China’s Greatest Treasures: The Art of Character

I'm embarking on an epic adventure from spectacular natural landscapes to the busiest cities in the world. China, a place to explore the treasures of an ancient civilization. I find this really very special indeed. A culture that has lasted for thousands of years and which continues to shape this great nation. I've really been looking forward to seeing this. And to truly understand the secrets of a country's soul, I think you need to immerse yourself in its art. Time for the journey to begin. Beijing, China's capital city, a hub of one of China's most important traditional art forms, the art of writing beautifully, calligraphy. For century upon century, artists have continually renewed the art of calligraphy by adopting new and innovative approaches. Is handwriting the ultimate form of self-expression in China? What can the art of calligraphy tell us about China? Beijing, the cultural center of China and one of the oldest capitals in the world. When the Qing dynasty was founded in the 17th century, Chinese literati and artists began to buy books and share new ideas. It remains a great place to explore an art form that remains as popular and relevant as it was all those centuries ago. What the Chinese call shufa, or the way of writing, we in the West, we call it calligraphy, a word derived from the Greek meaning beautiful writing. In China, calligraphy is an art form. It's one of the so-called three perfections, along with poetry and painting, and some even consider it the highest art form in the land. So yes, calligraphy, it is writing, but it's also very much a thing of profound visual beauty. Rongbaojie, getting back to the 17th century, is a famous shop specializing in calligraphy supplies. Calligraphy teacher Xiao Gong has been here for over 40 years. Just before we begin, can I say, I love everything about this in terms of the aesthetic. Well, you're right into the lesson. Okay, this is my brush, is it? You brought your own down here. Can we do an easy one? Here we go. You're actually laughing, oh dear. We've got half an hour? Okay. Thank you, master. Okay, so this is... Ready? Oh, I did a flick, yeah, just naturally. Hang on. Are these ancient Chinese characters? Sheep, character for sheep, that feels somehow appropriate. Okay. Yeah, I will, I will. Hang on. There, and then these two little... I've passed the test, good. Can I see you do it? In a sense, Mr. Xiao's insight into this art form seems to be that the meaning of each character has been weakened, making it all the more important to express himself in each and every stroke. Arguably, there is relevant when considering a free-flowing piece of Chinese calligraphy as they are when, say, looking at, I don't know, a drip painting by Jackson Pollock. And instead of individual words, the Chinese have what we in English call characters. And I think that's very telling, because if you were looking for an insight into the character of China, a distillation, if you like, of the country's soul, then calligraphy isn't a bad place to start. Northeast from Beijing is the city of Shen Yun, the capital of Liaoning province. The Liaoning Provincial Museum has in its collection some very special ancient stone tablets and calligraphic works that once belonged to Pu Yi, the last emperor of China. The artifact that I've come here to see is really very special indeed, because it marks this moment when calligraphy in China goes from being an elegant writing system to something that's valued for the very first time as a beautiful, expressive, graceful art form. In the museum's heavily guarded vault, there's a treasure of ancient calligraphy from the late 7th century, the reign of the woman to rule China in her own right, Empress Wu Zetian. It's the collection of calligraphy copy books in the Wansui Tongtian period, commissioned by Empress Wu Zetian herself. Very few have the privilege of getting close to this 13th century old tongue facsimile. The nearest breath could cause irreversible damage. Dongbao Hou is one of the few who has access to this calligraphic gem. As I understand it, what we're looking at here is something tremendously exciting. I think this dates from the late 7th century, and yet some of these pieces feel like those brushstrokes could have been deployed, you know, a matter of weeks ago, days ago even. I wonder if you could just explain where the so-called sage of calligraphy, Wang Siju, where his work is within this artifact. But it seems like there's a subtle difference between the characters used in the letter mourning the passing of his aunt, and in the one in which he's greeting his friend, because these ones feel slightly larger, there's slightly more space around them, and if you like there's a slightly more sense of spontaneous energy to the way that the brushstrokes have been put down, the way he's using the brush. How do you describe the difference between these two? The fact that this has become a standard that's still in use today is quite extraordinary, but also this idea that he's introducing this new aesthetic understanding into calligraphy. This is the birth of calligraphy as an art form, rather than merely text as a vehicle for conveying meaning. The beauty of calligraphy lies not just in the beauty of each individual stroke, but also in the fluidity of the lines, and the subtle handling of the space among characters. What's striking about the Tang Dynasty reproduction is that Empress Wu Zetian chose not to make calligraphic copies of official court documents or literary works, but rather to copy some ordinary private letters, not for the content of Wang Xijie's calligraphy, but for this art form. Back in Beijing's Liao Licheng Street, 