Detours from home: Quietly falling back in love with calligraphy

[Editor’s note: Detours from home is a Rappler column where readers can share about the new things they have learned while in quarantine. A creative writing graduate talks about going back to one of his old passions which is calligraphy. You, too, can share your own Detours from home story.]

March 15 was a strange day. Metro Manila was placed on lockdown, and our usually noisy Tomas Morato neighborhood was suddenly dead quiet. The pandemic’s effects were palpable; I was unnerved by everything happening around me. It was only a matter of time before I started spending a considerable amount of my day scrolling through social media to find some sense of the old normal.

One of the first posts that caught my attention was about Renaissance artists and how they created most of their greatest artworks while isolated during the Black Plague. A lot of my acquaintances on Facebook shared it, and some of my close friends started talking about hobbies they want to start while in quarantine. I guess we all saw inspiration from those ancient painters, romanticizing their ancient pandemic aside. 

Like my friends, I started thinking about things to do. I still had a job, thankfully, but I had more free time because I was working from home. With all this extra time in my hands, I felt the need to make the most out of it. 

The pressure to be “productive” was there. As I spent all of my days inside my room, I felt my nibs, brushes, and inks beckoning to me. It’s been two years since I sat down and concentrated on doing calligraphy. I knew that this was the best time to rediscover why I loved it in the first place.

The slogan-making contests I joined back in my elementary and high school days were my first encounters with calligraphy. In the strictest sense, what we did wasn’t “calligraphy.” We drew, not write, inspiring messages on a piece of cartolina.

I did see a certain elegance in it, even if our slogans were not exactly calligraphy. While making those, I had to consider the parts of the written script, proper spacing, and typography—all to achieve an aesthetically pleasing and impactful visual art. Of course, I did not know all this was called calligraphy back then. I just wanted to submit something neat that the judges would like.

College was where I got more involved in the craft and its technicalities. I found friends who liked calligraphy just as much as I did, and I had access to the internet. Who knew there was so much to learn about all this? 

At some point, I was so invested in the art that I saved up most of my allowance to purchase expensive nibs and parchment paper. I knew more about the subtleties of elegant writing than my lessons in class. I let calligraphy consume me because it gave me a sense of peace and control—something I craved during my hectic college life.

It all came to an abrupt stop once I started working. Suddenly, adulting was a priority, and time and energy were a luxury I no longer had. My calligraphy materials started to gather dust.

But when the pandemic happened, I finally had the extra time to go back to my old hobby and create something that I can share with everyone. As the world fell into an upheaval, I stared at a blank piece of parchment paper and thought about the wonderful messages I can scribble to inspire people. I had a rigorous plan to be as productive as I can with my calligraphy: I would start a new project after my shifts at work, set a schedule for my Instagram posts, find quotes to share – all that to prove that I wasn’t wasting my time while in quarantine.

It was all very performative. Before I even got to post one of my finished works, I took a step back and asked myself, “What I am doing?” Why was I suddenly obsessed with creating something for the sake of showing everyone that I have a hobby? Why was I trying to fit in with my social media friends who spent their free time learning how to bake, working out, or gardening?

I laughed at myself. It was pathetic, giving in to the pressure. Here I was, caught up with the idea that my productivity dictates my value as a person.

I did not post any of my art that day. Instead, I returned to the basics of calligraphy. No more inspiring quotes to scribble, no more fancy, trendy techniques to try. I just wanted to take myself back to why I loved calligraphy in the first place. 

So, I hunched over my desk and started writing again. It was meditative, to relearn the right angles of the Copperplate script, to see the colors of the ink shift and spread across the paper, to create complicated flourishes at the end of every word. And that’s when I found the kind of peace that I was looking for.

I ditched all the plans I created. I realized that calligraphy shouldn’t be something to schedule. Having fun shouldn’t be something that needs a schedule. In this extraordinary situation, the last thing we should be thinking about is planning. I will do what I love whenever I want to because I want to, not because I need to be productive. 

Once the world heals, I might share some of my calligraphy as I did during a time when we did not fear for our lives just by stepping outside. For now, I will keep everything to myself as some form of rebellion against what the rest of the world is trying to tell me to do. – Rappler.com

Rem is a Creative Writing graduate with a passion for calligraphy, photography, and fantasy stories. He alternates from writing tales to writing new fonts every now and then.

He lives in Quezon City.