"Charred ink cuts into rice paper chiseling the strong bones of pines Leaving the essence of stone cliffs imprinted every stroke defines a rugged peak Shouldering mountains and valleys he stands quietly ink and brush in hand void is not nothingness It serves as the passage for breezes the homeward journey of clouds the peaks embraced in each observer's soul Integrity is what the inkstone polishes not ink the vast spirit of landscapes is what the paper portrays not mere views"