left a deep mark. The chalky, fresco-like palette and the calm monumentality in this still life feel like a direct echo of those weathered walls.
The big, sculptural shapes and slightly off-kilter perspective also bring to mind Paul Cézanne. You feel like you’re looking slightly down at the table surface while simultaneously gazing up at the plate balanced on the pitcher’s rim – a spatial effect that only happens when you look at something truly grand. Meanwhile, the overall tranquility, the way the objects seem to breathe in their own dusty light, reminds me of Giorgio Morandi. Both Cézanne and Morandi have shaped how I see still life: not as decoration, but as a slow conversation between forms, space, and light.
While hunting for fresh ideas to keep my pear journey going, I decided to do a direct study of this Picasso with a deliberate pear twist. The original composition looks deceptively simple, but it’s full of subtle choices. It forms almost a top-bottom and left-right symmetry, broken only by pulling the jar slightly off center and rolling one apple a little forward. Most artists would instinctively avoid this kind of arrangement, and it seems Picasso was pushing the limits as much as possible. I followed the basic scheme but broke the symmetry further to give it more life and movement. (More importantly, I’m not Picasso. I didn’t want to risk flirting with poor composition!)
Picasso and Pears, a study, oil on canvas board, 12 x 16, April 2026
My version keeps the same central white pitcher and the plate perched on top, but I swapped in pears for the apples. The colors are much more saturated and warm: golden yellows with touches of greens that glow against the softer gray background. One pear on the table wears the pink bow I promised I’d revisit after Golden Bow (yes, the one from last month’s “Pear Maniac Continued”). It adds a tiny spark of playfulness and ties this piece back to my ongoing pear obsession.
What surprised me while researching for this writeup is how many art historians and critics interpret the pitcher itself as a hidden portrait of a voluptuous woman. Its swelling curves suggesting a generous torso, the open spout like a mouth, the rounded forms on top echoing breasts or eyes. That reading completely escaped me! I did notice the sumptuous curves and the overall sensuality of the forms, and I did wish to replicate that same generous, bodily presence in my study. Now looking at mine and the original side by side, my pitcher is not as sexy as Picasso’s, but the plump, curvaceous pears sing a louder tune. I completely changed the subject! Picasso had a lifelong habit of turning everyday objects into something human and alive; I am just in pear mood.
Painting this study felt like a quiet dialogue across time: Picasso’s restrained classicism meeting my warmer, juicier pear world. It reminded me why I keep returning to still life — it’s never really “just objects.” There’s always a pulse underneath.
After the study comes the creation. I also set up a real jar and pears in my kitchen. My jar had some pumpkin patterns on it, and I changed them to pears. Even though I didn’t place a plate on top, my painting still has four “fruits”: two as patterns on the jar and one real pear on each side.
set up
In the beginning I had two conflicting ideas. One was to follow the Picasso piece and do a muted-color painting, and the other was to go the opposite direction and make it colorful. I decided to try both in watercolor first (it’s faster). As always, even the “muted” one turned out more saturated than I planned, but I would say the overall effect is still on the quiet side. The colorful one… well, the warm lighting and shadow patterns almost devour the subjects. It’s dramatic, a little chaotic and I guess it landed on the maniac part of the pear journey.
Pears and Jar 1, watercolor on paper, 11 x 16.Pears and Jar 2, watercolor on paper, 11 x 16.
I treated these two paintings as testing ground so I didn’t spend too much time on them. I don’t know yet if I would further develop these into oil paintings. To turn them into stronger watercolors, I clearly need more practice with designing patterns on objects, and figuring out how to paint big shadows without mudding the colors. For now, I just enjoyed the experiments. Failure or success, I had a really good month of painting.
March kicked off with two leftover thoughts from the previous month. While cleaning up my studio, I also unearthed a block of hot press paper and I decided to give it a try.
Two and Half, watercolor on hot press paper, 10×14, March 2026
As you can see, I approached it exactly the same way I would on cold press. The water and pigments mostly sat on the surface instead of sinking in, leaving some interesting but completely unintended marks. I do love the extra vibrance the colors gained, but I suspect hot press works best for well-defined shapes with minimal water. (Here’s a beautiful example of what hot press can do when handled right: Painting wet-into-wet on hot-press watercolor paper.)
Meanwhile, I finally tested the Canson Acrylic paper I mentioned before with a layer of shellac. It definitely improved the paint flow.
