Chinese Calligraphy

Chinese Calligraphy,

Ouyang Zhongshi and Wen C. Fong, editors;

Yale University Press, 2008, US$75.

The pervasiveness and fondness for the written word among the Chinese is legion, yet only in the last few decades has Chinese calligraphy begun to be appreciated as an art form in the West. Even such an eminent sinologist as Karlgren wrote in 1923 that “the brush has debased Chinese script”. This is in sharp contrast to the prevailing Eastern view that it is by the brush that the script has been exalted into the purest of art forms.

Of the several factors that kept so many for so long blind to the inherent aesthetic force of the squiggles of ink applied with brush onto paper or silk, the lack of a comparable art form in the West is largely to blame. The choice of the word calligraphy to translate the Chinese term shufa was also unfortunate, given that the Western word is by and large associated with a decorative craft rather than the visual arts, and etymologically derives from “beautiful writing”. The Chinese practice of shufa (handwriting mode) is by no means bound to a stylised handwriting or lettering, nor is it a mere slave to beauty.

Not until the advent of modern abstract art, which came to prominence via such artists as Kandinsky, did the West begin to have a comparable form in the visual arts that was not shackled to external representation but focused simply on the idea of point and line; perhaps it is only through an appreciation of abstract art that the West could begin to fathom the 3000-year-old Chinese tradition of wielding the brush to form the dots and strokes that make up Chinese writing.

Of the other obstacles to appreciating Chinese calligraphy the inability to read the text is often touted as a major hindrance. This, however, is only a superficial veil that conceals various ingrained Western prejudices regarding language and art itself. A comparable example would be to say that an English speaker cannot enjoy Italian or German opera or lieder because of a similar inability to understand the words: at times such an understanding might indeed heighten our appreciation, but it can equally be a detriment to engaging with the rhythm and harmony of the voices when the libretto is anything but stimulating. As will become more evident, where calligraphy is concerned the characters’ meaning became inconsequential, as well as occasionally illegible, from very early times.

When it comes to Chinese calligraphy, few Western art scholars or critics have dared give judgments of quality or authenticity, fewer still have ventured a thorough overview of its history and principles, and in fact quite a few books on Chinese art before the 1980s ignored it altogether. The task of opening Western eyes to its aesthetics has been largely via the efforts of a handful of Chinese authors and scholars, none, perhaps, more succinctly than Lin Yutang’s 1936 seven-odd pages on calligraphy in his My Country and My People in which he wrote:

All problems of art are problems of rhythm … this cult of rhythm in the abstract arose from the development of Chinese calligraphy as an art … So fundamental is the place of calligraphy in Chinese art as a study of form and rhythm in the abstract that we may say it has provided the Chinese people with a basic aesthetics, and it is through calligraphy that the Chinese have learned their basic notions of line and form. It is therefore impossible to talk about Chinese art without understanding Chinese calligraphy and its artistic inspiration … The position of Chinese calligraphy in the history of the world’s art is thus truly unique.

The present volume, edited by Ouyang Zhongshi and Wen C. Fong, comprises twelve essays by leading Chinese scholars that map the history and criticism of Chinese calligraphy from the earliest times to the present. The preface and introduction firmly place the art of calligraphy in context by outlining such basic concepts as the subordinate relationship of painting to calligraphy and the role of self-expression as the fundamental principle of Chinese calligraphy.

Handsomely illustrated throughout, with over 600 reproductions of the major masterpieces of the key calligraphers from successive dynasties, this book sets a standard that will make it a first port of call for anyone who wishes to gain an overview of the various traditions and styles that this unique art form developed over its 3000-year history. Each of the central chapters outlines the major shifts and developments that took place in successive dynasties via the work of the key artists. Discussion of the individual works illustrated is counter-balanced by placing the lives of the artists in the context of the social and political changes taking place at the time as well as the ever-increasing critical reappraisal of the calligraphers from proceeding dynasties. Recent archaeological finds from the earliest dynasties through to the end of the imperial period of the Qing dynasty provide an up-to-date and fuller account of Chinese calligraphy than has been hitherto available.

The use of the brush in China is attested from the earliest archaeological evidence of the Shang dynasty (sixteenth century to tenth century BC) with some of the oracle bone inscriptions, which were carved on turtle shells and ox shoulder blades, bearing traces of brushwork in cinnabar and black ink. Amongst the earliest finds that display full original brushwork texts in ink are fifth-century BC artefacts that include jade tablets, textiles, and the bamboo or wood slips that have been found in increasing numbers in recent years.

That modern scholars have been able to identify individual “calligraphers” among the diviners that inscribed the thousands of Shang dynasty oracle bones, confirms the care that was taken from the earliest times in structuring the individual characters and arranging the lines of text into a balanced composition. These two elements, along with fine brushwork, form what might be termed the trinity of calligraphic art, and it is these three elements—character structure, arrangement or juxtaposition of characters, and brushwork—that give the individual practitioner the infinitely varied possibility of expression without which an art perforce slides into a craft or skill bound to regular repetition.

If through the various epochs and dynasties of traditional China one can discern a single thread that enabled calligraphy to develop into the pure abstract materialisation of inner forces, it is the gradual emphasis of the wielding of the brush as the principal element. As each chapter in Chinese Calligraphy explores the major styles and calligraphers in chronological order, what becomes evident is that the idea of movement, via the trace of ink, is not a representation that presupposes a dichotomy between subject and object, but a direct expression of the dynamic power of the individual spirit or mind.

