"Now, as the fruits of years of effort are borne in calligraphic attainment, if people see it as genius, I am not pleased... nor unhappy. This is because I have developed a new definition for 'genius' —one who holds stubbornly to one's own ideas, spares no effort, and is the same from birth to death. In other words, a genius is simply 'one who works hard.' From this viewpoint, if I am again called a genius, I will accept it without qualms," declared Tu, winner of the prestigious Chungshan Literature and Art Award for 1982.
It has been six years since I first met Tu. He was short and countrified; he did not look like a person who might become a master calligrapher. As a matter of fact, he was more easily seen as a farm type, with a pair of hands created for wielding a hoe. Later, when I learned that he had won awards for calligraphy, I began to cast aside my perceptual prejudice.
Born to a farming family, Tu often worked in the family's rice field as a youngster; he learned almost all the farming skills. This farm background has contributed to his determination to pursue calligraphic excellence.
In the spring of 1955, while still but a first grader, Tu returned from school one day, and his mother asked him to dig some sweet potatoes. Shouldering a hoe and basket, he crossed the wide fields and came to his family's sweet potato plot. He put down the basket and started to dig. All of a sudden, the weather changed; masses of dark clouds brought thunder and lightning, immediately followed by rain drops big as peas. In the empty fields, there was no place to hide. Surrounded by a boundless loneliness, the child felt he was the only living creature in the universe, and a hundred unexpected emotions crowded into his heart. He felt his family's poverty. He trembled with emotion and, waving his arms cried at the sky, "I don't want to be a farmer! Never! Ever!" The roaring of the thunder continued, one blast followed by another. From then on, Tu was determined to change his fate. No matter what he did it was disciplined and diligent - "entirely automatic" —from pursuing scholarship to practicing calligraphy.
However, Tu today does not look down upon farming; he is, instead, quick to mention that he is from a farming family. Therefore, he has acquired two now courtesy names. One is Peng-nung (meaning, originally a farmer), because he is always remembering his roots. The other is Yeng-nung (an ink-applying farmer), because he wants to be a sower of ink.
Today, the ink farmer has cultivated, in the fields of calligraphy, a garden of splendor, created for himself. And he will never cease such farming. He will continue to devote himself, "farming till my death;" he smiled, stopped wielding his brush, and enjoyed his imitation of the tones of Cheng Pan-chiao-one of the famous "eight unusual painters" of Ching times, who was also a distinguished calligrapher.
Before he entered normal school, Tu lacked basic knowledge in calligraphy; he was unaware even of the standard way to handle the writing brush. Originally, he had studied painting under Master Lu Fo-ting. Later, to perfect his signature for his paintings, he began to practice his calligraphy. He found interest and pleasure in portraying the Chinese characters, a form of writing that not only serves the purpose of conveying thought, but that also expresses, in a unique, visual way, the beauty of the thought.
Though Chinese painting and calligraphy sprang from the same roots, they are, after all, very different. Chinese calligraphy embraces very different styles. Some good "hands", in their lifetimes, strive to attain, within the bounds of wide tradition and taste, striking and unusual styles. Thus, "How can I assure high attainment in both Chinese painting and calligraphy?" Tu once asked himself. At that point, he gave up his painting, although he was already a promising artist. He is the type of person who always makes the correct judgment.
It has been 20 years since his first unbreakable bond with calligraphy unintentionally came about; and during these decades he has won numerous awards.
In those early days, we were roommates, and whenever Tu came back from school, he would devote all his spare time to the cultivation of a good calligraphic "hand," so much so as to almost neglect both sleep and meals. In my eyes, he was at the brink of madness.
Tu's consumption of practice paper is quite astonishing. In order to limit expenses, he purchases used newspapers from a junk yard-more than ten catties at a time. His daily consumption being several catties, every few days he needs to replenish his stocks of used papers.
Tu has written on almost every Taiwan-published newspaper. Long-time experience enables him to tell which newspaper is most suitable for "over printing" with a particular type of calligraphy.
Tu's ink is also purchased in large quantities; he stores it in three five gallon cans. Each time he practices, Tu pours out some ink concentrate and adds water to it. This procedure "saves me both money and time," he says.
