Harmony of dancing lines
Chinese writing is one of the oldest types of writing on earth. The discovery and further development of the hieroglyphs underlying this ancient state had a huge impact on the entire world civilization, in the past, present and, undoubtedly, the future. According to historians, archaeologists, and linguists, a whole system of graphic signs was created more than 6,000 years ago.
Initially, prototypes of hieroglyphs appeared among Chinese magicians in their medium fortune-telling. In Chinese culture, magic has played a special role since ancient times; it has not lost its significance even now, having changed into a modern guise. For example, geomancy is the magical science of correct spatial planning in the construction of houses and the arrangement of objects in them; this is the well-known “Feng Shui”.
One of the fortune telling techniques used by Chinese magicians was the following. Magic signs, primitive schematic images of familiar objects and pictograms were drawn on the turtle’s shell. They were a form of mediation between the human world and natural phenomena. When heated, the shell cracked and along a web of cracks, the signs were linked into a prediction or prophecy. During the Shang Dynasty, rulers often used tortoiseshells and bones to tell fortunes before making important government decisions. After the fortune telling, the turtle shells and bones were kept as official documents in the imperial archives.
Later, the Chinese found a way to represent abstract concepts and actions. For example, to write “good”, the sign “woman” and the sign “child” were connected, the hieroglyph “listen” was the signs “ear” and “door”, “east” – the “sun” rising from behind the “tree”, and “rest” – “man” under the “tree”. According to traditional Chinese classification, all hieroglyphic characters are divided into six categories (liushu), depending on their structure and origin.
In China, the place that writing takes in other civilizations is given to the pictorial transmission of images of the world. Hieroglyphics is something completely opposite to what is so familiar to us from books from childhood. There are no letters we love, no words made up of these letters, no, that’s all. What's there? And what is inherent in a person initially from childhood is images, concepts. Images in pictorial form, similar to those that every child draws with his cunning scribbles, images of the external and internal world. The images we use when thinking. The hieroglyph denotes a concept, not word. And since each hieroglyph, in addition to the main concept, has several others (for example, the hieroglyph “ma” is a mother, a horse, a curse, an exclamation, and hemp), then you can only guess what is being said in context.
But Chinese writing is about more than arbitrary characters. It is often based on an expressive convention of real action. Neither in a mathematical formula nor in a spoken word is there a natural connection between a thing and a sign: this connection is purely conventional. But in the Chinese understanding, it seems to be dictated by nature itself. Here is a man, he stands on two legs 人, and here is his calligraphic embodiment:
Grace, movement, a step from the past to the present, a leg sticks out from a cut in the time-spatial continuum and “steps” into our reality!
What about philosophy? So she doesn’t suffer! Initially, the hieroglyph looked like a small man bending down and working on the ground with his hands. But, subsequently, with
over time, man worked less and less on the ground, his hands rose more and more
higher. Well, in the modern world, people are often so passionate about problems that
their head is in the clouds, and only their feet are visible on the ground:
The character 马 “horse” has also undergone many changes since its appearance. And now it is difficult to guess the beautiful animal in it. However, at the very beginning of its creation, the hieroglyph was written in a completely different way, in a horse way:
And finally, a modern calligraphic version:
The eye and running legs are an unforgettable image.
Both hieroglyphs (man and horse) reflect thought just as well as words, but much brighter and more clearly. The legs “determine” the movement, and it fills the hieroglyphs with life. They “run”, they “move”, they “live”.
The Chinese character is devoid of gender, number, case, tense, and a specific part of speech. A Chinese student of the Russian language is shocked by the variety of declensions, cases, persons and exceptions, as well as us by the number of zigzags, “krivulins” in the hieroglyph, as well as the variety of concepts hidden in it.
In Chinese, to give different meanings to the word “key”, it is enough to add another hieroglyph to it, for example, add a door – and this is an ordinary key, or water – and this is a source, or a note – and this is a treble clef. How simple and clear it is. But in Russian, not a single foreigner will translate our saying without a hint: “Mowed with a scythe with a scythe.”
Hieroglyphs are a concept and designation; they were of a visual nature and developed independently of oral speech. The result is that all of China writes the same way; billions of people can communicate with each other in writing, but cannot speak. There are countless adverbs and dialects. To understand, you need to write. How unhuman, “Chinese” all this is!
