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Han Leyi
Han Leyi
Personal Profile
Han Leyi, styled Tianzhang, formerly known as Han Luoyi, was born in September 1980 in Zhenping County, Nanyang, Henan. He has loved calligraphy and painting since childhood. He graduated from Nanyang Teachers College in 2003 and is currently a member of the Chinese Local Chronicles Calligraphy Association. His work “Heart Sutra” won the Excellence Award in the 2016 National Calligraphy Competition. In October 2016, he entered the Wang Jinming Landscape Studio at the Renmin University of China School of Painting, where he continues his studies to this day.
Han Leyi, styled Tianzhang, hails from a family that upholds the traditions of farming and scholarly pursuits. From early childhood, he developed a refined passion for brush and ink, practicing calligraphy tirelessly and earning considerable acclaim. As he matured, he studied at Nanyang Teachers College, deepening his scholarly foundation and broadening his artistic vision. In the tenth month of the bing-shen year (2016), he traveled to study at the Wang Jinming Studio in the School of Painting at Renmin University of China, gaining profound insight into the inner sanctum of artistry—now already four years have passed.
One day, Tianzhang visited me and showed me his recent practice works. Proficient in all script styles, each piece embodies both form and spirit. I selected the most essential aspects, focusing particularly on his regular script for discussion: His characters feature spacious central structures, dignified and steady, with tightly arranged negative space—great skill appearing deceptively simple. Viewed up close, his dots fall like stones, his hooks shoot like drawn crossbows. Observed from afar, the composition is balanced, majestic, and heroic, radiating an imposing aura—as if Guan Gong himself sat in command, solemn and untouchable. One cannot help but gaze repeatedly, just as Confucius, upon hearing the Shao music, forgot the taste of meat for three months.
Today’s calligraphy scene is chaotic, with charlatans and masters intermingled—a long beard, a ponytail, and a Tang-style robe suffice for some to declare themselves masters. Whenever Tianzhang speaks of this, he sighs deeply in frustration, often remarking that the immutable principle of learning calligraphy is copying classical models, and that one must emulate the highest standards. Thus, he began with Yan Zhenqing’s “Inscription of the Altar of the Immortal Maiden Magu,” supplementing his study with “Yan Qinli Stele,” “Self-Written Appointment Scroll,” and “Inscription in Praise of Dongfang Shuo,” refining his technique through repeated immersion and deep investigation. Having selected his models, he further researched brush techniques, devoting himself morning and night. I observed his use of “broken-thigh fork,” “leaking-roof trace,” and seal-script brush methods, and realized he has truly inherited the legacy of Yan Zhenqing. Once the target is set, one need only focus on drawing the bow. Tianzhang recounted that during his three years in Beijing, he pursued his studies with tireless diligence, mentally tracing and physically copying models. Whenever perplexed, he sought guidance from the virtuous, often forgetting meals and sleep, utterly absorbed—even dipping his brush into a bowl and shouting aloud before others. Some called him “mad.” I must say: those who call him mad truly do not understand Tianzhang. Madness here means supreme devotion. Moreover, calligraphy is an expression of release—if one lacks emotion, how can one release anything? And if there is nothing to release, how can one write at all? Heaven’s way is supremely impartial. Shortly after arriving in Beijing, Tianzhang won the Excellence Award in the 2016 National Calligraphy Competition with his “Heart Sutra.” In the years since, accolades have continued to pour in, filling his desk. I joked: “You could make a career of this.” He replied: “The favored child does not peddle for profit; once tainted by greed, one inevitably strays onto the wrong path.” Alas! To view his calligraphy is to know the man—this is indeed true! Thus recorded.
One day, Tianzhang visited me and showed me his recent practice works. Proficient in all script styles, each piece embodies both form and spirit. I selected the most essential aspects, focusing particularly on his regular script for discussion: His characters feature spacious central structures, dignified and steady, with tightly arranged negative space—great skill appearing deceptively simple. Viewed up close, his dots fall like stones, his hooks shoot like drawn crossbows. Observed from afar, the composition is balanced, majestic, and heroic, radiating an imposing aura—as if Guan Gong himself sat in command, solemn and untouchable. One cannot help but gaze repeatedly, just as Confucius, upon hearing the Shao music, forgot the taste of meat for three months.
Today’s calligraphy scene is chaotic, with charlatans and masters intermingled—a long beard, a ponytail, and a Tang-style robe suffice for some to declare themselves masters. Whenever Tianzhang speaks of this, he sighs deeply in frustration, often remarking that the immutable principle of learning calligraphy is copying classical models, and that one must emulate the highest standards. Thus, he began with Yan Zhenqing’s “Inscription of the Altar of the Immortal Maiden Magu,” supplementing his study with “Yan Qinli Stele,” “Self-Written Appointment Scroll,” and “Inscription in Praise of Dongfang Shuo,” refining his technique through repeated immersion and deep investigation. Having selected his models, he further researched brush techniques, devoting himself morning and night. I observed his use of “broken-thigh fork,” “leaking-roof trace,” and seal-script brush methods, and realized he has truly inherited the legacy of Yan Zhenqing. Once the target is set, one need only focus on drawing the bow. Tianzhang recounted that during his three years in Beijing, he pursued his studies with tireless diligence, mentally tracing and physically copying models. Whenever perplexed, he sought guidance from the virtuous, often forgetting meals and sleep, utterly absorbed—even dipping his brush into a bowl and shouting aloud before others. Some called him “mad.” I must say: those who call him mad truly do not understand Tianzhang. Madness here means supreme devotion. Moreover, calligraphy is an expression of release—if one lacks emotion, how can one release anything? And if there is nothing to release, how can one write at all? Heaven’s way is supremely impartial. Shortly after arriving in Beijing, Tianzhang won the Excellence Award in the 2016 National Calligraphy Competition with his “Heart Sutra.” In the years since, accolades have continued to pour in, filling his desk. I joked: “You could make a career of this.” He replied: “The favored child does not peddle for profit; once tainted by greed, one inevitably strays onto the wrong path.” Alas! To view his calligraphy is to know the man—this is indeed true! Thus recorded.
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Han Leyi