The Quiet Power of Scholar’s Rocks in Chinese Art: From the Sculptures of Zhan Wang to the Paintings of Xiang Li
November 4, 2025 · Tripti Gore Chandorkar
Table of Contents
- Introduction
- Scholar’s Rocks: Mountains in Miniature
- Mountains in Xiang Li’s Paintings: Strong Silent Companions
- A Reason to Pause, Before You Go
Introduction
When we admire Xiang Li’s magnificent Chinese Empresses or her calming Guanyin paintings, we’re often captivated first by the shimmering silks, jeweled headdresses, phoenix wings, and mythical creatures that sweep across the canvas. Yet for as long as I’ve been studying her work, my gaze has also been drawn to something quieter: the mountains and rock formations that rise in the background like ancient guardians.
I’ve noticed them not only in Xiang Li’s paintings, but in many traditional East Asian artworks — always present, always watching. They radiate a subtle gravity, a spiritual hush. Even before I had the language to describe it, I felt there was something deeply significant about these forms in East Asian art. I simply couldn’t pinpoint what that something was.
That changed during a recent visit to the Harvard Art Museums in Cambridge with my friend Fei Wu (Xiang Li’s daughter). In the Asian art galleries, I encountered a gleaming stainless-steel sculpture by the contemporary Chinese artist Zhan Wang — a polished, futuristic interpretation of the traditional “scholar’s rock.” Nearby sat two authentic scholar’s rocks from the Qing dynasty, their surfaces bubbled, pitted, and wonderfully irregular, sculpted over centuries by water and wind. Standing before them, I finally understood what had been whispering to me from Xiang Li’s painted mountains all this time.
Scholar’s rocks are prized in classical Chinese culture as miniature mountains—symbols of harmony, resilience, and the boundless creativity of the natural world. In ancient China, they were collected by the literati as contemplative muses in their studios, hence the name “scholar’s rocks.” Read more about the history of these rocks here.
Scholar’s Rocks: Mountains in Miniature
For more than a thousand years, scholar’s rocks (gongshi) have held a special place in Chinese art and culture. Collected by literati poets and philosophers from the Tang dynasty onward, these unusual stones were prized for their dramatic shapes, perforations, and textures — physical landscapes distilled into handheld form.
Placed in gardens or on desks, they were meditative portals — small universes that encouraged contemplation and inward travel. Mountains in miniature. Or a beautiful painting in the form of a rock.
Zhan Wang’s contemporary version does something fascinating: he wraps stainless steel around real stones, welds the pieces, and polishes the surface until it gleams like liquid chrome. The result reflects the viewer — and the modern world — while preserving the ancient reverence for stone. In doing so, Wang bridges tradition and the modern world.
Mountains in Xiang Li’s Paintings: Strong Silent Companions
When I returned home and looked again at Xiang Li’s paintings, I saw them through a new lens.
Behind the golden Empress crowned by dragons and phoenixes, mountains unfold in lavender tones. Behind Guanyin, clouds embrace rocky peaks softened by mist. Even in her elegant court beauties draped in pink and lilac, there they are again — grounded rock formations anchoring all that swirling movement.
These mountains are never loud. They rarely take center stage. But their presence is undeniable:
They stabilize. They balance. They quietly hold the world together.
In traditional Chinese cosmology, mountains represent heaven’s meeting point with earth, serving as spiritual thresholds. By placing them behind powerful feminine figures, Xiang Li connects her heroines to nature’s most ancient, enduring structure.
A Reason to Pause, Before You Go
After my museum visit, something shifted. I began to notice how, in Xiang Li’s compositions, mountains and rocks act as silent partners: where the figure is dramatic, the mountain is calm; where silk is fluid, stone is still. Without them, the figure would float. With them, she becomes both grounded and celestial.
Now, when I linger with these paintings, I find myself drawn into the craggy shapes emerging from mist, the ridges tucked behind lotus petals, the shadows of stone beneath swirling robes. These formations are more than backdrop — they are presence.
Rocks don’t demand attention. They don’t shimmer like pearl or roar like dragons. But if you listen patiently, they whisper: I have witnessed centuries. I endure the wind. I wait. And through me, you may remember your place in the world.
In Xiang Li’s art, that whisper becomes a quiet heartbeat — steady, ancient, and endlessly compelling. And I finally understand why my eyes were always drawn there.
Next time you linger over Xiang Li’s art, let your gaze soften into the mountains and stones behind her luminous figures. Notice how they ground the silk, tame the dragons, and steady the wind. You may find, as I did, that the quietest forms carry the deepest stories.
I hope you will visit us at one of the upcoming events here in Massachusetts.