Some pictures are worth a thousand words. But what about a picture of a word? Chinese calligraphy is writing and art rolled into one scroll, and even something more. Through technique and skill thrown in with the artist’s personality, a calligrapher can turn a standard square Chinese character into an expressive image that shows the inner world of the artist and reveals far more than just the meaning of the characters themselves. In the olden days of the Chinese empire, a good handle on a calligraphy brush was imperative and could propel a prospective civil servant or scholar far. Back then and still today, many Chinese (my host sister and father included) study diligently for years to master the deceptively difficult art and science of combining the right proportions of ink and water with the responsiveness of rice paper and a steady hand that can maneuver the brush in just the right ways and at just the right speed.
Calligraphy can be considered a discipline—both a physical and mental one—much like China's more world-renowned martial arts. During my first calligraphy lesson, I came to understand that in the slower-paced society of times past as well as in modern China's rush, the calligraphy brush together with paper, ink and stone can be seen as a means to meditate, clear the mind and calm the soul. “For our purposes and fast-paced life,” Huang Laoshi told the group of CIEE students that he had taken to buy supplies for his calligraphy class, “the pre-mixed and bottled ink will do just fine. But if you want the real experience, and to clear your mind while your at it, I suggest you buy one of these ink sticks as well. A serious student,” he explained, “will spend a half-hour or so before starting to paint just grinding the ink stick to come up with the perfect proportions of ink and water.” I bought both, but with my busy schedule, alas, have yet to try out the ink stick.
In addition to a means of making ink and an ink stone to hold it, calligraphy of course requires a brush and paper. These four basic tools, known as the “four treasures of the study,” are versatile enough to express a broad range of styles and emotions. Ink. Stone. Brush. Paper. Sounds simple enough. But the four treasures are surprisingly hard to work with. Looking at a flawless finished work, it's hard to imagine the hours of practice and preparation involved. The key is not necessarily mastering how to write a character, but mastering the 8 basic brush strokes—including a dot as well as horizontal, vertical, and diagonal lines in straight, curved and hooked form—that comprise every component of every character. That too sounds pretty straightforward. But here’s the catch: it all has to be executed in one fell swoop, no going back over a spot where the brush faltered. Even if you go back over what you painted, the result will often turn out worse than if you just left it alone.
Our very first lesson involved no brushes or other “four treasures,” but Huang Laoshi explaining (in Chinese, of course) some of the things I just explained for you here. A few days later, he agreed to take a group of all the students interested in joining his class to Shi Zhi Zhai, apparently the best (although slightly more expensive) place in town to get calligraphy supplies, books and finished works, a place that's been an establishment in Nanjing since the early days of the Qing Dynasty (mid-1600's).
Next class, now that we all came armed with our own supplies, we could finally get our hands dirty and start to paint. For roughly an hour and a half, we painted long horizontal lines. The following class, we practiced short in addition to long horizontal lines. And next week, if we're lucky, we’ll get to move on to vertical lines. Progress is slow and it sounds like it could be frustrating. But in the process of monotonous practice, my mind and spirit become calm. After the hour and a half class, I walk out of the classroom with sheets of practice paper covered in horizontal lines and a mind cleared momentarily of the worries of homework and the pressures of making a life in a new country, a country where lots of things (from social relations to calligraphy, from food to commerce) are more complex beneath a simple-looking surface.
Calligraphy can be considered a discipline—both a physical and mental one—much like China's more world-renowned martial arts. During my first calligraphy lesson, I came to understand that in the slower-paced society of times past as well as in modern China's rush, the calligraphy brush together with paper, ink and stone can be seen as a means to meditate, clear the mind and calm the soul. “For our purposes and fast-paced life,” Huang Laoshi told the group of CIEE students that he had taken to buy supplies for his calligraphy class, “the pre-mixed and bottled ink will do just fine. But if you want the real experience, and to clear your mind while your at it, I suggest you buy one of these ink sticks as well. A serious student,” he explained, “will spend a half-hour or so before starting to paint just grinding the ink stick to come up with the perfect proportions of ink and water.” I bought both, but with my busy schedule, alas, have yet to try out the ink stick.
In addition to a means of making ink and an ink stone to hold it, calligraphy of course requires a brush and paper. These four basic tools, known as the “four treasures of the study,” are versatile enough to express a broad range of styles and emotions. Ink. Stone. Brush. Paper. Sounds simple enough. But the four treasures are surprisingly hard to work with. Looking at a flawless finished work, it's hard to imagine the hours of practice and preparation involved. The key is not necessarily mastering how to write a character, but mastering the 8 basic brush strokes—including a dot as well as horizontal, vertical, and diagonal lines in straight, curved and hooked form—that comprise every component of every character. That too sounds pretty straightforward. But here’s the catch: it all has to be executed in one fell swoop, no going back over a spot where the brush faltered. Even if you go back over what you painted, the result will often turn out worse than if you just left it alone.
Our very first lesson involved no brushes or other “four treasures,” but Huang Laoshi explaining (in Chinese, of course) some of the things I just explained for you here. A few days later, he agreed to take a group of all the students interested in joining his class to Shi Zhi Zhai, apparently the best (although slightly more expensive) place in town to get calligraphy supplies, books and finished works, a place that's been an establishment in Nanjing since the early days of the Qing Dynasty (mid-1600's).
Next class, now that we all came armed with our own supplies, we could finally get our hands dirty and start to paint. For roughly an hour and a half, we painted long horizontal lines. The following class, we practiced short in addition to long horizontal lines. And next week, if we're lucky, we’ll get to move on to vertical lines. Progress is slow and it sounds like it could be frustrating. But in the process of monotonous practice, my mind and spirit become calm. After the hour and a half class, I walk out of the classroom with sheets of practice paper covered in horizontal lines and a mind cleared momentarily of the worries of homework and the pressures of making a life in a new country, a country where lots of things (from social relations to calligraphy, from food to commerce) are more complex beneath a simple-looking surface.
1 comment:
I could never have mastered this art, though I tried hard when I was a kid. Maybe I started to lose the grip of the spirit of Chinese culture from there. BTW, the apparent Chinese culture is about to complicate things, though some people would tell you the behind theory is simple.
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