In the run-up to the lunar new year, a photo of calligraphy aficionados Hsi Sung, Li Hsien-wen and Li Hsiao-kun figured on the front page of the newspaper, writing brushes in their hands. "Using a Brush to Forge a City With a Slower Rhythm" read the headline. Despite its incongruity with the political and economic news surrounding it-"Chinese Communists Welcome Visits by Most DPP Members" and "Taiwan Lottery Jackpot to Top NT$250 million"-it was still quite eye-catching.

Escaping confusion

In tune with the pace of urbanization and globalization, contemporary life has become tense and frenetic, and many people are seeking various means to balance their bodies and minds: Some forget themselves by belting out tunes in a KTV; some seek release through drink and merriment; some relax themselves via exercise. But some intellectuals propose once again taking up the brush and doing calligraphy.

"I am not a professional calligrapher, just a brush lover who has long used a writing brush. Nor am I a very good speaker, but today I want to say a few things in favor of the brush," explained author Hsi Sung at the launch event for his new books, Heart and Hand: Transcribing the Heart Sutra, Painting Kuan Yin and Handcopying the Buddhist Scriptures with a Tranquil Heart, since he himself has experienced not insignificant benefits from practicing calligraphy, and hopes others can benefit too.

In the early morning after Taiwan's "921" earthquake (September 21, 1999) water and electricity had been cut, and for the moment there was no way to contact relatives and friends in central and southern Taiwan to learn if they were safe. By the faint morning sunlight outside the window, Hsi Sung unrolled a scroll of paper and, grasping a brush, began to transcribe the Heart Sutra. "When I had copied it once, my heart became calm. Once I recopied it, my heart was filled with blessings for the world struck by disaster," recalled Hsi Sung.

Italy in slow motion

In his preface to Heart and Hand, Hsi Sung mentions that Italy is now promoting its "Slow Down the City" campaign. In order to preserve the urban soul, tradition and history, they hope the pace of life can "slow down a bit" and that the scale of commerce can be "a bit smaller." Meanwhile, in the bars and cafes of America's metropolises-following in the footsteps of the French-light, philosophical conversation has become trendy. Faced with the manic depression brought on by the pressures of modern-day life, some are advocating: "Plato, not Prozac!"

This global phenomenon of seeking a remedy from within tradition has led Hsi Sung to come up with the idea of using the calligraphy tradition to "slow down" the pace of life in Taiwan.

Italy's "Slow Down the City" campaign was initiated by the mayor of a small Italian town. The campaign has also extended to the preservation of traditional vineyards threatened by multinational firms and industrialized farms, and restaurants have refused to accept "fast-food culture," insisting on maintaining their original regional cuisines. Seventy Italian cities have already joined the campaign.

Actually, Italy didn't begin "slowing down" today. As corporatism and globalization sweep the globe, the Italians have constantly maintained a sense of elegance as an element of their daily lives.

Having traveled on his own in Italy and possessing a deep impression of many cities there, Hsi Sung points out that the cradle of the Renaissance makes one truly feel how ancient tradition and contemporary culture can be handed down in a living manner. "Walking in Verona, Assisi, and Siena, one feels as if one is in a living museum," he says.

Married in far away Siena, Italy, Hsu Fen-yu initially felt unable to adjust when she returned over the lunar new year to Taiwan, which she had been away from for five years. "The pace of life in Taiwan is really brisk. Things disappear just like that, and there is absolutely no appreciation for process." Take eating for example, she says. Italians are fastidious about the way they live. One not only sets the table for a meal; red wine must accompany the meal, and afterwards there is dessert. Taking lunch requires two hours, minimum. Furthermore, the Italian lifestyle is quite leisurely. Each evening at four or five o'clock one will see impeccably dressed people taking a stroll. Rare in Italy are the shopping malls which have recently become ubiquitous in Taiwan, but there are many unique, small shops.

Busy, shortsighted, in the dark

By comparison with Italy, Taiwan is a bit "loco" with its emphasis on speed and extreme competition. People's lives go on amidst competition and tension, and many take their breakfast in a vehicle. For the sake of "convenience," lunch is bought at a nearby fast-food outlet or convenience store and wolfed down. Even watching TV after returning home from work allows no respite. While the newscaster announces the news, bright flashing lights simultaneously appear on the display to preview the upcoming item of news, so the audience is forced to divide its attention. Utterly confusing.

Li Hsiao-kun, the author of Handcopying the Buddhist Scriptures with a Tranquil Heart and currently an assistant professor in the Fine Arts Department at Huafan University, is teaching a course on transcribing Buddhist scriptures. He says that the pace of modern life is dominated by the very machines invented by mankind. People mistakenly believe that everyone needs to match their speed. As a Zen master put it: "I divide time into 12 periods, while the common man's time is determined by 12 periods."