How and what can Chinese culture be compared to when viewed from the outside? Knowledge of history, knowledge of geography, knowledge of language do not provide an understanding of this mysterious world. How do the Chinese themselves understand it, how do they live in it, accept it? In all spheres of life, whether creativity, work, study or recreation, they are dominated by the principle: practice is indistinguishable, inseparable from spiritual perfection. Therefore, for the Chinese, even meaningless or everyday actions (sorting a rosary, sweeping the yard with twigs, cultivating a rice field) also have a spiritual purpose: performing such actions leads to internal balancing, to the harmony of the psychophysical state, to spiritual growth.
Four key stones surround the Chinese from childhood, directing his strength, thoughts, and aspirations to fulfill this principle:
Philosophy – Taoist, development and strengthening of the spirit.
Gymnastics – Tai Chi, development and strengthening of the body.
Energy – Qigong, development and strengthening of vitality.
Meditation and states of consciousness – Calligraphy.
The combination of these techniques is the alpha and omega of the Chinese phenomenon. And if the first three points do not raise much doubt, then calligraphy does not look so monumental at first glance. Almost any European, looking for the first time at the creations of famous Chinese calligraphers, says, “What a daub, nonsense, a child’s drawing.”
Even those who consider themselves progressive, deep down, rate the artistic value of calligraphic hieroglyphs below zero. Which is not surprising, now it’s not “fashionable” to enjoy harmony and beauty; now outrageousness rules. Sur, laviism, art, abstract painting…
However, let's return to our calligraphy. To say that she is the art of beautiful writing is to say nothing. If a modern European saw Sumerian cuneiform, he would be fascinated by its simplicity and mystery. The same thing happens in the case of hieroglyphs. Hieroglyphs are no less ancient writing system. As already mentioned, the history of writing in China goes back at least five thousand years. Modern hieroglyphs have essentially remained unchanged since then. Therefore, to a foreigner (well, China itself knows), calligraphy should be perceived as a form of artistic and intellectual art.
Calligraphy is an art that people in China are introduced to earlier than any other. While teaching a child to read and write, they simultaneously begin to practice calligraphy. Not only to facilitate the process of memorizing difficult and numerous hieroglyphs, but to lay the foundations of aesthetic taste, awaken the ability to perceive art and independent creativity.
Calligraphy is similar to painting, and the process of creating a hieroglyph with brush and ink is akin to the process of creating a painting. Watching the movement of a master calligrapher, it’s as if we ourselves are immersed in this action. Here the brush freezes before throwing, the master reflects, thinks. The movement begins smoothly and then accelerates in an attempt to grab the elusive moment by the fleeing tip. And if this is successful, then the dancing lines filled with life and energy will enchant thousands of eyes, thousands of souls, thousands of years.
The art of calligraphy and Chinese painting have no boundaries; they are closely intertwined. Chinese masters accompany almost any landscape with a line of poetry, and here we have to argue what is more important, the drawing of a branch, the head of a dragon, or the calligraphy of the verse. The art of combining painting, poetry and calligraphy in one work is called yixiang – “image of inspired thought.” A calligrapher, like a sapper, cannot make a mistake – it is impossible to correct a drawing or inscription. Why? This is the tradition. And traditions in China are revered above all else. The leitmotif of all Chinese culture is the veneration of antiquity. All processes of history, processes of creativity are viewed through the prism of antiquity. She is like a valve that adjusts today's existence. In China, it is believed that in ancient times peace, prosperity, and high spiritual ideals reigned, to which it is necessary to return. The word history itself is translated from Chinese as a spiritual connection between the past and the present. All of the above practices (Tao, qigong, calligraphy) are imbued with this veneration of antiquity and respect for traditions.
According to the traditions of calligraphy, the master must copy with a brush animals running in fear, dancing phoenixes, and slithering snakes. Brush movements should be light and voluminous, like floating clouds. And unique.