Practicing on the old newspapers causes great damage to brushes; he wears down two writing brushes a year-a ta lan chu and an i tien hua lung. The two annual brush stubs are the products of his avid practice and he keeps them as remembrances.
Besides studying hard—inquiring hard-his capacity for understanding contributes to his calligraphic attainments. He often cites a remark by Wen Chung-tsu, "After pondering over a question, again and again, even the gods and ghosts will come to understand. If the gods and ghosts cannot understand, then human beings can still find the answers through dedication and diligence."
Tu easily relates anything to calligraphy. Watching white clouds, he muses of calligraphic styles; staring at dancing blue waters, he is reminded of ways to hold the brush; viewing ribbon dancing, he thinks of brush techniques. From Bruce Lee's renditions of Chinese kungfu or the strains of Ling Po's Huangmeitiao (a popular folk melody from Huangmei, Hupeh Province), Tu is carried to thoughts of the ingenious "push off' theory: a stroke movement which provides impetus in the manner of an ice skater. Even more incredibly, Tu can relate motorcycling to calligraphy.
"Two years ago," he said with a grin, "my cursive hand was still weak, and I tried to find a style breakthrough even while I was eating, while I was dreaming. One day, riding my motorcycle along busy streets, I noticed that because of my natural reactions, the cycle moved sometimes slowly, sometimes rapidly. 'That's right! Natural reaction!' I thought. Suddenly, I realized that the motorcycle rider, to a certain degree, sees not with his real eyes, but with 'spiritual eyes.' With his real eyes he can see only one facet at a time. But 'spiritual eyes' are like radar, which view all aspects.
"How could calligraphy be an exception?" asked Tu. "When making a brush stroke, you should not just pay attention to that stroke, but, like radar, to the entire character. And when writing the character, the whole line of characters must be contemplated, and so on. From dot to line, from line to plane, the arrangement and interrelation of characters are then done naturally. This is, actually, the so-called 'deployment' or 'control of tone.' Since I had fathomed the abstrusities involved in the performance of a motorcycle, I was confident that I could now also probe the profundities of the art of calligraphy. After arriving at this sudden understanding, I worked at calligraphy from early in the morning till late at night. I was convinced that 'valid practice can produce skillfulness.'''
Chiang Yi stated in Chinese Calligraphy: "Natural objects and movements have often served to awaken or inspire the talents of Chinese artists. The cursive-draft-script writing of Chang Hsu greatly improved after he saw the dancing of Lady Kung-sun. Huang Ting-chien attained a new structure for his writing on viewing boats rowed with oars. The monk Huai-Su realized the infinite variety possible in tsao shu while contemplating summer clouds wafted by the wind. Wen Tung made a sudden step forward with his tso shu after observing snakes fighting." Tu often stresses that all the principles of learning have relationships, and that as long as one pays special attention to observation and learning, a moment of sudden realization will come.
Through strenuous study, an inquiring mind, and his comprehensive ability, Tu has unlocked the gates to the kingdom of calligraphy. Nevertheless, he is not too stingy to share these three keys to success with beginners. I used to learn calligraphy from him, and have seen many times how he teaches other students through his own set of methods. In the beginning, to beginners, or those who lack willpower, Tu usually avoids mention of calligraphy. He first proceeds with "psychological development," drawn from his personal experience, to help them hurdle initial obstacles. At times, he shows his students his own immature works, accomplished more than a decade ago, to help build their confidence. After completion of the psychological development period, Tu begins teaching them how to wield their brushes in proper sequence.
He told me with some earnestness that some of his greatest "treasures" had been obtained from old bookstands. If the rubbings of inscriptions he has purchased are his "pets," then his own brushworks are his beloved "sons."
"One time, while I was bringing along some of my works to show one of my teachers," he recalled, "all of a sudden, it started to rain. Without hesitating, I took my raincoat from the back of the motorcycle and covered my brushwork. I myself got dripping-wet. I feel funny whenever I think of it."
We know, as a matter of fact, that it was not funny at all. It was a solemn evidence of persistence.... not only at art, but also at life.