Immortals and Scholars
- W. Y. Geng
- May 15, 2014
- 6 min read
Updated: Jan 5

Zhang Lu (ca. 1464–1538) was a professional painter from Kaifeng in Henan Province. He is often regarded as one of the leading Zhe School artists after Wu Wei, yet seventeenth-century literati critics also categorized him among the “wild and heterodox” painters. Much of Zhang’s surviving oeuvre consists of figure painting, a genre in which he both inherits Zhe School conventions and asserts a highly individual manner. This essay examines the subject matter and techniques of Zhang Lu’s figure paintings in order to illuminate both his artistic identity and the broader cultural landscape of his time.

Zhang Lu painted a wide range of figures, including Daoist immortals, historical personages, scholars, fishermen, and other archetypal characters. The subject matter of his figure paintings reflects both his personal circumstances—such as his status as an independent professional painter and the temperament later critics described as “wild”—and the broader social environment, particularly prevailing popular taste. A significant portion of his surviving works are religious figure paintings. For example, his eighteen-leaf album of Daoist figures, now in the collection of the Shanghai Museum, depicts a rich variety of Daoist themes. Zhang Lu also produced Chan Buddhist images, such as Shide Laughing at the Moon, which presents a familiar Zen subject through an expressive and unconventional visual language. As a professional master working outside the literati establishment, Zhang Lu was likely attentive to patronage and the art market, selecting subjects that would appeal to contemporary audiences while allowing room for personal expression.

Daoist belief and Daoist storytelling flourished during the Ming dynasty, supported by both court patronage and an increasingly secular, urban culture that sustained a large audience for religious and auspicious imagery. In this context, the ideal of the “Three Teachings” (Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism) offered a flexible framework through which different communities could reconcile moral life, ritual practice, and spiritual aspiration. Court taste for Daoist figure painting—and for syncretic religious imagery more broadly—can be seen in Shang Xi’s Four Immortals Paying Homage to Longevity, where Daoist immortals appear alongside Chan figures, visually staging a harmony among traditions. A related idea is distilled even more pointedly in A Tuan of Harmony by the Chenghua Emperor Zhu Jianshen, a witty pictorial construction that turns the “Three Teachings in one” concept into an immediately legible image. Since Zhang Lu lived after Shang Xi and worked in the decades following the Chenghua reign, his repeated attention to Daoist and religious subjects can be understood, at least in part, as an alignment with an established courtly and popular appetite for such themes.

Daoist figure paintings also aligned with popular taste in the Ming period. Theatre—especially dramas and plays—was widely enjoyed, and many stories drew on the lore of the Eight Immortals. These figures appealed across social levels: they were acceptable to elites and court culture while remaining deeply familiar to ordinary viewers. In visual culture, the Eight Immortals and related Daoist themes could also function as auspicious imagery, carrying wishes for happiness, longevity, and good fortune. It makes sense, then, that Zhang Lu might have painted such subjects for a broad market: they were easy to sell and suitable for settings of decoration, blessing, and celebration.

One thing worth noting is that the Eight Immortals are imagined as both divine and human at the same time. If we compare Southern Song Daoist liturgical paintings with Zhang Lu’s figures in the Shanghai Museum album, a clear shift emerges: Zhang’s deities are more secularized—more humanized—in their bearing and expression. His figures display a wider range of facial expression and emotional warmth. In the leaf depicting the God of Longevity, for example, the slightly upturned eyes and mouth make both the deity and his attendant read as smiling, whereas figures in Song liturgical imagery tend to appear more solemn and impassive, with fewer naturalistic expressions.

Part of this difference may come from function: Zhang Lu’s paintings could serve birthdays or congratulatory occasions, while Song religious images often emphasize hierarchy, authority, and ritual presence. In Zhang Lu’s hands, the immortals not only look less like distant deities, but more like recognizable people—elders chatting, companions sharing a moment—so vivid that the viewer can almost imagine their conversation and laughter.

Another point worth noticing is scale. Zhang Lu’s Shanghai Museum album is an intimate format: each leaf measures 31.6 × 59.3 cm. By contrast, Shang Xi’s hanging scroll is much larger at 98.3 × 143.8 cm. This difference likely reflects different functions. In the early Ming, large-scale figure paintings could serve decorative and ceremonial purposes in courtly spaces, where size helped project auspicious meaning and visual presence. Shang Xi’s work fits that context. Zhang Lu, however, worked as an independent professional painter whose audience included commoners as well as scholars and officials. In that setting, album leaves would more often circulate as objects for private viewing, appreciation, and collection rather than public display. The comparatively restrained use of color also supports the idea that Zhang’s images were meant less as architectural decoration and more as paintings to be handled, studied, and enjoyed at close range.

In addition to religious subjects, Zhang Lu also painted historical figures. A well-known example is Su Shi Returning to Court (also known as Su Dongpo Returning to the Hanlin Academy), which depicts the Song-dynasty poet and statesman Su Shi being reinstated after political exile. The painting raises an interesting question: why did this story matter to Zhang Lu and his audience? It may have appealed to the tastes and values of Zhang’s patrons, but it can also be read as a more personal choice. Zhang came from an aristocratic family and received an elite education, yet he did not attain official rank and instead built his career as a professional painter. In that light, Su Shi’s story can function as a consoling image—suggesting that talent and integrity may still be recognized after setbacks. Even if this connection remains speculative, it is possible that Zhang projected his own feelings into the subject when he painted Su Shi Returning to Court.

Zhang Lu’s interest in historical exemplars may also appear in images associated with Zhuge Liang. Richard Barnhart suggests that the “sleeping scholar” and “sitting scholar” in the album Landscapes and Figures may be intended as Zhuge Liang. Zhuge Liang, the famed strategist of the Three Kingdoms period, is often remembered for living in reclusion for years before being recruited into service. If these figures are indeed Zhuge Liang, the identification would resonate with Zhang Lu’s own reputation for living simply, almost like a hermit. Read this way, Zhang’s historical figures are not only narrative subjects; they become vehicles for self-reflection and for expressing ideals about talent, withdrawal, and the rise and fall of worldly fortune.

Another reason Zhang Lu may have painted scholars and historical figures is patronage. He was admired by scholars and officials, and works such as Playing the Qin for a Friend and Scholar Contemplating a Waterfall likely circulated within that educated audience. Many of his paintings are relatively small in scale, making them well suited to personal collecting rather than public display. This helps explain why themes of cultivated friendship and scholarly self-fashioning recur in his figure paintings.






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