FOREWORD
Grazing at the Plateau
The Himalayas—majestic, immaculate—rise like guardians between earth and sky. The Yarlung Tsangpo River charges through the land, fierce and unrelenting. Endless grasslands and scorched deserts stretch to the horizon. The Potala Palace gleams with timeless brilliance. Despite the unforgiving terrain, the Tibetan people endure, preserving a heritage of sincerity and grace. Morning bells and evening drums echo alongside chants and prayers, softly resonating through mountain passes and across sacred lakes. Everything on this “Roof of the World” forms a mythic, boundless, and sacred reality—an irreplaceable cradle of culture. Like many perceptive artists, Yu Hanxi, now in middle age, plunged his brush into this spiritual soil like a farmer’s plow, sowing with reverence. His repeated journeys became the deep foundation of a body of work both rich and profound.
To view Yu Hanxi’s Tibetan works through technique alone is to miss their essence. If you’ve ever walked the Tibetan Plateau—gasping for breath, yet unable to resist moving forward—and if you’ve ever felt its nearness to heaven, then looking at Yu Hanxi’s paintings becomes something more. You won’t just see artistic skill—you’ll feel the serenity of time immemorial, hear the warmth of ancient hymns and the endless echoes of prayer, and sense the sacred presence that fills both land and sky.
Peng Jianming 2025 . 6 .18
Art Collections
About Artist
A Personal Reflection on My Tibetan Oil Paintings
Yu Hanxi | June 10, 2025
Most painters are idealists, and I am no exception. In a world overwhelmed by noise, fragmented values, the loss of belief, materialism, and inner exhaustion, painting has become my only way to pass the time. I also hope to find a sense of belonging through art—and, in that process, to understand the meaning of life.
Living in a busy city, deeply entangled in the mundane, all I see around me is dust and distraction. Perhaps only by going to the most desolate places can one truly witness the purest beauty and the most fervent faith. And so, I packed my bag and headed west.
Tibetan pilgrims along the road, prostrating with every step, have such resolute eyes. Their devotion is deeply moving—like sunlight breaking through clouds, falling straight into the heart. Tibetan girls are like Gesang flowers blooming on the plateau: they offer their softness to the sun, and their resilience to the snow mountains. The red-robed monks, with palms pressed together, reciting scriptures solemnly—their voices seem to travel through time, their expressions calm and unwavering. Inside temples, under shifting light and shadow, the sound of ritual horns echoes. The ceremonies are grand and reverent; every gesture is aligned with the divine.
This kind of belief is not abstract—it is already rooted in their lives, becoming an instinctive spiritual anchor. When the tides of materialism lead people astray, their faith stands like a lighthouse in this cold, oxygen-thin land, nourishing every soul.
The Tibetan environment is harsh, its material conditions simple. Yet along the journey, what I saw was not sorrow or numbness to suffering, but open-mindedness and kindness. This land—with its unique mountains and landscapes—gives its people great wisdom: a blend of gentleness and strength. As the world loses direction in war, pandemics, and economic fractures, they continue to live in peace, remaining true to themselves. Perhaps, in their hearts, the world is made up of Tibet—and everywhere else outside of it.
In today’s utilitarian world, how does one hold onto inner calm? Their way of life offers insight. Returning to the peace within, reexamining the relationship between humanity and nature—living in harmony, with reverence and love. For someone deeply shaped by materialism, returning is incredibly difficult—but also incredibly beautiful.
That’s why I decided to paint them. Because they live closest to the sky—and are the people closest to the heavens. My brush is not satisfied with depicting appearances; I hope to glimpse the whispers of their souls. They walk alone across the wilderness, often accompanied only by cattle and horses. On this vast plateau, they live side by side with the heavens and the earth, in symbiosis with all living things—a way of life that itself defines what it means to exist, and what it means to blend with nature.
I enjoy using stage-like light and shadow to portray grand or solitary scenes, placing people within the vastness of nature. These works are not merely records; they carry my reflections on the past and present: no matter how the world changes, only by holding onto belief and keeping an open heart can one find authenticity and peace in a chaotic world.
This is the original intent behind my Tibetan series. For me, this body of work is like a mirror—it reveals the image of Tibetans in life and in spirit, their reverence for faith, and their compassion for existence. At the same time, it is also a mirror of myself: the person in that reflection, letting go and returning, carrying a backpack, heading west.