Decoding the Authentic Through the Imitated
—On the Metropolitan Museum’s Attributed Huang Tingjian “Chronicle of Lian Po and Lin Xiangru”
Huang Tingjian (黄庭坚, 1045–1105), one of the Four Great Masters of Northern Song calligraphy, is best known for his expressive semi-cursive style and eccentric character structure, establishing what would later be termed the “Jiangxi School.” A version of Chronicle of Lian Po and Lin Xiangru (廉颇蔺相如列传), attributed to him and housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, has long been the subject of scholarly contention. Some hail its knife-like incisions and dynamic use of feibai (flying white strokes) as hallmarks of a genuine Song hand. Others cite its consistent ink tone and the somewhat polished brush movement as evidence of a Ming-dynasty imitation. To adjudicate such debates, one must turn to works indisputably penned by Huang himself. Chief among them is the Inscription on the Stele of Dizhu (砥柱铭), held at the National Palace Museum in Taipei, a piece that crystallizes the true voice of the master.
There, in that stele inscription, we find his distinctive approach to composition: Huang preferred loose vertical energy, letting lines drift with “flame-head” configurations, often beginning the first column near the top right corner, purposefully leaving negative space. His characters often lean forward or sweep upward, with rising hooks on both sides and a rhythmic variation in stroke length. His brush technique is assertively uneven—suppressed yet forceful, dry interspersed with wet, often punctuated with deliberate feibai and dripping ink that lend a layered visual texture.
By contrast, the Metropolitan version of Chronicle of Lian Po and Lin Xiangru is executed on clean, subtly ochre-toned paper that lacks the patina and fiber weave of Song materials. Its ink is uniformly smooth and oily, devoid of the cracking or fading expected from a centuries-old manuscript. Though the line layout generally follows textual sense, the spacing between characters and columns is too consistently regulated. This precision flattens the natural variability in Huang’s authentic “walking step” rhythm. Many of the vertical strokes appear rounded and gently tapered. While occasional side-tipped brushwork reveals some effort at expressive variation, it falls short of the rugged impact and visceral force found in authenticated works, where strokes collide and intertwine like bone and sinew.
Examine closely the radicals and structural details: the “廉” character’s wide enclosure in the Met piece is filled with horizontal lines that are overly flat and decorative. In authentic pieces, Huang disperses these elements at oblique angles, chiseled with the raw sharpness of an axe. Likewise, in “颇,” the rightward upward lift typical in Song hands has been softened into a mild bend—losing the kinetic tension that marks Huang’s vigorous energy.
Compared once again to Inscription on the Stele of Dizhu, we note a world of difference in stroke articulation. That work, written in the eighth year of Yuan You (1093) for a family ritual, merges the integrity of regular script with the fluidity of semi-cursive. Horizontal strokes pause minutely; verticals retract subtly. Its power is contained, never flamboyant. By contrast, the Chronicle in question, though composed in semi-cursive, never quite achieves the same aggregation and dispersal of brush energy. Consider the character “为”: in authentic pieces, the final downward right stroke (na) terminates with a subtle gap, projecting a poised energy as if about to leap from the surface. In this version, the stroke ends without suspension—smooth, uninterrupted, and static. The brush pacing throughout also lacks dynamism. Huang’s genuine works are marked by rapid strokes interspersed with calm ones, giving the text a musical rhythm. Here, however, the writing glides at a uniform tempo, missing the deliberate syncopation that defines Northern Song brushwork.
Turning to the seals and inscriptions: a genuine work from the Northern Song would likely carry at least one seal bearing “Tingjian” (庭坚) and a personal inscription. This scroll, however, features collector’s seals such as “Yunhui” (云卉) and “Cunlu” (存庐), suggesting ownership in the Ming or Qing period. The seal paste itself appears granular and powdery, lacking the thick cinnabar richness of Song-era impressions. Furthermore, the carving style is clean-cut and consistent, lacking the slight irregularities that Song seal-engravers often introduced to harmonize with the calligraphy.
Still, to dismiss the scroll entirely as a forgery would be unfair. If indeed a Ming imitation, it is one crafted with remarkable care and subtlety. Certain strokes are rendered with near-reverential fidelity. The returning vertical hook in “将,” the tapering final stroke in “传”—these betray a hand deeply attuned to the stylistic currents of Huang’s brush. Moreover, faint watermark traces on the verso suggest an early, possibly rare edition. As an artifact of artistic emulation and historical reverence, it holds aesthetic and academic value in its own right. These high-quality imitations reflect not only the enduring legacy of Huang’s aesthetic but also the Ming and Qing dynasties’ broader revivalist tastes and connoisseurship patterns.
From a purely appreciative perspective, the scroll—though not a true Song artifact—still channels echoes of the “Jiangxi School.” It contains refined edges within its lighter strokes, embedded strength in its thicker ones. Its flow may lack the tumult of Huang’s originals, but it embodies the studied refinement of Ming practitioners. If we view it not merely as a pastiche but as a composite tribute—blending the elegance of Wang Xizhi (王羲之), the grace of Mi Fu (米芾), and the force of Huang Tingjian—it becomes a meaningful waypoint in the evolution of post-Song calligraphy. Reading its lines, one may sense Huang’s spirit refracted through time—a transhistorical dialogue shaped as much by admiration as imitation.
Ultimately, the definitive authentication of this scroll would require modern tools: fiber analysis, carbon testing, ink composition assays. Yet from a calligraphic standpoint alone, it stands as a valuable object of transmission. It invites reflection: How is style preserved across centuries? How do inscriptions and seals shape the perception of lineage? For calligraphy, like identity, becomes most visible in the interplay between origin and interpretation, original and echo, brush and eye across time.
