abstract from Calligraphies
d'amour Hassan Massoudy, Albin Michel publisher,
Paris 2004
So
how does a poem become calligraphy? How does the word become
a sign? The value of beauty in classic calligraphers, to
transpose a poem, was the perfection of style evolved according
to rules and codes, known and respected by all. What the
calligrapher could add was more life to the line he drew.
Today, I feel that the process has changed: I focus my attention
on poetic images. Which word stands out, should be magnified?
I count the straight letters then the curves so as to be
able to create a rhythm by composing them. I dream about
those letters. I imagine the word in different styles of
calligraphy. I sketch a few lines, transforming the letters,
I move them around, adjust them. At the same time, the image
of the poet is floating in my mind. Hazy at first. Certain
images reveal themselves sooner than others, sometimes the
very first day, sometimes after long months. This slowness
means I haven't yet pierced the mystery of the image. So
I have to persevere.
The
line, as a dynamic force, and in its adequate relation with
the meaning of words, must reflect two things: on the one
hand strength and rigour, on the other abandon and grace.
The line's aspect must suggest a direction: a pushing or
pulling gesture, quick or slow, heavy or light, calm or
bursting forth. If the line is full of life, if it reflects
emotion, then beauty is not far away. But beauty remains
unknown and doubt is present. To imitate the aesthetic values
of the old masters is only copying. The codes and techniques
must be changed. They evolve with their times. To renew
calligraphy demands a painful bringing forth, the permanent
taking of risks. One has to detach oneself from all preconceived
notions, absorb daily life. But one must also draw resource
from manuscripts or broken fragments of monuments.
I pare
my calamus and make the broad instruments. I select my papers
and prepare my colours on the same day they are to be used,
mixing and fixing the pigments. The writing instrument,
the paper and the colour, must all live in harmony, but
this cohabitation is rarely harmonious right from the first
gesture.
Working
with water-based paints and calligraphy both demand a flat
working surface. Through the continual to and fro' movements,
to the point where you are united with the matter are one,
you feel yourself becoming calligraphy. When I try to reflect
the image of the poet in letters, or a form that dwells
in me or even in an unexpected form, I enrich myself with
a new line, won from the white expanse of paper. I am looking
for, for my calligraphy, vast and unlimited space. The white
in the background is also an integral part of that form,
calligraphy also evokes space by its absence. It must be
discreet and allow the eye to see what is invisible. The
downstrokes and the upstrokes are the essence of calligraphy,
a movement, an angle that defines the order of organisation
in space. Those downstrokes and upstrokes express strength
and fragility at the same time.
Proportions
are extremely important and are calculated to a hair's breadth.
This precision is intuitively perceived by the eye and the
taste of the person viewing the calligraphy. Each form -
through its pictorial content, its density, its height -
lets us feel the pressure of space and the struggle with
gravity. It is aesthetic writing, legible to the educated
eye. How many times have I felt moved by a curved tree?
Then my eyes move on to a second, thinner, more vertical;
whose flow of sap nourishes the highest branches. Going
into my workshop, I try to find the attitude of the tree.
My letter must be as vigorous as the branch. Calligraphy
is an art that puts down the essence of things and not just
the visible. All the difficulty lies in the dialogue with
the invisible. The sketch is only an indication, the dreamed-of
form is never fully realised. The result is partly achieved
by chance, in spite of all the preparations for a good start.
If the binding agent in the ink lacks the necessary quality
or the instrument is badly sharpened, it's enough to make
the whole thing flop. But the opposite is also possible.
After a tiring day's work, a moment of relaxation comes
when nonchalant and disobedient gestures take over the form.
What amazement, what surprises! The work is freer. The gestures
move through space without encumber, soar up without falling.
They are broad without being heavy, fine without breaks,
with fine proportions. The next day, I get ready to carry
on what I was doing the day before. I'm sure I've struck
gold. Alas, it's back to square one, I can't get back to
the impulsion of the day before. Beauty comes and goes as
it pleases.
You
have to persevere, to be attentive, reread the poetic phrase,
look again at the images, imagine others. Begin again slowly,
very slowly. Instead of looking at the letters, observe
the light that moves around the calligraphic gestures. Go
on, again and again, struggle with the matter, with this
instrument-ink-paper trio, and the Word.
This
search for the right form is like seeking a point of balance
where everything meets - weight rising without falling,
dynamic movement that doesn't break the form, light passing
through colour, space adjusting itself behind the forms,
purifying without impoverishing, achieving abstraction without
loss of image - the meaning of words, the desire of the
calligrapher. Finally, it is perfecting the self with each
calligraphy, becoming more adept through mastery of the
materials. The geometric construction of form should be
very simple.
If
the exact point of balance is not reached, if it is a failure,
then you discover your own limits, your humanity and the
fragility of the human condition. Calligraphy can become
an indicator of the absence of centre, of imbalance. This
experience then evolves into knowledge of the self and perhaps
even improvement if you pick yourself up right away and
start again.
A new
direction, but how do you choose? Slow down to better master
the rapidity or speed up to better gather the fruits of
impulsion? One mustn't lose the essential. If the ancient
techniques are a hurdle, you have to set them aside and
invent others, or take inspiration from the other arts,
listen to the rhythm of music or observe the movement in
dance. The word of the body is like a bird in space, but
how can one float freely without falling? You need lots
of stamina to overcome gravity and find the physical sensations
of space. My calligraphy must reflect its belonging to the
world, which now means an era of speed. The speed of the
rocket that allowed man to overcome the law of gravity and
gave him the possibility to walk on the moon.
When
I think my gesture is just right the interior conflict ceases,
even if that sensation only lasts a few minutes. It is a
moment of joy when the alphabet is no longer an instrument
of logic but an attitude of writing, a pure sensation that
can easily come into contact with the poet, who has probably
been through the same process. This calligraphy reflects
my vision of the world, it has become the desire that the
world should be thus, with a new harmony and new freedom.
The
material contradictions are the reflection of contradictions
in life. In reality, the point of balance doesn't exist:
The world is merely a harmony of tensions, according
to Heraclitus. All this experience is only an evolution
and there is no evolution without failure. Calligraphy is
like all the other arts, the expression of happiness and
suffering go side by side. Do and undo, and grow through
each experience. Faced with a tragic impulsion, calligraphy
imposes a restraint an control that allows you to deal with
problems. One learns to master the self for a moment. When
the word is lightness and soars up, the eye follows the
upward direction of the movement. Intuitively, I see calligraphy
on another scale than that imposed by the limits of paper.
It gains in spatiality. The gestures of the calligrapher
become an open space, welcoming the words of the poet and
the imagination of the onlooker.
another
text : Making Words Dance: A Calligrapher's
Testimony by
Hassan Massoudy Printed
originally in The UNESCO Courier, December, 1990
