Hirokazu Kosaka made a series of four videos, all of which are readily available on the different video services. These videos are particularly interesting to me because of their content: the Japanese brush, and calligraphy.
A brief biography of Kosaka can be found at the Montalvo Arts Center, which has this to say about him:
Born in Wakayama, Japan in 1948, Hirokazu Kosaka now lives and works in Los Angeles, where he serves as Visual Arts Director at the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center. As a student at the Chouinard Art Institute, where he graduated with a BFA in painting in 1970, Kosaka began to explore the art of performance, looking toward artists such as Wolfgang Stoerchle, Allen Ruppersberg, William Leavitt and Chris Burden for inspiration. As a young artist, Kosaka also began to incorporate Eastern traditions in his art, drawing from his appreciation of the centuries-old traditions of Noh drama and Kabuki theater, his knowledge of the ground-breaking experimental art of Japan’s Gutai Group in the mid-1960s, as well as his own experience with Buddhist chanting and Zen archery.
Today, Kosaka is known for his large-scale, performative pieces, which often use publicly accessible space as a platform for dance, performance, and visual art practice. Kosaka’s work has been seen and performed at venues including the Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles; the Japanese American Theatre, Los Angeles; the J. Paul Getty Center; the Seattle Art Museum; and the Indianapolis Art Museum. Selected grants and awards include a Creative Capital grant, a Rockefeller Foundation grant, a California Arts grant, and a Los Angeles Endowment for the Arts grant.
In 1973, Kosaka returned to Japan where he completed a three-month long performance piece called “Soleares” and later embarked upon a traditional 1,000-mile Zen pilgrimage called “The 88 Temples.” After completing this spiritual journey, Kosaka remained at a Buddhist monastery and was ordained as a Shigon Buddhist priest. He later returned to Los Angeles where he began to create large-scale, process-oriented artworks infused with the teachings he learned as a priest.
Dating back to the 11th century, Japanese Kyudo – or archery, literally meaning “way of the bow” – has been used as an art of purification in ceremonies within the Imperial Court of Japan and within Zen Buddhism. Practitioners of this ceremonial and contemplative form focus on attaining “the perfect shot.” In order to accomplish the perfect shot, one must have immediate action without any intervening thoughts; this entails proper form, physique, patience, and dedication.
Reverend Hirokazu Kosaka can trace Kyudo in his family’s lineage back multiple generations, and often responds “300 years” when asked how long he has studied the art. His father began teaching Kosaka when he was 10 years old, just as his grandfather taught Kosaka’s father, as was done in previous generations. Kosaka says, “My art, and therefore my life, is the result of centuries of ‘spiritual mutation,’ the manifestation of my experience with Kyudo.”
In 2009, Hirokazu participated in ACTA’s Apprenticeship Program with apprentice Ferris Smith. The apprenticeship deepened Ferris’ training in form, patience, and the historical pursuit and endless search for the perfect shot.
Interestingly, Kosaka does not seem to have a personal web page, and so in a way he becomes an elusive figure. Searching for him on Google, it becomes clear that this is a man who is creative in ways not traditionally recognized, and his art is experiential to a great degree. It makes the search for the evanescent tangible, and should one find a scheduled event, it may be worth the enquiry. I certainly am curious.
Quite some time ago, I wrote about brushes used in Asia. As I am beginning Saturday morning Japanese language classes, I am in conflict with time and distance in being able to attend my Chinese painting class. I’ll just have to figure that out later. However, the fact that I am learning hiragana, my preferred practice method is the traditional brush since I enjoy it so much. It is also said that the strokes used in Asian calligraphy are those used in Asian painting. Given that, I thought it would be worthwhile to review elements of holding the brush.
Holding the Brush Is Not the Same as Holding a Pen
When I was in school, penmanship was an important part of the daily curriculum. I practiced my penmanship from first grade through the eighth. My third grade teacher shamed me by saying “Any one who draws as well as you do should have good penmanship.” Ooops! In eighth grade I won a penmanship award. Over the years, I’ve collected a few manuals on the Palmer Method of penmanship, which is the basis of much of what I was taught in school. Today, penmanship has been replaced by other methods of handwriting – you might find this article amusing if you remember your penmanship classes.
