Reading Hitoshi Kanno's 'The Illusion of Friendship: Thinking About Human Connections'
What is calligraphy as a form of communality?
In sociology, the term 'communality' does not simply refer to a state where people are gathered together or have friendly relationships. Rather, it points to the very state in which people live their lives while having unconsciously shared the 'same premises.' Reading the air, sensing tacit understandings, and having a sense of connection that requires no explanation—such feelings of 'living in the same world' lie at the core of communality. Sociology values this concept not to blame people's personalities or inner selves, but to clarify the location of the forces that make us feel 'this is the only way to live.' This feeling of 'having no other choice' both supports and binds people. While it fosters security, a sense of belonging, and the inheritance of culture and skills, it also contains the silent pressure of 'this is how things normally are' and the power to invisibly exclude those who deviate from it. Communality is both gentle and violent.
When I immerse myself in the world of calligraphy, I feel the density of this communality. The feeling of finding something 'good' when facing a classic work. The breathing and spacing of lines, and the physical way of learning through copying (rinsho). The master-disciple relationship and the evaluation criteria of exhibitions. These are not merely techniques or systems, but values shared as things that have soaked into the body over a long period of time. Therefore, the question of 'why this calligraphy is evaluated and that one is not' is perhaps closer to a question of which communality one is inside, rather than a matter of aesthetic preference.
However, the communality in calligraphy is not singular. I see it as having two layers. One is the deep layer of communality that has been accumulated through the classics. The physical knowledge inherent in the weight of lines, breathing, and the repetitive act of copying has been passed down over millennia, and there is a necessity there that cannot be easily discarded. The other is a relatively superficial layer of communality—the frameworks that have been established as systems since the modern era, such as fixed master-disciple relationships, organizational hierarchies, evaluation systems for public exhibitions, and the emphasis on affiliations and titles.
It is the latter that I feel uncomfortable with and wish to shift. It is not so much the tradition itself, but the parts where tradition appears in the form of systems and power. I do not want to deny tradition entirely. Rather, I want to rethink and separate what has been preserved from what are systems added later. This is not an act of destruction, but a process of re-engaging with the deeper layer of communality.
As one such attempt, I have imagined a space where one faces calligraphy without bringing in ranks or titles. I set aside the master-disciple relationship and the gaze of evaluation for a moment. At the same time, I do not treat the classics, tools, the act of copying, or the body that writes with anything less than seriousness. I am thinking about whether it is possible to create a space where, instead of directly denying institutional communality, one pushes it slightly to the side, allowing only physical communality to operate quietly.
It is easily misunderstood, but this is not aimed at performance. What I want to distance myself from is behavior premised on being seen, or being reclaimed by audiences and meanings. What I am continuing is closer to the act of readjusting the body for writing each time, rather than a practice that tries to express something. While facing the classics, I explore where my body is today and confirm the weight of the lines and the shifts in breathing. What is written in this way often remains without fitting neatly as either a work or a message.
Even so, that adjustment continues. There are no flashy events there. It is just that in the repeated time, the body changes little by little. I believe that this quiet persistence is my practice, and a way to continue engaging with calligraphy while keeping a distance from evaluation and explanation.
To remain within calligraphy while questioning its communality. This is neither a movement nor a revolution. It is about establishing a space and living the same time there. I need the experience of that remaining in someone's body in a form that cannot be put into words.