I learned from my grandfather early in my childhood how to write with a brush. Holding a brush in a prison cell to write the epitaph for him I was overwhelmed by a series of his memories, accompanied by various thoughts and feelings outgrown over the years.
When I looked again at my writing a few days later, just nothing seemed to be right. Strokes were uneven, out of balance with one another, and many connections between characters looked awkward, out of proportion. Han Seok-bong could not have done worse without the lamplight. My mother's reproaching whispers ringed in my ears. I rewrote some parts and modified some others.
Brush writing gets ever more difficult as I put more and more effort in it. Is it because it also contains a course of life in it? I keep wondering if the real purpose of calligraphy is to learn the difficulty of writing.
'For Foreign Eyes' 카테고리의 다른 글
Shells of thoughts (0) | 2018.11.13 |
---|---|
Autumn Meditations (0) | 2018.11.13 |
"One who has seen the ocean cannot talk easily about water." (0) | 2018.10.24 |
5 years, 11 months (3) | 2018.08.06 |
innocent Columbus (0) | 2018.07.31 |