Enough digressions. The fact is that Western culture teaches the student to hold the pen at a slant. These scans from an old Palmer Method manual show what I mean. Additionally, the writing surface is also at a slight angle, tilting gently toward the writer’s lap. Paper is also angled, so that an uphill slope is created for writing left to right.
Illustrations from various books, published in the US, Japan, China and elsewhere demonstrate how to hold the brush. Rather than the slanted wrist resting on the table, the brush is held perpendicular to the writing surface, which is not at all slanted. The forearm is held rather straight, yet relaxed. The brush may be held close to the bristles, or anywhere along the handle, all the way to the top. The paper is also straight, with the idea being writing is vertical, and there is no need for the paper to be slanted.
Ms. Kuroda Holding a Brush
Holding the Brush
Hand Position
To the right, you can see how to hold the brush. This illustration is from a Japanese book on sumi-e painting, and unfortunately the only thing I know about the author is that her name is Kuroda san.
Grip the Brush Gently and Focus Your Ki through the Brush Tip
Physically speaking, shodo [Japanese calligraphy] begins with the student’s grip on the brush. Unless a suitable technique of gripping is mastered, no advancement is possible . . . First, your elbow should not stick up or out to an excessive degree. This would only create an unsettling of the arm’s weight a s well as produce tension in the muscle of the arm and shoulder. This tension can cause your flow of ki to clog in the shoulders and not be effectively transmitted through the brush into the painting. This point is important, and various Japanese calligraphy authorities have made note of its significance.
At the same time, do not let your elbow sag or droop . . . when your elbow sags heavily toward the ground, it also tends to rub against the body and produces a cramped feeling that is expressed in your in your artwork. You should feel that your elbow is floating in a settled position a few inches from your body. (pgs. 76-77)
Sitting with the Brush
In my opinion, one of the very best books on sumi-e is Sumi-e Self Taught, by Kohei Aida. No longer in print, you might be able to find it through an online used book service; if you are interested, it was published in 1968, by Japan Publications, Inc., of Tokyo, Japan. The text is in English, which is very helpful. The best part of the book is that he shows the artist how to load the brush, how angle and roll it on the ink-water dish’s edge, and many subtleties not illustrated in most English-language sumi books.
Aida san shows how to sit in a western manner (upright at a table) while holding the brush. H.E. Davey’s book, Brush Meditation, also has several photos on posture and sitting.
Going back to my blurb on knitting, posture, and pain, I suggest that you concentrate on sitting upright and focus on bringing your shoulder blades back toward the spine. Don’t arch your back, but focus on a gentle backward movement of the shoulder blades, and a focus on a plumb-line approach to your spine. If you are sloppy like me, this will be unfamiliar, and uncomfortable because you may not do this naturally, and your muscles will not be happy. However, with time, it gets easier – I’m actually remembering to do it, and occasionally find I’m still upright later on . . .
In this position, you can move your arm as well as your wrist. Tighter movements will be done with the hand closer to the bristles, while holding the hand at the top of the brush gives a wonderful looseness in the stroke. In calligraphy, I expect these same results will apply. If you look at my post about painting the dragon you will also see that the brush can be held at different angles – sideways, for example. Aida san’s book demonstrates the same.
Aida san Demonstrates Brush Movement
Movement of the Brush
This illustration to the left, from Aida san’s book, shows how the brush may be tilted to achieve a brush stroke while painting. The hand and wrist may also be tilted to create curves, pressure may be applied at the end of the stroke, and gliding motions similar to an airplane landing and taking off can make thin-to-thick line, and vice versa. Ending a stroke with increasing pressure will also create a certain effect.
The Charles E. Tuttle Company has published wonderful art books about Japan. One book which has been in print since 1960 is Japanese Painting as Taught by Ukai Uchiyama, Kay Morrissey Thompson. The reason I mention this is because the next picture is for the artist sitting on the floor, in the traditional manner, to paint. At the same time you can see that the brush is being held very near the top of the handle. Looking at Uchiyama san’s work, you will notice a very loose, wild style which is, nonetheless, very controlled and lively. Mastery of the brush allows for this, and perhaps sitting on the floor adds to the process.
