Fahai Monastery

2021.9.18

I saw murals for the first time.

At Yungang Grottoes, with TanTan.

One month later we'd get married.

The trip to Yungang was planned; the getting married was not.

I'm happy with both.

Murals again.

Week 3 of our 2026 journey.

Can't believe we waited so long to see something so breathtaking and so close to home.

Murals in the Mahāvīra Hall of Fahai Monastery 法海寺壁畫.

The hall is dark.

No light, no candle, back door sealed, windows covered.

Following the flashlight of the guide:

the stamen of the peonies, the blood vessels in the fox's ear, the iris of the boy, the gaps between the teeth of the deva, the threads of gauze draping over the bodhisattva…

And so much more.

Nearly 600 years ago, a dozen court painters of the Ming dynasty worked day and night for four years.

Thousands of strokes. None surplus.

The colors have faded.

Air, light, moisture.

Things that feed us kill the mural.

Yet things that outlive us also feed it: narrative and imagination.

The painters' names are carved in a stone sūtra pillar.

Wan Fuqing 宛福清, the chief painter.

What a beautiful name.

Art stays; names of artists don't. Most of the time, this is the case in imperial China.

When he draws the blood vessel inside the fox's ear, does he hold his breath?

When he draws the sixty threads within every square centimeter of gauze, does he almost go blind?

When Wan Fuqing and his colleagues finish painting the three walls of the hall, do they know their strokes will drop the jaw of anyone who sees them?

Then. Now. And in the future.

It's good to know this is the finest surviving mural of the Ming dynasty. The highest caliber. The most exquisite craft.

What's really good to know, though, is that those impossible strokes will stay.

Stay in our senses and memories.

Even when they disappear one day.