Sitting at my desk, I steady my hand and press down on my brush pen, forming the curvature of a lily petal blowing in the wind. I lighten my grip so the tip of my pen barely touches the page and whisk it to the right, creating a thin upstroke. I start to let my pen slip down the page, but before it drops below the line, I swoop it back upwards to begin the next letter. After a brief pause, my hand ascends the page in a rush of adrenaline, only to fall back on itself before driving forward in roller-coaster loops that accelerate forward. The word begins to form on my page: hello.
Unlike this fluid stroke, calligraphy’s history cannot be traced along a single line. Calligraphy originated in China in the first century, when skilled artists would use paint brushes made of animal hair to compose the intricate linework of Chinese characters. Over the years, similarly stylized ways of writing were developed elsewhere in other languages. By the end of the Enlightenment in Europe, the clarity and structure of Charles L. Simonneau’s Roman typography served as a counterpoint to the decorative script of Chinese calligraphy. In many ways, the development of modern calligraphy is owed to British calligrapher Edward Johnson, who, in the 19th century, led the European revival of calligraphy, combining the fluid strokes of Chinese calligraphy with the figures of the Roman alphabet. It was this calligraphy, reflected in the YouTube videos of AmandaRachLee, that entranced me for hours on end in fifth grade.
My eyes would gaze upon the red ink of the pen on my phone screen, mesmerized by the fluidity of Amanda’s ebbing strokes. She had complete control over her craft; she had the power to produce strokes of any hue or thickness with just one red brush pen. As she moved her pen up the paper, she created delicate, thin lines in the shade of ripening watermelons, yet as she moved downwards, she created bold, crimson downstrokes as wide as my finger. Although each mark she made on the page possessed its own character, she seamlessly connected all of them to form a phrase.
Over the next few months, instead of copying down the English notes my teacher had written on the whiteboard, I spent my class time aiming to master a different subject: calligraphy. I filled my notebook with brightly colored strokes of my own, replicating both the delicate and bold lines I had watched the calligrapher make in the video. As I marked more and more pages with my brush pen’s ink, I graduated to writing long, intricate phrases.
Drowning out my teacher’s lesson, I reached for my favorite pen and began to write “hello,” when I was suddenly startled by a quick tap on the shoulder. I turned my head to see my classmate peering down at my page. “You have such good handwriting!” she exclaimed. “Can you write my name?” I nodded, the corners of my mouth raising. As I drew, I noticed other classmates’ eyes move from the board to my desk, following my pen’s trajectory. Their expressions reflected the awe I felt that day in fifth grade when I discovered the art form. This encounter marked the start of my very first business: Angie’s Calligraphy. Every morning, I’d start the day not by looking at my homework, but by reviewing my tracking spreadsheet, which became a record of new connections forged with my peers through calligraphy.
Over the years, I’ve pondered how I could help others use this art form to find their own sense of community. Working on the “The Basics” page of my new book, “Calligraphy Workshop: A Guide to Calligraphy for Kids,” just last night, I annotated the diverse strokes of calligraphy with hand-drawn arrows to guide kids through the intricate shapes of script lettering. Beside the script, I wrote instructions in a playful handwriting font that resembles the notes my friends and I used to pass back and forth in class. Beneath these directions, students trace the letters by themselves, taking the next step on their own calligraphy journeys. Through this book, I hope that kids will feel empowered to explore their own creativity and connect with peers around them.
Exploring the possibilities of graphic design, too, through this project opened my eyes to how calligraphy, like any font, can influence how a message is perceived. The handwriting font I used in tandem with calligraphy in my book, “NeverMind,” promotes a playful, casual feel that appeals to a young demographic, much like the endearingly asymmetrical Comic Sans font that I remembered from picture books. Times New Roman, on the other hand, was a serif font I became more familiar with as I graduated into middle school and then high school: its small lines on the tips of each letter imbued the texts I was reading with sophistication. As I learn more about graphic design, my understanding of such visual concepts expands beyond typefaces to include matters of line, shape, color, texture, space, and image.
Although I credit my brush pens with first introducing me to calligraphy and lettering styles, I now can navigate digital tools such as Adobe Illustrator, Photoshop, and Procreate to express my creativity on a wider scale. Becoming more familiar with these online softwares has led me to wonder how I can combine my passion for handwritten calligraphy with the versatility of digital design. I aspire to create my own calligraphy font, integrating these two realms: a fitting homage to the very first “hello” that began my journey in design all those years ago.
About the Author:
Angelina Chu is a sixteen-year-old sophomore from New York City. She has recently finished writing her own guide to calligraphy, “Calligraphy Workshop: A Guide to Calligraphy for Kids,” and plans to use this tool to educate communities throughout New York City about the ancient artform. In addition to calligraphy and writing, she pursues interests in graphic design and singing.
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