Stare, oil on paper, 11 x 15, March 2026Reference photo from East Oaks Studio Live Stream Session 44
In this painting, I had much less trouble getting the paints to cooperate, but I struggled a lot with designing the woman’s expression and rendering the plumpness. The original reference came from East Oaks Studio, but I borrowed her general features but recreate the overall image to fit my little “plot.”
Next, I imagined a classical, nearly monochromatic head study and decided to practice it on a pear instead. I’m still not sure I handled the edges quite right, but it was a simple enough exercise. I might revisit this idea later.
While juggling all these paintings with their mixed goals, I spent quite a bit of time designing the last two watercolors, both centered on our favorite theme. One is a still life with abstract patterns in the background, and the other is a semi self-portrait.
Golden Bow, oil on paper, 9 x 12, March 2026
My original vision for the still life was actually a painting with much more elaborate, sharply defined patterns in the spirit of Klimt, in oil on canvas or watercolor on hot-press paper. Either way, it would have been a much more time-consuming project. I’m still holding onto that thought. This simpler cold-press version became more of a test of the main composition. I may come back and develop the idea further in the future.
Knife and Plate: watercolor on paper, 10 x 14, March 2026
The final piece is, in my opinion, the best design of the month. I wanted a flat, almost monochromatic self-portrait (of course it’s a younger and prettier version of me), paired with one very saturated, juicy pear. In my original sketch, the head was meant to stay much flatter and more abstract. But as I painted, I couldn’t resist sharpening the features, especially around the eyes. I’m still not sure whether that was an improvement or a distraction. I had to drag myself away from the piece so I wouldn’t overwork it into a full realist portrait.
Kiss or Bite, watercolor on paper, 10 x 13, March 2026
Overall, I love the design, the visible pencil marks, and that satisfying feeling of something unfinished yet strangely complete.
March turned out to be a fruitful month. Am I done with pears? Check back in a month.
February slipped by faster than I expected. I had some ideas about “strategizing” for 2026 (see previous post), but the month didn’t cooperate with any real planning. When I’ve been away from oils for a stretch, I usually warm up with quick portrait sketches. This time I happened to watch a live sketching session centered on pears at the beginning of the month, and so I thought, why not try pear portraits instead? I picked up three from the local grocer, arranged them simply, and set off quickly.
Midway through though, I lost interest in the setup. The lighting was too conventional, the composition flat, and the whole thing uninspiring. I decided to add reflections on the surface to give it more life. Mostly I just added frustration. As the paint thickened and got tacky, I gave up. Here’s the oil painting I set aside:
Three Pears, oil on canvas board, 11×14, Feb. 2026
I switched to watercolor instead. In a recent cleanup effort, I found some unused Arches blocks. I’ve done a little watercolor in recent months, but only small sketches on inexpensive paper. I couldn’t wait to see what good quality paper could deliver after these practices. By then the pears were starting to rot, so I worked without a reference. Here’s the first attempt:
Two and Half, watercolor on paper, 10 x 14, Feb. 2026
As expected, the paper could hold much more water than the cheap alternatives, but the texture was rougher than I remembered, which affected only the initial pencil drawing so far. The painting turned out muddier than intended, and that’s what happens without a clear plan. I originally wanted almost no background. just white space to frame the pears. Once I considered it finished, though, the large white areas felt too empty and didn’t support the cut pear properly. I began adding background colors, changed direction a few times, and a couple of unintended mixes later, everything neutralized into gray. The forms of the whole pears suffered too. With everything around muddied, I didn’t want to kill the fresher red-orange even though it was supposed to be in the shadow. I felt like choosing between two wrongs. You can mix colors on paper, of course, but it helps to know exactly how you want to approach it. This piece isn’t abandoned, but it feels unresolved.
For the next one I made a conscious effort to avoid overworking the background. I still adjusted the pears more than I should have, but the result has better volume and value range, even if the colors lost a bit of their brightness. Pears do come in rustier, subdued tones, so I’ll take that as a feature rather than a flaw. This piece was also done without a reference.
Huddling, watercolor on paper, 11 x 14, Feb 2026
That gave me enough confidence to keep going. I returned to oil and worked on two different compositions at the same time, both on paper. One focused on color and a re-attempt at reflections, on Canson XL Oil and Acrylic paper; the other, on texture, on Canson Acrylic paper.
Display, oil on paper, 9 x 11, Feb. 2026
I have used the XL oil and acrylic paper before with a thin layer of shellac, but I found it was unnecessary. The paper handles paint very well and feels forgiving. Of all the paintings surfaces I’ve tried, this is the easiest to use and I like it more each time. The plain acrylic paper has a coarser surface that makes blending trickier, but it worked nicely for suggesting the wood grain of the table and backboard. It also encouraged (or forced) me to keep the pear colors varied and abstract rather than uniform. I may try a layer of shellac on it next time to see if it improves flow.
