2
3
M
a
y
2
0
1
2
In Taiwan, when I learned Chinese brush painting under a deeply talented and understanding Liang Dan-Fung, she taught us to grind our ink by hand. The process included putting a small puddle of water on an ‘ink stone’ and then to mill our ink-stick in the water until a deeply dark and satisfying color was achieved. This took several minutes and all the while it was suggested that the artist put his heart and intentions into the mixing. In a way, we were preparing ourselves for a battle that would soon ensue on the rice paper. We were also calming our soul and making ourselves empty like the bamboo so that we could channel something other than our limited selves into our work. I always found this a very enriching practice and continue to use it today, although I am mixing paints instead of ink. Professor Liang also taught us how to hold and use the Chinese brush. With a steady hand and arm, unsupported, we were to move and turn our wrist and by extension, our arm, while employing the brush. In calligraphy, as in painting, a line should not be ‘edited’, what is done is done and it is believed that brush strokes are a mirror of the artist’s soul. Our lines reflect our inner energy, which appears in many permutations depending upon our level of selfactualization. Holding the brush firmly and allowing ‘chi’ or energy to direct its forward momentum, bristles, ink and paper meet and fuse into a single reflection of the artist’s inner and outer being. Today, I hold Western brushes the same way, and try to push my spirit into the fiber of the canvas. I can only hope that I do justice to my materials and teacher. I used to ask many questions about art making to my professor. Could I do this and is it proper to do that? Invariably she would smile and say that I could do as I wished because, in her 17 words,! ‘We live in a free China’.