Sharon Nakazato
Chinese legend
tells us that the Yellow Emperor’s 4-eyed court historian Cang Jie created the
first written characters inspired by the patterns of lines on the back of a
tortoise he encountered in the mountains when looking for the inspiration. That
was in, traditionally, the 27th century BCE. But by at latest 1200 BCE we
already have a fully developed, if grammatically abbreviated, system of writing
which has, moreover, the qualities of an art form! How did that happen? I want
to be in on that inspiration continually.
I have always
been fascinated by the process of creation—the birth of a being, a poem, an
idea: something that never was in the world before and now is. Of course each
new idea is an expansion from all that came before in the life of the person
and the culture, but still, there is the mystery of what a great teacher called
“the space between thoughts.”
Asian Brush
Calligraphy—Shodo—presents the calligrapher with this real and mystical
experience repeatedly. Years of discipline in Shodo, including six years’
intensive study with Shodo master Shinzan Kamijo, inform and in-form all my
work. Even when I don’t see it, others
tell me they do. You can judge for yourself.
Besides a
heightened sensitivity to line and a feeling for alive white space, Shodo
demands an awareness of materials, their qualities and textures and the
intricacies of their interactions. The art requires you to deal with the
properties of absorbent washi papers, the maddeningly flexible Asian brush, and
the tricky subtleties of sumi inks. As I turn to western mediums I have tried
to bring to them the sensibility they demand.
From my youngest
days playing in woods and fields, drinking from a hidden pure natural spring
and throwing myself headlong into deep forest moss, a Haiku poet’s delight in
the miniature discoveries of the natural world have never ceased to thrill me.
Much of my art is Haiku, which, not incidentally, I also write.
Another aspect
of the natural world and what humans have added to it that fascinates me is
what I see as the “unrandom random:” the way leaves fall on a section of
walking path, a brief moment’s configuration of clouds, seemingly unrelated
materials and bits of detritus forming a unity after all.
I am excited
when I have a chance to share my celebration and thankfulness for the world we
share. My gratitude goes out to the Kent Library and to Jeanette Jeanette Rodriguez for
this opportunity, and to you for sharing with me.