Calligraphy – a word of Greek origin: kalligraphía – “beautiful handwriting”, from kallós – “beauty” and grápho – “writing”. For more than two and a half thousand years, the art of writing in China has occupied a niche much higher than that suggested by its utilitarian value – a way of recording and transmitting information. A calligraphic inscription is considered as a material trace of the spiritual development of the person whose brush it belonged to. The word is the voice of the soul, and calligraphy is its visible image. The same principle: “Practice is continuous spiritual self-improvement.”
The paintings of outstanding Chinese calligraphers are a reflection of their strong character and aesthetic perfection of soul. It is impossible to create an inscription in a truly heroic and sublime manner without embodying these qualities in life. If actors need words, the plot of a film to show the hero in full glory, then calligraphy is different. Calligraphy is a portrait of the author. In China, calligraphy is believed to reflect both the qualities and character of a person. In ancient times, those applying for a job did not provide a resume as they do now, but their calligraphy, which the employer used to judge whether to hire this person or not.
The creativity of a calligrapher is a space where moral and aesthetic norms, the ability to create and contemplate are equally embodied. The hieroglyph itself is just a word, a sign, a concept, a symbol, but its calligraphic image is poetry. They differ from each other, like the words “Sovereign” and “Dear Sir.” When an artist paints symbols, everything comes to life under his brush. This is why the art of calligraphy is so popular in the East.
Look at this drawing. The hieroglyph “bursts” with inner strength, energy, and belligerence. Its appearance reveals its meaning. (translated as “military”, “officer”). Look closely, and a Chinese mandarin with a sword in his belt will appear in front of you, striding solemnly.
Now I would like to touch on the most textbook duet – calligraphy and sword fighting. The path of the brush and the sword is so close that wonderful directors make this union the basis of the plot, for example, “Hero”, Zhang Yimou, 2002. The master’s brush and the warrior’s sword are precise and filigree. There were fights, the outcome of which was determined by one swing of the sword. Likewise, one moment of doubt and… the hieroglyph will lose its shape, lose its internal fullness. If an artist working in oil technique creates his canvas slowly, stroke by stroke, if he can repeatedly correct what he doesn’t like, then the calligrapher’s brush movement should be extremely collected, precise and neat, like the blow of a sword.
There is a legend: after many years of war, an honored sword master retired to a monastery. For ten years, he reflected on the similarities between sword and brush techniques and the origins of these arts. And ten years later he drew a new twelfth hieroglyph, meaning a sword. Neither in writing nor in sound was there anything similar to the old hieroglyphs, but, according to legend, every Chinese, seeing this new hieroglyph, understood that it meant a sword. How is this possible and is it possible? In the “Chinese” version this is quite acceptable. Despite the fact that language allows us to maintain order in the information field around us and ensures communication with consciousness, it itself is unlikely to act as a “carrier” of the concepts and mechanisms stored there. For example, often in conveying an established semantic image, we rummage through our memory in search of an elusive word that seems to be on the tip of our tongue. We know what we have to say, we know the essence, the meaning of the image being conveyed, but we cannot find the words. This fact partially proves that we do not think in words, but in terms of some other “code-frames” that are more adapted to the structures of the brain. Without delving into the depths of our thinking, we will simply refer those who are interested to J. Piaget and S. Pinker.
The Chinese language is “graphic” and it may well be that the “concepts” in the head of a Chinese strongly remind him of hieroglyphs. So the old warrior guessed, drawing a new sign of the sword, guessed right with the graphics, got into the “code” and the meaning of the hieroglyph, it became clear to everyone without “deciphering”.
When you watch how elderly Chinese draw hieroglyphs, with what precision and grace they reproduce a certain text, you understand what internal composure, what years
mastery lies behind this freedom
There is an internal rhythm in writing hieroglyphs; you need to be able to hear it. Only at first glance does calligraphy seem flat. The hieroglyphs are voluminous, sometimes there is a feeling that they are “breathing” and this “breathing” is the energy of the master who transmitted them through the brush. Sometimes not even a brush. In the famous Chinese ballet, the dancing performers use their body movements to draw calligraphic images in space, and with the movements of their wide sleeves these images are transferred to the white canvases of the walls.
The energy hidden in the brush, hidden in its tip, finds completion in the hieroglyph, is cast into something elegant and beautiful. If it slips away, melts, loses its outlines, it cannot be detained, but after it has arisen and manifested itself, it cannot be stopped. She is eternal….
