The first time Han Tianheng held a seal-carving knife in his hands, he was six years old and cut his finger badly. Little Han was stunned by the sight of blood and riddled with pain and fear. His mother applied incense ashes because she couldn’t afford to take him to a hospital.

The cut left a scar but it didn’t deter Han, now 73, from pursing his passion for the ancient art of seal carving.

“An eye for an eye and blood for blood,” Han jests in recalling the incident. “At difficult times, I always told myself to stick to my dream of becoming an artist and work harder so that the blood I shed at age six wasn’t in vain.”

Today, one of China’s most respected living masters of the art sits in a red sandalwood chair at his home in Jing’an District, surrounded by his works of calligraphy, painting and seal engraving, all neatly arranged amid an extensive library of books.

Han has designed and carved seals, or chops, for well-established painters like Liu Haisu (1896-1994), Cheng Shifa (1921-2007) and Lu Yanshao (1909-93). He made seals as official gifts for the leaders of the 20 countries attending the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation summit in Shanghai in 2001.

At a recent auction in Beijing, a seal Han made 11 years ago sold for 4 million yuan (US$653,623), a record for contemporary seals.

“There is no end to an artist’s journey, and I hope to explore and further improve my artistic vision and works,” Han says, brushing aside his age.

Han keeps himself busy by writing, painting, carving, mentoring students and managing his art collection.

The Han Tianheng Art Museum is set to open in the Jiading District on September 26. It will display 1,135 items donated by Han, including several rare antique seals, paintings, calligraphy and traditional tools such as ink-stones and brush pots.

“I was never a wealthy collector,” he explains. “I collected so that I could take a closer look and learn from great ancient artists. China’s policies of economic reforms made my dreams possible and allowed me to earn an income to build up my collection. So I have always wanted to give something back to society.”

Born in Shanghai in 1940, Han’s family fell destitute after the Japanese bombed the ivory factory and warehouse owned by his father. The entire family was reduced to sharing one thin congee for a meal.

Han’s father, despite his poverty, loved art and believed that education could change one’s destiny, even in turbulent years. Han and his siblings were taught to read and write at an early age.

“I wanted to become an artist and my elder brother wanted to become a professor,” Han says. “We both realized our dreams eventually, after arduous efforts. When I was little, many praised my artistic talent, but talent alone doesn’t help realize a dream. My personal dream was closely linked to the destiny of the country.”

Seal carving is considered one of the four great arts of China. Design and carving of seals on stone, ivory or bamboo date back to ancient times, when chops were used as “signatures” on official documents, paintings and other papers.

The art requires skill in calligraphy and painting, stable hands and a creative mind to develop infinite variations and styles in the space of a few square centimeters.

When the People’s Republic of China was founded in 1949, the country had to rebuild itself from the ravages of war. Hard work was praised, and traditional culture and art were condemned as useless to society. Those were hard years for aspiring artists and intellectuals.

Han started working in a textile factory at the age of 16, not long before the Great Leap Forward policy began, promising to transform China into an industrial giant. He was forced to work 14 hours a day, seven days a week, earning 60 yuan a month.

He gave one-third of his wages to his parents and a third to his brother, who was studying at university. There was literally no time or energy left to practice seal engraving or to pursue personal dreams.

Han eventually quit his job and was drafted into the armed services, where his pay dropped to 6 yuan a month but he actually enjoyed more spare time.

“In those days, nobody wanted to get drafted,” he says. “The pay was low, and war was expected to break out any day.”

He was sent to a naval base near the city of Wenzhou in Zhejiang Province for four and a half years. He says he never regretted his decision.

“My bosses in the army really appreciated my ability to write, paint and carve, so they gave me a lot of support,” he says. “And I took advantage of all the time and opportunities I had.”

On his half-day off every two weeks, Han visited a seal-carving master who lived more than two hours away by bus on unpaved roads. His mentor was a busy man and sometimes only had a few minutes to spare to comment on Han’s most recent works.

During his years at the naval base, he studied and carved more than 3,000 seals.

“I couldn’t afford to buy many stones or scraping paper, so I often smoothed the bottom of the stone on the cement floor in my room and in the yard,” Han recalls. “In the end, all the rough cement surfaces were smooth like mirrors.”

When Han was eventually transferred back to Shanghai, he had to discard almost all his clothes and shoes to make space in his luggage for stones, seals and books.

He says he has read almost all available books on seal patterns, including more than 700 in the Shanghai Library and more than 500 in Hangzhou, capital city of Zhejiang Province. That formed the basis of his first anthology on the artistic theories of seal carving.

“Basics were important,” Han says. “I started carving when I was six, but I didn’t participate in an exhibition until 17 years later. I always warn those who want to become my students that they must practice basic skills for at least five years, with no concern for fame or money.”

After his first exhibition in 1963, Han started to gain a name for himself. Three years later, the “cultural revolution” (1966-76) began, forcing him to pursue art in secret.

Artists at the time came under severe public censure. Han managed to keep in touch with many fellow artists, which landed his name on an official watch list.

He also tried to buy as many condemned art works as he could before they were burned. He was constantly short of funds.

“It was pure labor of love,” Han says. “I bought them as reference materials to study and never imagined they would one day become so valuable.”

China’s economic reform policies, begun in 1978, opened the door once again to acceptance of traditional culture and art. Han was able to sell his seals and make money. He spent most of the money on acquiring more stones and antiques.

“Many antiques were smuggled out of the country, so whenever I was overseas and saw something precious, I felt like I had found a lost countryman and had to bring it back,” Han says.

Today the art market in China is flourishing, but Han sees a downside.

“Many artists rise to stardom through marketing and packaging ploys rather than on the quality of their work,” says the artist. “It shows a lack of respect for traditional art and culture. But I think all these superficial artists and art works will fade away in time, leaving only those truly committed to art.”