Ukai Uchiyama PaintingUchiyama Holding Brush
This detail of the photograph shows you how Uchiyama san holds his brush – just the same as Aida san, simply closer to the top of the handle. Practicing this yourself will help you understand the quality of stroke and control obtained by holding the brush at different levels along the handle. Certainly the closer your hand is to the bristles, the more minute control you have. Shoulder and arm movement are more restricted when in this position. Freedom and spontanenaeity increase with distance. However, without a knowledge of how to use the brush, this can be a study in frustration! So, focus yourself, breathe slowly and deeply. Imagine your energy flowing out of the brush tip – your ki – and with practice, your brush may dance with your soul.
Artist in Action
Once more, I believe videos can clearly demonstrate something which is difficult to explain with words. This video will show you how to hold a Chinese (or Japanese, or Korean, or whatever!) brush for calligraphy.
The following video is of the young Japanese artist / calligrapher, Koji Kakinuma. In particular, watch how he changes from thin to thick lines, as well as how he tilts the brush at different angles; you will observe this by observing the brush tip. When the brush is perpendicular to the paper, the tip must be considered to be the center of the line. Tilting the brush, increasing and decreasing pressure – sometimes all combined – vary the appearance of the stroke. Notice, too, that the bristles in the brush are longer in length than a painting brush. Soft, hard, and mixed-hair brushes may be used, each having its own qualities.
Finally, here is a video about the difference between calligraphy brushes and painting brushes.
Every now and again, someone in the public will catch your eye because of your interests. Shozo Sato is one of those individuals who has come into my life over the years. I have never met him, but as an individual, his range of accomplishments in traditional Japanese arts never ceases to intrigue me.
In 1965 he wrote a book about Ikebana, the Japanese art of flower arranging, and since then this book has been reprinted in various formats. He is an accomplished calligrapher, and has written a book about sumi-e. Cha no yu, the Japanese Tea Ceremony, is another of his accomplishments. Most recently, he has brought the Kabuki theater to the U.S., and produced MacBeth, Medea in the Kabuki tradition; you may see more about this here at http://www.ket.org, and a review here. He has also produced Othello at the University of Illinois. I would love to see Shakespeare in Kabuki!
Shozo Sato is Professor Emeritus at the University of Illinois and currently teaches at Northwestern University, and at the Japan House, which is located at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and part of the College of Fine and Applied Arts.
In my opinion, Mr. Sato is a living treasure and an artist who enriches all of us through his creativity and dynamic sharing of his knowledge.
Ink sticks – sumi sticks – are made in China and Japan, and most likely in Korea as well. Bottled ink is also available, but lacks many of the qualities preferred by traditional painters and calligraphers. Pouring ink from a bottle is not the same as being able to take the time grind a fine stick on a lovely stone, to enjoy the task, and focus one’s energy. Most ink is also poorly made, and contains chemicals which can damage a fine brush or stone. It is very important that if you do use bottled ink that you wash your brush thoroughly afterward, blot it, and reshape the point prior to hanging it to dry.
In this video, the artist Hirokazu Kosaka discusses ink sticks. While he does not go into great detail about their production, he does show some interesting elements of their construction and packaging. Opening a pawlonia wood box, he shows a “color” chart for the sumi stick. The light and dark capabilities of the ink are demonstrated on a piece of paper inside the box lid. He also shows the mold used to create the ink stick. Many ink sticks are embossed with symbols or pictures, which are later colored with gold or silver or colored paint.
The quality of a sumi stick varies, from very poor (as is most sold in the U.S.) to student grade, to professional. They also vary in size and shape, from very small to very large and colored. There is some argument as to which is better, the Japanese or Chinese; I have both and will say that the professional quality Japanese sumi is one I prefer. I also have some Chinese ink sticks, and their quality tends to fluctuate. Also, the Japanese ink tends to be a bluer-black color, while the Chinese ink is more brown-black. Both have their beauty.
According to Wikipedia:
Inksticks (Chinese: 墨 pinyin: mò; Japanese: 墨 sumi), sometimes known as sumi (Japanese transliteration), are a type of solid ink used traditionally in several East Asian cultures for calligraphy and brush painting. Inksticks are made mainly of soot and animal glue, sometimes with incense or medicinal scents added. To make ink from the inkstick, it has to be continuouly ground against an inkstone with a small quantity of water to produce a dark liquid which is then applied with an ink brush. Artists and calligraphists may vary the thickness of the resulting ink according to their preferences by reducing or increasing the intensity and time of ink grinding.m Sumi sticks after it has been used), and delivered.