Hsi Sung goes so far as to believe that the number of manic-depression sufferers is on the rise because modern man cannot find life's coordinates or rhythm. At the same time that we enjoy modernity, people's hearts and bodies are becoming disoriented.

It's hard to believe in the e-age, that Hsi Sung and Li Hsiao-kun are both bucking the trend and do not use a computer. "Typing on a computer causes the mind to flow outward, and it's difficult to concentrate on one's self," says Li Hsiao-kun. As the pursuit of wealth and fame has become everyone's goal, one must know how to do the inverse, using the practice of calligraphy to restrict one's self.

Hsi Sung is also of the opinion that today, when so many are confused, calligraphy is a "simple path" by which to achieve balance. "Chinese calligraphy is a spiritual prescription for slowing down the pace of life, finding a corner of life where one can channel emotion into brush and ink in contemplation, in order to seek the true meaning of life from a silent craft practiced with the hands."

A spiritual swabbie

A professor in the Handicrafts Education Department at Taipei Normal University, Yuan Ju-yi, points out that regardless whether you are a professional artist, each person should possess a permanent, self-chosen art of living, which he dubs "expert capability." A fortuitous "expert capability" can relieve fatigue, enhance creativity, enable one to feel a sense of self-esteem and dignity, and in our competitive environment, preserve one's own "secret garden."

To say that calligraphy is a medicine is, in fact, not an exaggeration. "Art in and of itself is therapy," explains Li Hsiao-kun. When a person is in a state of concentration, the effect is similar to that of meditation. He recalls how a septuagenarian suffering from intestinal cancer insisted on coming for his calligraphy course while ignoring opposition from his family. Over the last four or five years his health has steadily improved, which Li puts down to the effects of practicing calligraphy.

Calligraphy certainly does have the ability to cure disease. Once suffering from a hyperactive thyroid due to the pressures of a fast-paced life, Lin Jui-yao was diagnosed by his doctor as needing to take medicine for the long term. But he abandoned drugs completely, practicing calligraphy eight hours daily and immersing himself in his inner world. His endocrine system gradually became balanced and he was healed.

"Calligraphy is a psychological tool, not a technological one," points out Li Hsiao-kun. Writing calligraphy is not simply a matter of practicing Chinese characters; rather it is a kind of spiritual experience, a process of seeking one's "true self," which can be used to adjust the pace of life.

Hsi Sung points out that at the very instant one focuses on the tip of the brush, the mind fastens upon a single thought-and time stands still. During that instant, one can attain what is called a state of consciousness known as "calmness."

"When one begins writing characters, causality is transcended. The self is stabilized, and one can then reflect upon the causes of things from a different perspective. After writing for 15 minutes, it suddenly feels as if one had fasted and cleansed oneself." This is what is described in Tu Fu's poem: "Water flows by but my heart does not quicken / Clouds remain but my thoughts trail behind." Taking this feeling of calmness with oneself into every second of life, slowly strolling through the modern city, one's balance will not be lost.

Even when homework for his second year of high school is busiest, Chen Wei still makes the time to practice calligraphy one or two hours a week. His interest in calligraphy dates back to when he was small and he was witness to his father's own practice of calligraphy. You won't find a trace of the typical teenager's impulsiveness in him. Chen Wei believes that practicing calligraphy makes him relatively able to "control his emotions."

Mysterious calming force

Members of the younger generation who share Chen Wei's devotion to calligraphy are definitely not numerous. Middle school teacher Liao Shu-chen points out that since children have been using PCs, most dislike writing by hand, miswrite Chinese characters by the dozens, and their proficiency in written Chinese has dropped markedly.

In an earlier period when students used a brush to keep a weekly diary and write their essays, they either made a mess of things with their fountain pens, or else scribbled a bunch of inelegant phrases, which were utterly ineffective in cultivating character. But with the abandonment of the weekly diary and the use of ballpoint pen to write essays, middle school students now have precious little contact with calligraphy. On the contrary, it is school teachers who have founded calligraphy societies on their own, and middle-school teacher Liao Shu-chen, who has practiced calligraphy continuously for eight or nine years, says there are all sorts of good points to its practice. So-called "holding one's breath to create characters" means that calligraphy is more than just writing words; it is also a breathing exercise.

The founder of Hsiung Shih Art Monthly, Li Hsien-wen, has been more able to integrate art into life since leaving the magazine. He has discovered a power of "stability" in the art of calligraphy. "Lishu ('official script') and kaishu ('regular script') both possess a dignified sort of beauty, and xingshu ('running hand'), caoshu ('cursive') have a harmonious beauty within their movement. At first glance, xingshu and caoshu both look like 'dragons in flight and phoenixes dancing,' but when you look in detail each character possesses its own axis. Somewhere between the points when the brush is set down and lifted up, there is a mysterious stabilizing force."

Expressing life through lines

Hsi Sung believes that as long as one occasionally has contact with a calligraphy brush, over time the brush will naturally become an extension of the hand and heart.