On the table, oil on paper, 11 x 15, Feb, 2026
February passed in a mix of small frustrations and a few satisfying moments. I’m glad I moved between watercolor and oil. It kept the process interesting. I hope to maintain the momentum.
And just for fun, here’s a MidJourney piece on the same subject that I really like. The colorful glow and the roller-skate-like cart give it an eerie and playful feeling, quite beyond my imagination.
November had me on the other side of the globe again. This time I packed a couple of recent paintings to give as gifts for family. Lucky for me, framing in Beijing is much cheaper than in the States. I can afford to elevate my paintings a bit, which definitely makes the presentation better and adds to my confidence. Here are some of the paintings I gifted:
During my last long stay in Beijing, I decided to make the most of the situation by practicing watercolor. Oil wasn’t an option and watercolor stuff barely takes up any room. I am happy to report that I’ve actually stuck with the plan. My current goal in practice is trying to keep the colors clean. Small steps, but still moving forward.
Gallery-wise, I saw Liu Jude’s 刘巨德 solo show at the Today Art Museum: Hearts Aflame for the Firmament. Liu studied at the Central Academy of Craft Art in 1965 and later worked under Pang Xunqin 庞薰琹 (1906 – 1985) in 1978, researching the comparison between traditional Chinese decorative art and Western modern art. He believes that painting should imitate the Tao that births all things: using the invisible Tao to paint visible objects, and using visible objects to paint the invisible Tao. His art isn’t constrained by the classification of genre or technique; he adheres to the traditions of Chinese decorative art but modernizes that formal beauty, making him unique in the Chinese art world. The exhibition featured over 200 new pieces by Liu and more than 100 ceramic debuts. Divided into “Ode to Peace” and “Ode to Hometown,” the show presented a kind of “chaotic beauty” and deep emotions for his roots.
In his artist statement, Liu mentioned: “Every time I paint, on the clean Xuan paper, I always put down thick black ink first, trying to occupy, grasp, and stabilize the whole space. As for what object that ink block, dot, or line represents, it is ambiguous, and I am not entirely clear. It is precisely this uncertain relationship of abstract points and lines that triggers me, pulling me to wander with it.”
In comparison, the National Still Life Exhibition hosted by the Chinese Academy of Oil Painting felt … fine. Technically solid, just not particularly exciting.
Finally, on one perfectly sunny mid-November day, I took this photo of a path covered in golden ginkgo leaves, a staple scene in Beijing’s autumn. Doubao, ByteDance’s (owner of TikTok) AI app, turned it into a watercolor painting. Love it or hate it, AI art will be a staple of the art world.
[Note: The title is a quote from Spanish sculptor Francisco Baron’s preface to Car Li’s 1992 solo show in Spain.]
During my recent trip to China, I visited many exhibitions, and the works of one artist appeared in multiple shows, leaving a strong impression on me. He is Cao Li 曹力 (1954-), a professor of the Mural Department at the Central Academy of Fine Arts 中央美术学院. Cao Li has received traditional art training but does not carry the baggage of the academic style; in his work, he is unrestricted, and his imagination and artistic inspiration traverse ancient and modern, East and West. His themes range from reality to dreams, and his media include line drawing, watercolor, oil painting, wood carving, stone relief, etc.. His ability to move freely across different media reminds me of James Jean, though in terms of artistic expression, Cao Li is more mature and unrestrained. His works exhibit the absurdity of Dali, the seclusion of Klee, the alienating humor of Klimt, the multidimensional thinking of Picasso, the simplicity and innocence of Matisse, and the romantic imagination of Chagall. They also draw inspiration from traditional Chinese paintings, especially the murals of Dunhuang 敦煌, Yongle 永乐 Palace, and certain cave sculptures.
Cao Li, Hmong Girls, mixed media on cardboard, 25 x 25 cm, 2023Cao Li, oil on canvas, 2023Cao Li, Stroll, watercolor on paper, 25 x 38cm, 1981Cao Li, A Glimpse of the Small Town, oil on canvas, 90 x 90 cm, 1989Cao Li, Sketch No. 3, mixed media on paper, 22 x 17 cm, 1998
In the artist’s own words, “Art knows no boundaries; it is the product of the soul, an expression of true feelings, the natural flow of life, a free flight. Nature itself is not art; only what flows through the filter of an artist’s soul can be called ‘art.’ It’s like the process of making wine: grains and grapes themselves do not intoxicate, but after brewing, impurities are removed, leaving the essence that can captivate and enchant people.”
