Many years ago, I was particularly struck by an exhibition of abstract paintings I saw in New York. Although there were differences in the style of the works, they were all composed from line and space. Later, I read in various sources that the artists in the exhibition had been influenced by Chinese calligraphy. A kind of eastern feeling was conveyed in their work by the use of non-western forms. But what really mattered was that their use of line affected me and inspired me to begin thinking about the nature of calligraphy itself. Twenty years later I finally have an answer to what calligraphy is.
Each artistic form has its own special character. This is what prevents it from being displaced by newer media as time moves on. Chinese calligraphy has been evolving and developing for several thousands of years, and is still flourishing today. Clearly, it must possess certain special qualities. What special qualities? To help explain, let me first say what they are not.
Calligraphy is not the art of line. Or to put it another way, the essential quality of calligraphy is not line. If one looks at the works of calligraphers down the ages, it is easy to see that each master established his own way of using the brush, a way so unique that experts can identify their work from the execution of a single character or even a single line. Indeed, over the centuries enormous amounts of time and effort must have gone into perfecting the line in order to create such ‘signature’ styles and advance the calligraphic tradition. So, to say that line is not the essence of calligraphy will no doubt be hard to accept, for it is undeniable that the traditional use and exploration of line has brought amazing achievements.
To pursue the question logically, if calligraphy were the art of line, then there would have been no need for calligraphers to continue to use text in their work as they have done. At the same time it is well known that he appreciation of calligraphy does not lie in the actual words that are written either – a good book is a better means of doing that. If calligraphy had abandoned poetry, artists would have been freed from the restraints imposed by text and at liberty to express themselves more fully. The result would have been the kind of abstract art I saw in New York. it would be wonderful art, but it would not be calligraphy, for it would not contain its essential quality.
Text is a prerequisite for calligraphy, and the quality it imports is time. When looking at a work of calligraphy, the meaning of the text is not the most important thing. However, the presence of the text nevertheless dominates the calligraphy – this is where time comes in.
Time is perceived by us through sequence. Any work of art takes time to complete, but this time rarely plays any part in our appreciation of it. When we look at a painting, we may look first at the bridge and then at the water, or vice versa. There is no sequence ordained in the work itself. But in calligraphy, regardless of whether we choose to follow the artist’s sequential progress or not, the presence of the text makes us aware of it, and the established layout, top to bottom, left to right, reinforces this strongly. If we do examine the characters in the order they were written, the variations in the strokes from character to character reveal to us the artist’s state of mind and flow of emotions during the creative process.
Another indication of time is to be found in the wetness or dryness of the ink. The difference in the amount and flow of the ink, even in a simple brush stroke, denotes the passing of time.
At the level of the character, there is the sequence in which the strokes are formed. The strokes define the space and create the aesthetic, while the sequence imports the quality of time, something the position of the character, following the one above and preceding the one below, does also.
In calligraphy, the importance of space predominates over that of line. When writing text, no matter what character is being written, nor how many, nor what kind of line is being used, the structure of the character must be respected. The strokes must be placed in the right position or the desired character will not result. Yet, no matter how free the interpretation, the character is not actually created by the strokes themselves, but rather by their spatial arrangement. This spatial arrangement is primary. Space, manifested by ink and paper and framed by strokes, is what gives rise to the character.
The text, as well as conferring this time quality, also directs the creative process and determines its success. If an artist does not know and understand the text then the struggle to remember the next words will distract him/her from creating the space and the lines. When artists select a text, or write one of their own, they must be conscious of the emotions and responses it inspires in them. Having a clear understanding of this adds value and meaning to the work as well as enabling the artist to work with the natural rhythm of memory and concentrate everything on wrestling with the blank page.
Music and dance are considered to be time related arts because they have a beginning, a middle and an end. Many people see calligraphy the same way because it is the only visual art form that can be appreciated from a time related point of view. This has been a quality of calligraphy since its inception and remains so today. It is the inherent power of calligraphy, and the reason that, despite the fact that people no longer write with brushes, it has not been weakened or made obsolete with the passing of time.
Although theoretically we can clearly see the importance of the time factor, in practice however, when it comes to inking the brush and writing, it is not a necessary consideration. Space and time both flow from line. Without lines, there are no characters, and without characters there is no space or time. Theory and practice are on opposite sides of the coin.
The most basic element of calligraphy is line, but whether the technique used is complex and controlled, or free and flowing, the essential quality is the same: time. Touching the tip of the brush gently to the paper forms a dot. Looking at two dots, it is impossible to see which was made first. Time isn’t visible. A line is the track left by the tip of the brush as it moves over the paper. It records movement and therefore must have a beginning and an end. time is visible. This is most evident in “grass style” calligraphy, where even if there is no variation in the ink, time is clearly denoted by the direction of movement.
I had been studying calligraphy for almost twenty years before I grasped most of the above. Long absorption in the pleasures of rapidly consuming paper, ink and brushes, had taught me first, that once I had real control over the brush and was able to give my total concentration to the spatial aspects, then no matter how quickly I wrote, it always felt as if I was writing slowly. This, I realized, was why tradition had placed such emphasis on line and technique.
