Every Day, Chapter 33 from The Works, 2022

For years, China had been present in my life through books, poetry and language.

Every morning I wrote Chinese characters by hand.Not because I wanted to master the language,but because I was fascinated by the discipline of repetition.

One character.Then another.

Day after day.

Years passed.

Then, unexpectedly, China entered my studio.

I met an elderly Chinese calligrapher who had devoted his life to the brush.

He practised every single day.

Not for an exhibition.

Not for recognition.

Simply because this was his way of living.

Watching him work was unlike watching a painter.

He never seemed to hesitate.

Each stroke carried the certainty of countless mornings before it.

Without many words, he understood what I was searching for.

He began creating large sheets of calligraphy for me.

Seeing those immense characters spread across the paper, I realised that calligraphy is not about writing.

It is about presence.

One breath.

One movement.

One moment that cannot be repeated.

I recognised something I had unknowingly been moving towards for many years.

The paintings had become quieter.

The gestures fewer.

The spaces larger.

Not because I wanted less,but because less had become enough.

The brush was no longer describing the world.

It was participating in it.

With Master Tao Wei in my studio, Olhão, Portugal.