Cao Li, Violinist with Wings, mixed media, 40 x 40cm, 2014Cao Li, oil on canvas, 2023Cao Li, String Ensemble, oil on canvas, 120 x 100cm, 2023
Cao Li enjoys music, a recurring theme in his paintings. His lines, compositions, and colors move like melodies, possessing a lively rhythm. Influenced by his line drawings, his oil paintings almost always start with a planar structure of lines as the initial outline and main framework. He then enriches, thickens, and adds depth to the work through the organic organization of colors. He says, “I control the blocks of color, dots of color, color areas, and lines in the same way a composer arranges notes, tones, rhythms, and tempo. Once these ‘force points’ are placed in the right spots and combined in myriad ways, the disrupted calm space is reordered.”
Cao Li, Under the Papaya Tree Sketch, ink on paper, 25 x 21cm, 1989Cao Li, Under the Papaya Tree, oil on canvas, 80 x 90 cm, 1990Cao Li, The Circus, ink on paper, 44.5 x 32 cm, 2003Cao Li, Three Approaches, ink on paper, 54 x 32cm, 2003
One aspect that interests me when viewing works by Chinese artists is their effort to blend traditional Chinese art with Western painting. The design of figures and the use of color in Cao Li’s works have a distinctly national character. His ink paintings even introduce modernist traditions. His teacher, the renowned artist Yuan Yunsheng 袁运生 (1937-), has taken this fusion even further by applying Abstract Expressionism to ink painting. In the 798 Art District in Beijing, I was fortunate enough to see an exhibition of his works.
Yuan Yunsheng, Song of Mind No. 2, oil on canvas, 102 x 100 cm, 1980Yuan Yunsheng, Pervade, ink on paper, 179 x 285 cm, 1990Yuan Yunsheng, Christina II, ink on paper, 105 x 101 cm, 1991Yuan Yunsheng, Spring Outing, oil on canvas, 240 x 560 cm, 2018
While visiting the Sichuan Fine Arts Institute 四川美术学院, I had the chance to view the “Chinese Painting MFA Invitational Exhibition 2000-2020.” These young artists originally studied Chinese painting, but now their works clearly show influences from oil painting, printmaking, and other art forms. Their use of media has also moved far beyond traditional paper and ink. They draw inspiration from the collision of diverse cultures, creating works that are more personal and profound. Unfortunately most of the artworks on display have glass cover, and makes it very difficult to photograph. I only captured a tiny portion of the treasures on display.
Wang Mayan, Experiment in the Cloud, colors on silk, 53 x 29 cm, 2023Ma Yuanyuan, Silk Road Fantasies, heavy color on paper, 240 x 235 cm, 2023Wei Jiujie, No Man’s Land, colors on silk, 37 x 50 cm each, 2019Ma Yuanyuan, Colorful World No. 2, mixed media, 200 x 200 cm, 2019Zha Lijun, 2018-2020, ink on paper, 388 x 182 cm, 2021
Here are some paintings from one of my favorite artists from the show:
Qi Zhiyue, A Seat at the Table, heavy colors on paper, 68 x 136cm, 2021Qi Zhiyue, A ‘Ye’ for Life, heavy colors on paper, 115 x 95cm, 2019Qi Zhiyue, Ka Ka Ka, heavy colors on paper, 110 x 110cm, 2020Qi Zhiyue, Topic, heavy colors on paper, 68 x 136cm, 2020
Amid all the talking about the “lying flat” culture in China, it is quite exciting to see the art scene there is lively and flourishing.
P.S. Unlike in America, most of the Chinese artists don’t maintain personal websites. Artron 雅昌 is platform where many artists post their works, but the level of accuracy and maintenance vary. You can find more works from Cao Li here: 作品
Nothing spooky here, just an old pumpkin! I can’t recall when I did this, maybe 10 years ago, when I could still feel the “water” in watercolor. Time flies!
