Although writing consists of characters, it should be like a painting, expressing its artistic conception. The artistic conception must have variation: lightness and weight, and airy openness. Airy openness conveys layers; to convey layers, the writing needs blank space, or turns, point-and-press, horizontal strokes, left-falling strokes, and so on. These turns in the brushstrokes give a character its sense of weight—or thickness. Some of a character’s cultivated skill lies right here as well.
Airy openness must have variations in thickness and weight, as well as force—the force of calligraphy—and shifts in its airy openness. This is all cultivated through practice. In other words, you have to practice year after year. You must practice; simply talking about it is useless.
But with the size of the characters, how do you arrange them, or how do you express these three characters? For example, if I write “Chan,” “Buddha,” or something else—if I write the Heart Sutra, perhaps… how should I express it? Should I use large characters or small ones? How should I vary them? That is your individuality. Arrangement and combination—that is an expression of your individuality. Everyone’s individuality is different, so what they express is different too.
But there are very few. I still haven’t seen many people who can write well. It’s not that I think there is something wrong with my eyes; I just don’t think there are many good ones. When worldly people write, they cannot reach that kind of spirit and resonance. Mainly, I think most of it is vulgar; it lacks substance. Even after practicing for decades, you can see in someone’s writing that they have developed skill, but they have not risen above the mundane.
So, for anything at all, art has no end; at the highest level, it must be linked to the person’s inner cultivation and qualities—writing reflects the writer. If you pursue things like wine and meat, wealth and status, and remain intensely attached to them, in the end you will not be able to produce anything. You certainly will not produce calligraphy or paintings of the highest level, or paint at the highest level. You will certainly be hemmed in by those things tied to the self; the things you cling to will box you into that range, and you will not be able to break through.
So, anything at its highest level is connected; all dharmas return to the source; ultimately, all require cultivation and practice, and through cultivation, those artistic conceptions are elevated. Especially in calligraphy and traditional Chinese painting: they do not pursue form; they pursue meaning.
《Writing Reflects the Writer》#20184@20130807
Note: This text was prepared from a teaching video by Yang Ning. If it differs from the video, the video takes precedence. Watch the video.