中文 
en 
Assuming that the strokes are perfectly balanced and evenly distributed above and below, with no issues to the heart's health, as a natural invention, some calligraphers in the history of Chinese calligraphy did not accept this path. Instead, they deliberately transformed it, embarking on an entirely new path of invention. Zhang Huaijuan’s “Tang Shu Yi” records that Wang Xianzhi told his father Wang Xizhi: “Ancient clerical script fails to achieve grandeur and fluidity, differing fundamentally from regular script. By integrating the principles of emptiness and substance, one can reach the ultimate state of cursive script. If not for the distinction between draft and formal text, an adult might benefit from changing his body.” “Gai Ti” is a crucial manifestation of the calligrapher’s deliberate effort. Unlike Wang Xizhi, Wang Xianzhi became the exemplary figure of deliberate script transformation. He not only taught his father the art of cursive script but also deliberately pursued his own path, increasing spatial variation in cursive script, emphasizing the linking strokes between characters, and enhancing the visual movement between rhythm and space. Although later generations mocked his style as “lifting the body and dragging the tail,” precisely this was his most successful deliberate innovation. Some calligraphers intentionally used calligraphy as a medium for emotional expression, creating ten heart-stirring masterpieces embodying diverse emotions. Tang Yu not only advocated that calligraphy should express emotion but placed “emotional expression” at the forefront, calling for “expressing one’s unique spirit” and providing other functional spaces for calligraphy. In his “Preface to Sending Gao Xian,” he wrote: “In the past, Zhang Xu’s cursive script could not serve other artisans. Pressed by hardship and poverty, burdened by sorrow, joy, enmity, longing, intoxication, boredom, and unhappiness—when moved by one’s heart, one finds it in cursive script.” “Old Xu’s writing remains ghostly, invisible, hence named by later generations.” I greatly admire how Zhang Xu transformed aberrant emotions into the lines and strokes of calligraphy, completely breaking free from the “natural” trajectory. Xu Mingwei of the Wei and Jin dynasties deliberately reversed the order—he was anti-natural and anti-nature. Most of his calligraphic style is characterized by drunkenness, disorder, wild hair, stumbling steps, careless speech, and unpredictable dryness and chaos. Through “abnormal” phrases, hasty connections, and wild, absurd rules, he deliberately expressed feelings of anxiety and biased violence. Some calligraphers deliberately sought spiritual resonance, believing that spiritual resonance could be polished and held in one’s palm. The Song dynasty scholar Su Shi, in his book “Huang Zisi’s Poetry,” proposed the concept of calligraphic invention: “Depth emerges from simplicity and antiquity; flavor lies in subtlety.” He regarded plainness and China’s opposition, artistic lightness and richness, as mutually permeating rather than merely connected, deliberately seeking to convey brush technique and rich, elegant leisure through abundant ink and brushwork.
“Yi” (intention) is equally vital in calligraphic aesthetics. Though not as revered as “tiancheng” (naturalness), entering the “cold palace” has never been mocked by calligraphers; instead, it more often functions as a complementary wing, supplementing and completing naturalness. Liu Xie’s “Wenxin Diaolong” emphasizes both naturalness and “the craftsman who independently observes, perceives forms, and bears heavy burdens,” stating: “To depict forms and appearances delights the ear; it adheres to sound and wanders with the heart.” He believed that intentional craftsmanship is a necessary condition for artistic invention. Later, Wei-Jin calligraphers recognized that although calligraphy exhibits diverse forms, it ultimately possesses a normative method. Though filled with charm, it still follows intrinsic laws. Though profoundly leisurely, it cannot be arbitrary. Painstaking writing, repeated contemplation, and deliberate infusion are all insurmountable obstacles toward achieving “natural naturalness.” Jin Zisong rationally perceived this causal relationship; the “Shishuo Xinyu” records: “Yu Zisong created, and from his son’s perspective, he asked: ‘Desire and aversion—could they be anything other than human actions? If there is no evil intention, what would be bestowed?’ The answer was: ‘Intentional or unintentional.’” In the Tang dynasty, there was a renowned monk named Jiao Ran, who made significant contributions to art, asserting that “seizing the realm” meant “arduous contemplation.” He believed: “If one does not enter the tiger’s den, how can one capture the tiger’s cub? When seizing the realm, one must inevitably confront danger before discovering extraordinary lines.” In his view, “tiancheng” was not divine assistance nor something to wait for passively—it was the inevitable result of deliberate “contemplation” and “careful reflection.” The modern aesthetician Zong Baihua, in “The Birth of Artistic Conception in China,” summarized this aesthetic relationship: the artist “must make the principle of primordial chaos shine through the screen of order.” This ordered image is an artistic method through which the artist expresses artistic conception by arranging lines, dots, light, color, form, force, or figures. It is said that without “intention,” “naturalness” will falter; yet with “intention,” “tiancheng” will flourish.