The Calligrapher

He was a man no older than forty. His serious face became even more stern as his brow furrowed with concentration. Instead of brush writing on a table or platform, he used the jagged concrete street surface.

The skill of his East Asian calligraphy was unquestionable. The thing that drew the crowd around him was his lack of something we all take for granted: his two hands.

It was four in the afternoon in one of the busiest locations in Hong Kong: the sprawling district of Mong Kok. With the nearly interminable Nathan Road that runs through it, traffic can stream through here all day long. Add that to the magnitude of pedestrian shoppers that filter through its alleys and sideways, and it's just chaos all very local to Hong Kong. Today I had just finished a periodic visit to my dentist, and as I began heading back towards the Mass Transit Railway (MTR) station through a road that mainly sold electronics, I noticed a line of people all motionless in the middle of the street.

I slowed and moved over to join the line, which soon began to elongate into a gathering throng of people twenty-strong. It was a young man alone on the street, with great big sheets of thin paper called XuanZhi 宣紙 paper laid out on the rough concrete before him. On the ground beside where he crouched were a couple of dirty Bonaqua water bottles, a cracked inkstone, and a small circular seal paste plate. Between the dry blackened remaining stubs of his arms clasped a battered and decrepit paintbrush.


My chest tightened as I saw a small pouch lying near the set of phrases he was currently working on. He was begging for money - a few pieces of change that the enthusiastic shoppers of the bustling electronics and hardware stores around him may want to get rid of. He continued writing without pause, at times using his teeth to straighten and realign the thick paintbrush that sat neatly in between his two arms, which were severed at the wrist. I felt myself wondering what tragedy could have befallen this unfortunate man. Could it have been a deformity from birth? Had he suffered a devastating burn or injury that resulted in amputation? Was it a devastating accident that he experienced during his previous job as a carpenter or blacksmith, which could've been very well-paying? I felt these questions bombard me as I continued to silently eye the painting calligrapher, who let the brush dance elegantly under his control. One would have needed the practice for several years to achieve the standard he was producing before my eyes at that moment. And even so it would be with all ten fingers and a very dexterous wrist: I couldn't let myself imagine what sort of hardship this man experienced without the prehensile hands we took for granted. Had he been this skillful before he had lost the lower halves of his arms? Or had he been forced to adapt a different way of calligraphy due to his physical ability - and still managed to create something so artistically masterful?

The phrases he wrote were all ancient Chinese sayings: ways of the word spoken by philosophers and scholars and emperors alike. They embodied a very traditional aspect: four characters per line, which could have vast symbolic meanings. Between his focused and delicate strokes observers moved forwards to drop a few coins into the small pouch that openly displayed its empty interior to the crowd. The clinking of metal upon metal triggered the man to look up from his work and nod at the generous act, as he crinkled his haggard face into a sad smile, and verbally expressed his thanks out loud before continuing with his writing.

It took no longer than five minutes before he gently laid the brush down onto the inkstone, wiping his forehead with what remained of his forearm. He then hopped backwards and used his feet to slowly nudge the seal paste plate forward, where he then hoisted the metal container to his mouth and pried open the cap using his teeth. The bright red paste was used to imprint his name onto the completed work as a sign of his own craftsmanship and creation, serving as the artist's signature upon his piece of brushwriting. The seal itself was made of gray stone - no longer than a finger - and the calligrapher fumbled with it for sometime before he finally managed to dip it into the sticky paste and stamp it onto the sheet. A nearby onlooker knelt down to inspect the writing more closely, before nodding and dropping a couple of money notes into the small pouch before rolling up the paper and carrying it off with him.



Beside the calligrapher were a couple of already completed sheets, held down at the corners by the empty seal box and some half-filled water bottles. The wind ruffled the edges and began lifting the bottom of the sheet, but it was very legible to onlookers as they crowded round to admire his work and at the same time feel a stinging in their hearts at his downtrodden condition. One of the Chinese proverbs I found the most meaningful was this one:

(The proverb is read from right to left:自強不息)

Translated, its meaning referred to the mindset of constantly standing strong for yourself and no one else. It emphasized self-improvement and self-governance: the strength of willpower for the individual only. This struck me has incredible apt, because here we had the calligrapher fending entirely for himself on the streets of Mong Kok. His physical disability could have always had the potential to faze his artistic talent and abilities, but instead of allowing that to heavily affect him he fought onwards. Even without individual fingers to guide his brush and a palm to steady his strokes, the calligrapher amazed every onlooker with his poise, accuracy, and grace. The elegance of his work was unquestionable: and here the very proverb he was writing out to sell to other people was an ancient philosophy that he was still living by in today's ruthless modern world. The strength of his own willpower was incredible, and that afternoon I felt myself feel inspired by this calligrapher, knowing it meant even more so that things we take for granted should instead be appreciated to an even greater extent.

The entrance into the year of 2009 probably hit the world in showers of sparkling lights, excitement, and exploding fireworks. People of Hong Kong were rushing out to get their hands onto great deals in the stores on the street as monetary issues become more and more difficult to handle. But amidst such energy, this calligrapher was a reminder of how the strength of an individual truly should not be underestimated - and more importantly one thing we cannot take for granted either.