80-year-old Yi Sunchun is hard at work. This old man has been practicing writing on the ground, a simple and popular form of calligraphy, since he retired. The one thing that's quite noticeable is that, you know, your first line there, it's sort of disappearing. Yeah, that's good. Is it? Yeah, then I write again. You're using a particular script here. We call the kai shu, means very neat. Regular. I'm a person who likes everything very neat, very regular. Ordered. Ordered, yeah, yeah. Look, this is evaporating already. Yeah. When it's dry, then I have to write again. I enjoy that. And when I repeat it, it's a way of improving myself. And one day, when you've perfected it so that you're satisfied, would you then try and set it down in ink on paper to be immortalised? Maybe not, maybe not. Many people encourage me to write. I say, no, no, thank you. No, no, no. To write on the ground, that's enough. Frankly, if I lived to be 1,000, I don't think I'd ever master Chinese calligraphy. It's so supple and graceful, with all of this rich potential for nuance and subtlety and expressive power and poetry. But at least I've come to understand why, in China, calligraphy is valued and respected so much as a visual art form. And ultimately, I think there's something rather magical about the idea that China's greatest artistic treasure, arguably, isn't a tangible thing at all, but something intangible, as ephemeral and abstract as writing. Next up, a visit to an award-winning type designer who's finding new artistic ways to express Chinese characters in the digital age. Then an opportunity to view a masterpiece that represents the highest level of achievement in the fundamental basis of calligraphic art, brushwork. Calligraphy is a great way to learn about China and its art and culture. The old copy books you can find in places like Panjiayuan in Beijing are a great source of inspiration for anyone interested in calligraphy. In our digital era of emoji, rather than old-fashioned brush and ink, I'm really curious to find out about its prospects for survival in the 21st century. Xing Hongke, one of Asia's most creative type designers, is just the man to ask about the future prospects of Chinese calligraphy. What gave him the inspiration to start reinterpreting traditional Chinese characters? They look really beautiful, these editions. What are they? Wow, look at that. What is this? I think this is such a beautiful book. There's this real sort of retro appeal. I can see why this would be so inspirational to you and your work as a designer. What about some of these other ones? I wonder whether anything from the history of calligraphy, things that are maybe centuries and centuries old, whether those scripts are inspiring to you as a typographer? Do you have examples of your own work that I can see, to compare, see how you're inspired by stuff like this? These are great. OK, dust. I love it. Immediately, I can see some sort of lineage from this, created, what, we're talking 2,200-odd years ago, they're full of, it sounds a bit trite to say full of character, but that's what they are. How much do you feel then that this great tradition of calligraphy in China is under threat today? Ching Hongke's creative work pushes the envelope in terms of contemporary-type design, but boundaries were being pushed back in ancient times, too. One particular work, produced almost 700 years ago, underscores the role innovation has played in this art form. This is the Forbidden City, the secretive center of China's dynastic government for nearly five centuries. Now, it is the palace museum, crowded with tourists. But some of the 9,999 rooms supposedly within the ramparts of the Forbidden City are still off-limits. This highly influential work is by the painter and calligrapher Zhao Mengfu, an important figure in Chinese literati painting. This painting is very fragile and extremely sensitive to light. So it's only possible to view it for a few minutes at a time before it's returned to storage. Present at this rare viewing of the scroll is Miss Lu Yin, an associate research librarian in the palace museum. I have that almost nervous excitement looking at this, because it's so fragile and so old, and there's been all of this build-up, and it's so special now to actually have it here. And it's really just a wonderful work of art. I mean, it's very simple. And immediately, what strikes me is the great diversity of the way that Zhao Mengfu has used his brush in different ways to create different parts of the painting. I mean, in places, it's clear the brush is very dry, and he's dragging it. In other places, it's loaded with ink, and it becomes much denser. He manages to evoke all of these different textures of the natural world. It slightly feels as well that there's a soft sadness to the painting, because it's very, very bare. Are you suggesting that for Zhao Mengfu, he's thinking that painting a landscape, painting calligraphy, they're things which aren't separate, but somehow enmeshed? I'm so glad that I could see this with you guiding me through it, because before, I would have assumed, there's the landscape part, that's the painting, here's the calligraphy, here's the text. And no, they're completely enmeshed, and that's something that's just very distinctive to the literati, to this Chinese moment of art history, and I wouldn't have really known that. To connoisseurs of calligraphy, strange as this may sound, the meaning of the characters can be immaterial. Instead, quite often, fine calligraphy is valued for purely artistic reasons. So I find it quite helpful to think of each character less as a sign used in a system of writing, and more as a miniature abstract painting brought into being by a brush.