Later, I saw a scroll by Mi Fu (1051-1107) in a New York museum. It was a revelation to me. I stood entranced examining it over and over until gradually Mi Fu’s own words, “I paint calligraphy”, began to make sense. The tremendous variation in line was proof that he used the brush in a million different ways, he had followed every thought, exploiting every part of the brush and every technique. I realized that what he meant by “paint” was that he did not restrict himself to the center of the brush. If only the center had been used he could have achieved the results he did. Thus, I escaped the shackles of the “center of the brush theory”.
After seeing those line abstract paintings in New York, I reflected on the creative paths available to me. On the one hand, I could attempt to climb the mountain of tradition and plant my own flag on the summit. On the other, I could look on the mountain as a resource and take what I needed from it to build my own little hill. The former, would mean adhering to traditional values. No conceptual change would be necessary. The latter would require both a thorough knowledge of the elements and theories of calligraphy, and the introduction of new concepts derived from other areas, in order to develop and express an individual viewpoint. Attracted by the possibilities of the latter approach, I began to employ rational analysis and abandon pure technique, in desire to enter the core of calligraphy. The vast number of works of calligraphy that exists today meant that I had to work hard and attempt to update everything.
Xu Wei (1521-1593) was known for his extreme emotionality. The strength of his untrammeled line is deeply moving, but interestingly, when you look closely, you find that no matter how passionate the emotion nor how vigorous the line, the feeling generated and the brushwork used never seceded certain given bounds. The artist’s powerful reason is controlling these strong passions, preventing them from running riot and destroying the work. From Xu I learned how reason and emotion interact to produce a work of art, and that reason from diminishing the emotion actually enhances it. It is an idea that can be seen in the work of many other calligraphers as well.
Today’s world cannot be compared with a time when people wrote everything with a brush. The world we live in, its pace, our ideas… everything has changed and no matter how much we might like to go back, things will never be the way they were. Thus, my approach abandons traditional line and traditional technique. Instead I use a primitive, simple form of line, plus what I have learned from Xu Wei and others, to experiment with the relationship between form and expression, in order to crawl forward.
When Zhang Yu (1277-1384) produced his work of one startling stroke, I was awoken as if by the chime of a clock. He showed me the value of the “failed stroke” and made me aware of focal effects. The momentum, climax and denouement in the work helped me escape the paradigm of good and bad technique and made me think more about the intention and effect of line, for that is the real indicator of an artist’s style and maturity.
Investigating simple forms of line, I discovered that, no matter how ordinary, every kind of line has, in the context of a complete work, its own look and feel, and appeals to the viewer in its own way. Yet, while each kind of line imparts a characteristic tone, what really affects the viewer is the space created. I saw that when I no longer concentrated my attention on the execution of traditional lines, the space created by simple lines was naturally emphasised and became the key element of the work. As I abandoned traditional line, this became the focus of my work.
I began by opening up the characters until the space inside them merged with that outside, altering the inherent logic of normal writing and ignoring the traditional restriction on line structure and space distribution. From there I experimented with the physical space itself, sometimes writing on the back of the paper to create mirror-like images, even extending beyond the paper itself, as in the “face to face” handscroll. Normally, when two people look at a scroll, they must face in the same direction and view it together, but in these scrolls, different poems are written in different directions so that two people can face each other and yet read simultaneously. Once I made space my creative focus entered a new, largely unexplored realm. I attempted all variations of line and space with great eagerness, combining them with texts I liked to produce different styles with different spatial characteristics.
During this period of enthusiastic use of rational analysis and logic to pursue and struggle with space, I discovered that one of the special absorption qualities of Chinese rice (Xuan) paper could manifest the time quality of calligraphy in yet another way. Actually, this was a rediscovery of something I had seen often watching others paint, and that is, that when you overlapped lines on Xuan paper the later brush strokes were swallowed up and hidden by the earlier ones. This is in complete contrast to what occurs in oil painting. I was very excited, for here was another way of determining the sequence in which the strokes in a work were actually executed. Subsequent experiments proved that even heavily inked strokes could not cover up earlier ones – this was indeed a reliable indicator of time.
In what I call “reverse-time” script, the characters all appear very normal, but if you look at which strokes cover others you see that the traditional top to bottom, right to left format has been turned on its head. These works can be viewed in two ways: the traditional way, with the text determining the form, space and sequence; or by following the order in which the strokes were actually made and the movement between them. combining such different logical and physical approaches in a work increases the possibilities and the levels at which it can be appreciated. Later, I exploited this quality of Xuan paper further in my “water and ink inter-reacting” technique. This technique produces a visual depth unknown in traditional calligraphy and gives the work a multi-dimensional feel.
Which brings me to the present and the difficulties I now face, which have nothing to do with direction or focus, and everything to do with limited talent. How to deal with the theoretically endless possible variations of time, space and line, when after giving expression to scores of new combinations, scores still wait for investigation? In the end, I can only plunge ahead, like Kui Fu (Chinese mythological character) chasing the sun, and risk the sun burning what remains of my ability.