The traditional Chinese remark that calligraphy is about “Reaching outward to imitate Creation and turning inward to master the Mind” melds the outward contemplation of nature with inner composure that after years of practice enables one to fully master the suppleness of the Chinese brush as it moves over the writing surface: a skill that made the term xin hua— portrayal of the mind—a synonym for calligraphy. With the development of motion as “the hallmark of Chinese calligraphy” since the Tang dynasty, the rhythm of the brush came to predominate over any mere question of legibility, especially where semi or full cursive style was concerned. Draft-cursive, and its offshoot wild-cursive, came to be increasingly used as a vehicle for personal expression as it did not have to adhere to the norms of neatness and legibility of public proclamation but could lash out into such extravagant minimalism that some pieces are barely legible even to calligraphy experts. The quest for simplicity and artlessness culminated in Fu Shan’s (1607–84) famous remark that he “would rather be awkward, not skilful; ugly, not charming; fragmented, not slick; and straightforward, not manipulative”.

The importance of rhythmic movement in calligraphy is illustrated by Huang Tingjian’s (1045–1105) remarks about what he felt to be a major breakthrough in his art:

While in Qianzhong, though my brushstrokes could turn and twist according to my will, they failed to express effectively my innermost feelings. After arriving in Bodao of southwestern China, I often sat in a boat watching people row. This helped me wield my brush better and express myself much more effectively.

Another memorable example given in Chinese Calligraphy concerns Zhang Zu: “the cursive-script master of the Tang dynasty felt inspired from watching villagers vying with one another for a place on a narrow path, each carrying on their shoulders heavy loads hanging from both ends of a pole”.

The ability to turn and twist the brush, to lift and put pressure on the brush-tip—the mind at all times in total yet effortless control of the brush—gives the masterpieces reproduced in Chinese Calligraphy that rhythm full of dynamic power that suspends the tension in mid-air and makes it palpable. The art lies in revealing strength without flaunting it. Much like the keystone in an arch that flaunts the force of gravity by employing it directly, the art of Chinese calligraphy relies on the paradoxical fixing of movement; the trace of ink left behind is akin to a shadow of movement. Thus rather than a representation of outward form, which is the locus genesis for Western art, Chinese calligraphy took as its starting point the direct portrayal of the inner psyche via the movements of the brush. This approach influenced the development of Chinese painting, which shares not only the tools and medium of brush and ink but the principles of calligraphy.

Unlike the thrust of Western art that developed from representation to abstraction, Chinese art reversed the trend by stressing the ceaseless alternations of change and continuity of both inner and outer reality via the creative principle of the vital energy that suffuses all things. The “uninterrupted flow of darting and looping brushwork” used to describe Huang Tingjian’s wild-cursive calligraphy in the preface, is neatly echoed by Huang’s own words which stressed the importance of “driving every stroke with full force … by holding back as well as releasing energy”, and summarises the core spirit of this unique art-form which influenced so many aspects of Chinese culture and civilisation.

If one can criticise the editors of Chinese Calligraphy it is for the lack of consistency in providing the Chinese characters for critical terms that are mostly only given in the pinyin romanisation, making it frustrating for anyone who might wish to delve deeper. Cao Baolin’s choice of translating yi as “self-expression”, for example, is somewhat idiosyncratic given that it is usually translated as “concept”, “idea”, or “meaning”, although its secondary meaning of intention or will can be stretched to the way someone thinks of things. Only by tracing the original text of a particular quote did it dawn on me which of the 300-odd characters pronounced yi the author was referring to.

Another criticism that can be levelled at the editors and contributors is the lack of discussion of a problem deeply entrenched in the tradition. From the outset of the development of calligraphic criticism from the second century onward, the prevailing view that a person’s moral character could be discerned in their calligraphy took firm root. Like the nineteenth-century mania for graphology in the West, using someone’s handwriting to infer a person’s character became a lynchpin of appraising calligraphy. This led to a seldom challenged, deeply ingrained prejudice that went so far as to invert the equation and affirm that someone of questionable moral standards could not possibly produce calligraphy of a high standard. The moral standing of a person being often equated to their educational standard, this resulted in a poor or disparaging assessment of their art. A case in point, and one that could have been used to raise the issue, is the work of Deng Shiru (1743–1805) discussed in chapter seven, disparaged for a lack of education and for not belonging to the mainstream of the scholarly world that the majority of noted calligraphers belonged to. His work would have gone forgotten after his death for lack of “elegance” were it not for his pupil Bao Shichen, “a celebrated calligrapher and theoretician, who spoke strongly in his defense”, after which “Deng’s great contributions to seal-script calligraphy soon became universally recognized”.

Directly related to the issue of such an ingrained prejudice is the lack of works by women calligraphers in the present volume. One of the earliest critical works on calligraphy, A Diagram of Battle Formations of the Brush (Bi zhen tu), is attributed to Madame Wei Shuo (272–349). Apart from having overcome her family’s objections to practising calligraphy in a world that thought women should not pursue any education, she is said to have been the first calligraphy teacher of Wang Xizhi (303–61), who has since been regarded as China’s greatest calligrapher. The freedom and fluidity that Wang Xizhi brought to the running-style script, which influenced all subsequent calligraphers, has been said to have been inspired by Madame Wei’s coaching and style. Good calligraphy, she wrote, relies on two basic factors: the manner in which a writing brush is held and the way it is applied.

Olivier Burckhardt, Honorary Fellow, the University of Melbourne, is a poet and essayist. Information on his current projects can be found on his website, www.obfuchai.com.