His suggestion for those who wish to practice calligraphy: Create a specific corner in your house exclusively for the practice of calligraphy. The table should have no other use, and will become a base for practicing calligraphy in the long term. In this way, one can be spared the annoyance of preparation and cleanup, thereby greatly enhancing the desire to practice. "At a time when every family has its problems, if there can be a corner where one can be at peace, then this can be very beneficial. Calligraphy can create such an environment."

Li Hsien-wen is the first person to put Hsi Sung's suggestion into practice.

It was eight years ago, when his career ran into a bottleneck, that Li Hsien-wen made his initial contact with calligraphy and Buddhism. First, he converted his eight-person round dining table into a table for calligraphy. He typically made do with the kitchen for eating, but when the occasional guests came, he re-converted the table temporarily.

He began with ancient lishu calligraphy. "Because if you know how to make a straight line and a horizontal line, you can do lishu." And that's how it all started: From writing Spring Festival couplets to hang in his own place, then putting them up in his office, next giving them as gifts to relatives and good friends, until three years ago when the characters he had written were boldly hung alongside his own front door.

Put aside those things

"Use your hands to do and your mind to think. Only then can you slow down the pace of your life," says Li Hsien-wen. Everyone claims to be very busy, but if you carefully examine your life, certain things can be eliminated. "Put aside those things common people busy themselves with. Only then can you find time to do those things common people have no time to do." After some consideration, Li Hsien-wen first abandoned his participation in the Rotary Club, and secondly saved time by no longer watching TV. That way, finding 20 minutes a day to write Chinese characters was not at all a difficult task.

Over the last few years, Li Hsien-wen's life has changed quite a lot. He not only eats vegetarian, but he has also moved to the countryside and abandoned burdensome clothing such as suit and tie. At the same time, he has influenced his wife, who began practicing calligraphy three years ago. When she is free she copies a bit of traditional poetry, and able to settle in at her house, she no longer feels lonely. Not long ago she wrote a letter using a brush for her son studying in Japan, and when he put it up on his wall, his fellow students exclaimed "Fantastic!"

Shih Chin-shu has been studying calligraphy six or seven years, and has consistently maintained the custom of practicing twice weekly. With one child in the first year of high school and another in the first year of university, Shih says that now they are older they have become fascinated with computers, and the huge living room is still not big enough. So she has exchanged the coffee table for a big desk and uses it to write characters. Since she can take a seat any time and practice, the more she writes the more confident she has become. "Ever since I began doing calligraphy, I have an outlet and I feel more peaceful. When I have free time I no longer lose my concentration."

The Calligraphy Society organized by employees of the Executive Yuan makes use of the noon break to practice calligraphy. Chairwoman Chen Yu-ying observes that when she starts she feels drowsy, but the more she writes the more energetic she feels. "As long as you put yourself into it," she says, "you will find that the road of calligraphy is very long. You can take the road as far as you like."

The brush as magic wand

In the midst of our busy, directionless and disorienting modern society, do you seek a spiritual recipe for calm, purity and dignity? If so, why not pick up a brush and try a bit of calligraphy?

Dizzy at the sight of a calligraphy brush? Don't know how to put brush to paper? Afraid of writing badly? Hsi Sung offers a way around those devilish obstructions. "Don't get caught up in whether you can write well. Just go ahead and write. As the Buddhist Master Sheng Yen put it: "I don't expect you to achieve enlightenment; I just want you to strive for virtue." The goal of practicing calligraphy is not to become a professional calligrapher; it is to put your heart at ease."

"The calligraphy brush is a living tradition handed down to us," explains Hsi Sung. Some forms of recreation are rather shallow. Do them for a while and that's all there is to them. But the brush is like Harry Potter's magic wand-its innovativeness and ability to change consciousness are limitless.

Once the brush becomes a magic wand, it suddenly feels airily light.

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In the bustling, busy metropolis, a "secret garden" for one's heart is the "exit" each member of modern society works so hard to locate.

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As the old saying goes, "To acquit oneself well of one's task, one must first sharpen one's tools." Will I be writing small, medium or large script? What about the brush's ease of writing and expressive style? Choosing a writing brush is an art too.

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Buddhism entered China and naturally interacted with calligraphy, cultivating the mind as well as the body.

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Inside and out the offices of Hsiung Shih Art Books, one can see traces of publisher and editor-in-chief Li Hsien-wen everywhere. Since he first came into contact with calligraphy eight years ago, Li Hsien-wen seems to have been virtually reborn.

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Strokes of calligraphy tell the lives of the Chinese: Students from all walks of life watch attentively as Li Hsien-wen, promoter of calligraphy as a means of self-cultivation, yields his brush.

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Hsi Sung has transcribed the 203-character Heart Sutra several hundred times. In that instant when he focuses on the tip of his brush, he has already transcended causality, and calmed his inner self.