Inverted Calligraphy

Black is the space where things begin.

In traditional calligraphy, the beauty of the ink or the elegance of a brushstroke often takes center stage.

But I’ve found myself at times pulled by that surface-level perfection—

and in doing so, losing sight of the essence of the words.

 

That, I believe, is where art fails:

when it closes off the viewer, instead of opening a space for quiet reflection, for questioning, for meaning to arise.

 

Over the years, I’ve explored many materials—canvas, denim, even 3D printing—

but none felt truly like home.

Eventually, I chose to begin with black.

 

To me, black is not darkness.

It is silence, shadow, and a stage upon which light becomes visible.

 

In Japan, we have a sensibility known as In’ei Raisan—“In Praise of Shadows”—

the idea that beauty lies not in brilliance, but in what is revealed softly, within darkness.

 

Black, for me, is not a backdrop.

It is a kind of yohaku—an intentional emptiness that allows the words to quietly emerge.

 

Instead of black ink on white paper,

I let white, gold, or even green rise out of the depth of black.

 

What matters is not what I impose,

but what lingers in the hearts of those who see.