Pumpkin, watercolor on paper, 9 x 12, 2015
In the past, when I travelled, even with those lengthy stays abroad, I didn’t do any art. These past months when I stayed in China, inspired by all the art shows I attended (I will talk about these more in the future), I thought I should have kept things going. Oil being too troublesome, I managed to find watercolor paper and paint. My intention was to do some quick sketches or simple paintings, and these are what I’ve done:
Tea-set, watercolor on paper, 9 x 12, Sept. 2024Fruit plate, watercolor on paper, 9 x 12, Oct. 2024
I found myself using watercolor the same way I use oil paint – controlled and layered. Despite their tight look, I didn’t spend that much time on each of these pieces, mainly because I gave up. I could have fine-tuned a lot more details, further emphasized the shadows and highlights, etc., but that was not what I set out to do. I missed the singing and dancing of colors in water.
In a way, the old pumpkin painting was not finished either, and the values probably don’t make sense. However, it was fun, and in my mind, it was what watercolor is supposed to be.
I am not upset though. I haven’t practiced watercolor for a while so a bit lack of touch is fair game. I like my compositions and color choices, and that’s something. Most importantly, I didn’t let the trip completely cut off my art practice, and that’s quite a step forward!
I know it’s the wrong season. I started these paintings in early spring, when Trader Joe’s still carried those cheap bunches of daffodils. It is a nostalgic flower for me; my father used to raise them around Spring Festivals. It is also a challenging flower to paint – yellow is not an easy color to keep clean. In addition, I wanted to try doing a quick preliminary study beforehand, a practice many accomplished artists advocate.
Here they are:
Daffodils and Fruits, oil sketch on paper, 9 x 12 in. 2023Daffodils and Fruits, oil on canvas board, 12 x 16 in, 2023Daffodils and Eggs, watercolor sketch on paper, 10 x 10 in, 2023Daffodils and Eggs, oil on canvas, 18 x 24 in, 2023
And here’s what I got from this experience:
As your can see, I did a one hour oil sketch before Daffodils and Fruits, and I liked the sketch better than the final painting itself. The looseness brings out a movement and a sense of humor that diminished in the meticulously rendered final painting. I am seriously considering setting a timer for my future paintings.
The study for Daffodils and Eggs was done in watercolor and it was overworked for the purpose.
The blue overtone was an improvisation. The original setting was dull and it worked better with the watercolor than oil medium. I wanted to add some drama and energy to the rather mundane setup. I feel I made the right choice.
For me, doing a study beforehand took a bit of freshness out of the final painting process. It could be I was just doing it for the sake of doing it rather than as a process of exploring.
It occurred to me that still life as a genre that could be the most expressive for a realistic artist. You don’t get to do that much “directing” in portraiture or landscape. Though at this state, my main focus is still honing my technique, I need to be more thoughtful in choosing and orchestrating the subjects.
I did put a signature on Daffodils and Eggs. Can you find it?
The two watercolor books are a rich collection of the artist’s sketches, finished and unfinished works in the medium. Watercolor and gouache were often used by old masters as studies for a bigger oil piece, and it seems to the be case for Cézanne early on. However, later in his life, when his reputation began to be established, he increasingly make watercolors as independent works of art.
Cézanne’s watercolor is as unconventional as his oil paintings. The charcoal drawings, the white of the paper, and even the artist’s changing thought all become part of the composition. We see the draft, the negotiating and the final status on one page. This provides a unique window into the artist’s painting and the thinking process.
Still life with Green Melon, watercolor on paper, c.1906Still Life with Apples, a Bottle and a Milk Pot, watercolor on paper, c. 1904
Unlike J. M. W. Turner (1775 – 1851) and other watercolorists, Cézanne adopts a touch by touch and color by color method. He layers translucent patches with gestural brushwork, resulting in a vibrant and casual overall appearance, with fragmentary and kaleidoscopic details. However, the actual process was deliberate and labor-intensive.
Still Life with Blue Pot, watercolor and graphite on paper, 48.1 x 632 cm, c 1900-1906
Contemporary figurative artist Ted Nuttall also employs transparent patches of colors to create energetic and vibrant paintings. While both artists are deliberate in their approach, Nuttall’s use of dots helps complete the painting, whereas Cézanne’s colors, used as lines, remain exploratory.
Father, oil on canvas board, 14 x 18 in., February, 2023Me, oil on canvas, 18 x 24 in, January 2023
A few notes:
The watercolors were originally painted a couple of years ago, but I did some major revisions this year before the shows. I have yet to figure out how to date works like these.
The experiment of revising past works gave me a lot of ideas. Some of the old paintings may find a new life, and some of the creating processes may never end!
The portraits are the first time I entered my oil paintings to a show. They both received “Honorable Mention.”
I feel lucky that the “Portrait” is an online show, because none of the pieces I entered is completely dry. Northern California was darn wet this past winter!
ZHI SU 