Water calligraphy and making connections
I can almost read it, like the most opaquely gorgeous poetry, following the lines that take each drop in and make them mean something.
At the park on Saturday, I chatted with another foreigner, a broad-shouldered man with cauliflower ears. He spoke in a soft UK-accented voice, telling me that he was out with his two-year-old while his wife packed things in preparation for an upcoming move. “It should probably be the other way around,” he said. I told him that when we have such tasks in our household, it’s usually D who looks after the kids while I pack or put together the piece of IKEA furniture or set up the new appliance. “He’s much more patient than I am,” I said, hoping the compliment could make some transference without my having gotten to know this man at all. His daughter, a little girl with golden curls, climbed on and off a bench while S ran back and forth in front of her, screaming with glee. We talked about how safe the park feels, how separate the road and how generous the aunties and uncles are with their attention and care. That’s how older adults are referred to, as a sign of respect. Every older man or woman is an uncle or an auntie. If one of the twins runs off, there’s almost always some older man or woman walking slow circles while doing their exercises who will flag me if I’m having trouble finding the errant kid. After a few minutes, the golden-haired little girl ran off along one of the flower garden paths and her father followed her, shrugging and waving a goodbye back at me.
As is often the case, a man was in the middle of the main thoroughfare, doing calligraphy on the paving stones with water and a thick brush. The previous day’s ghosted brush strokes made the base layer of a never-ending palimpsest. I don’t know what any of it says, but it is beautiful, and I can almost read it like the most opaquely gorgeous poetry, following the lines that take each drop in and make them mean something. Water calligraphy is a transient art that is apparently a relatively new practice. A woman I met through a writing workshop does calligraphy, and she tells me that this way of doing it, on the pavement with water and this kind of brush, involves a very high level of difficulty. I read a little bit about water calligraphy in this article, and apparently the brushes are often home-made out of broken broom handles and bits of sponge that no longer have any other use. This form of calligraphy came into public practice around the time of China’s reform and opening up period, in the 1980s. There’s a lot of potential for symbolism in the timing, but it might be mostly about the fact that Chinese people in modern decades retire young, and, because of the one child policy, older Chinese people don’t usually have many grandchildren. Retired people with time to spare often use public parks for hobbies, and for building community. Water calligraphy is one way to do that, a kind of hobby that invites people to stop, observe, read, and discuss. As I walked past, I saw people pausing to read the man’s work, going over to him, starting a conversation. This is one of my favourite park activities to watch.
On our way out of the park, I saw the man and his daughter again. We smiled as we passed each other, waved, exchanged our hopes that we’d meet again. I should try to get better at asking people for their contact information in those moments.
After we went home, I drew a gingko leaf on a magnetic drawing board that the kids use. T leaned in, pointed, and said ‘a leaf!’ I was surprised, somehow, that she recognized the shape as a leaf at all. It’s still so foreign to me, so different from the leaves at home. I have to remind myself often that, having been here one full year, these two kids have lived one-third of their little lives in Shanghai. This is what is familiar to them now. It’s a strange thought.
It’s a short one this week. D is out of town and will be until the weekend. I swapped childcare days and had our lovely nanny watch the kids today so that I could go play water polo. We usually scrimmage on Sundays anyway, but we had a quick 4-on-4 tournament this morning. It was great to get a little more competitive, to wrestle with someone at centre forward in earnest, and even to play against a handful of women. The women’s game is different; it’s not that there’s more contact, just that the contact is different, and I miss those familiar ways of playing off of an opponent’s body in the pool. It’s such a pleasure just to scrimmage every week that I don’t think about it very often, but today I was reminded of why I love playing women’s water polo so much.
Another beautiful post. I love the way you are normalizing China for me. In North America the powers that be are doing everything to demonize the Chinese to turn the nation into an enemy. Have you read about ginkgo leaves. Ginkgo are ancient trees. So old that they go back to a time before trees produced leaves with a centre vein which is a more efficient leaf apparently but the ginkgo has not adapted. They are beautiful tres.