Shanghai Daily News

Carefully carved wooden side tables, glittering blue-on-white Jingde porcelain vases, walls of Chinese landscape paintings and calligraphy works soaked in delicate aroma of Chinese ink, Zhu Zhongmin's art studio is understatedly decorated in a traditional way with simple elegance.

The 39-year-old Nanhui District calligrapher and painter is the king in this quiet little domain, immersed totally in his black-and-white realm full of ancient and mysterious Chinese characters.

"I am an absolute classic defender, not an avant-garde innovator," Zhu said with a seemingly knowing smile. "Only the classics can last forever."

His brushwork varies in style from wild and cursive script to exquisite and meticulous patterns. Some characters are crazy, bold and fluid; they flow, loop and swoop, blurring the distinction between writing and painting, control and spontaneity, stillness and action. They twist and turn; pump up, slim down; leave skid marks behind them. Some are uniform in weight, geometrically structured, meticulously aligned and gracefully executed.

"The way to appreciate calligraphy is not to learn what the words are or what kind of skill the calligrapher employs, but just to look at them as an abstract art form and to feel their heart and soul," Zhu said, pointing to a four-meter-long scroll hung on the wall in compelling and non-representational terms.

"When I was only a little boy, I became engrossed in this amazing and ancient art," he said. "I could spend hours watching the painters drawing and writing. It was a great fun for me at the time."

Since 1982 when he was an art student at Shanghai Normal College, Zhu has devoted all his time to calligraphy practice.

"One can not imagine how hard it was," he admitted. "It was five to six hours of non-stop practice; standing bolt upright with a writing brush every day could be a nightmare for a little kid. But I was greatly interested in it and I do enjoy the process."

They say calligraphy and painting are hobbies for the rich and nobility to which Zhu concurs.

"But they are my interest and my pursuit," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I've spent a lot of money on it over the years."

Each year, Zhu travels to Jingde Town, Jiangxi Province, the porcelain capital of the country, to make and paint vases himself. "It cost me 30,000 yuan (US$3,750) to 40,000 yuan on average, not to mention the 100,000 yuan I have to spend on rice paper each year."

In September, he returned from Huangshan Mountain, the famed mountain in Anhui Province. "Traveling among the magnificent mountains and beautiful landscapes helps me to get inspiration. As an artist, you have to see more, feel more and think more," Zhu said.

He believes it is easy to become a good artisan, but rather difficult to be a great artist or master.

"One can only be called a mere penman if he doesn't have a thorough understanding of the Chinese culture. The road to becoming a great artist is bumpy. I remember there was one time that I thought I could no longer hold on. I stayed where I was and could not move forward any more."

During that period, Zhu said that he felt tortured everyday.

"This state lasted for about five to six years until one day I was enlightened and refreshed suddenly with no reason."

For Zhu, some things in this world cannot be explained properly. "I think everything was predestined, like your life companion, your family, your talent, your fate."

Years of practicing the ancient art-form has shaped Zhu's life attitude and simplified his world to black and white. "Yin and Yang. Foul and fair. Stillness and action. That is the world in my eyes. And the course of life is to balance these extremes. It's hard but it's art," he said.

He adds art is lonely and an artist is lonely too.

"Sometimes it's hard to find a listener who understands me and can communicate with me," Zhu said, shaking his head. "But it doesn't matter. Like what I said, it's predestined, too."