A piece of paper is laid out on the floor. I do not face the paper, but rather I 'enter into' it. First, I spread my feet on the paper, lower my body a bit, and then draw arcs with my hands and feet. This is similar to the movements of Tai Chi. I do not over-think things, but call upon power from outside myself by using my hands and feet. Then, something beyond my expectation happens there.
It is not something built using my head, but rather is something that happens to appear through my hands and feet.
Once I set my brush to the paper and start writing a character, the action must be carried on through to the end. There is no pause, no going back, nor any way to re-do something. Regarding completed works, if viewers follow the order of brush strokes with their eyes, they can imagine how my brush moved, from the starting point to its finish, with the flow of time. It can be said that the tracks of the brush are the traces of the time. I would like to express time - as evidence of my having lived there then.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe said, "Architecture is frozen music." Japanese philosopher Kitaro Nishida said, "Calligraphy is frozen music." Then I would like to say, "Calligraphy is a frozen action."
When I swing my brush quickly in the air, the ink splashes on the paper. When I lay down my brush, the ink slowly begins to spread on the paper. The spreading of ink are phenomena of nature. They are unexpected, and beyond the control of human hands. But even if they cannot be controlled, this is no reason to exclude them; rather, I try to positively accept this, and complete my works together with the power of nature.
I think what we have to consider now is not how we control nature for ourselves, but how we control ourselves for nature.