Ink sticks need to age, just as wine. A well-made sumi stick may be very old and very valuable. Commercially, such ink sticks are available, but not readily in the U.S. or Europe. There are various importers, but as the market is limited, they are unlikely to carry the variety available in China or Japan.
Most ink sticks sold in the U.S. are inexpensive ones, whether originating from Japan or China. If you cannot grind a dark ink in a moderate amount of time, if there are grainy particles which scratch your stone, you do not have an ink stick worth using as far as I am concerned.
This video from Yang Hai Ying (“yanghaiying” on YouTube) gives a few more details about the manufacture of ink sticks:
And finally, another one by Yang Hai Ying showing both bottled and stick ink:
For us ink stick lovers, it would be sheer heaven to walk into a shop filled with ones to choose!
I have a fairly decent knowledge of different time periods in western art history, and some familiarity with many forms in which it is produced. I’ve worked with oils, acrylics, watercolors, done etching, stone lithography, and other forms of printmaking. Being familiar with techniques gives an appreciation of the process the artist goes through to create a work. I’ve also studied art history a bit, and know what occurred in what time and place, understand the evolution of styles, and can recognize a fair number of renown western artists.
Studying Chinese painting is very different because there is not the cultural context of brush and ink, nor a sense of the symbology of many of the subjects. To the western eye, it has been written, much of the painting and ink art of Asia is not understood. I’m inclined to agree, because although I love the elegance and simplicity of sumi ink painting, my cultural background and training can make the art of Japan and China at times difficult to appreciate.
The Weng Collection – “Treasures Through Six Generations – at the Huntington Library in San Marino, California, was eye-opening. Spanning about 900 years in time, from the 1200s to present day, calligraphy and paintings, large (a 53′ scroll) and small, filled a couple of rooms. There wasn’t so much that it was overwhelming, but enough to appreciate a sense of time and history in Chinese painting. It was through this continuum of paintings that I got a sense of history and development, as well as an appreciation for the symbolism, the individuality expressed within traditional subject matter, and, I think, a sense of Chinese cultural time. I was able to look at a painting and recognize how it was done – the movement of brush and ink, the addition of color. Brushwork and style was recognizable, as both fine line and more spontaneous styles were shown. The calligraphy was beautiful, ranging from “letters home” to loved ones, to a large, magnificant scroll of “hu” – tiger.
Newly completed in 2008, the Garden of Flowing Fragrance is nearby the exhibit. After leaving the exhibit, we wandered down the hill, and into a grove of pine trees – so like the ones depicted in the scrolls in the exhibit, and so like the ones shown as samples in The Mustard Seed Garden Manual of Painting. From there, a setting of young black bamboo.
The grove leads to the ponds and streams which have numerous koi, trees (willows and native oak), pavilions, and bridges. The eye is led here and there. Details small and large wait to be noticed. Architecture, plants, and water create a living handscroll.
The Weng Collection, the Chinese garden, The Mustard Seed Garden Manual of Painting, and my monthly Chinese painting class have conjoined into a single experience. Somehow, I understand the history of Chinese painting better – nearly a millenia of tradition has been seen (and who has touched these paintings? who made them? who unrolled them in lantern light to enjoy them?) – a garden of trees and flowers, an earthly aesthetic – a “how to” book that is about 500 years old, and still being printed – and finally, doing the brushwork myself, as generations have before.
The catalog which accompanies this exhibit is well worth the 25.00 price – I know I will continue to enjoy this exhibit long after it leaves the Huntington. It gives the history of the collection, and detailed information about the work displayed. These pictures will give a sense of the contents.
If you ever have the opportunity to see this exhibit, go! And if you are in the Los Angeles area, visit the Huntington Library. The grounds are incredible. The gardens are beautifully laid out, one leading to another. We went on a Friday, had a picnic on the lawn (you cannot bring food into the gardens), and wandered through galleries, gardens, and had a peaceful time. In four hours we could not see enough. We shall return!
Ink, Yarn & Beer 