One sunny Saturday morning in 1997, the South London Gallery
was packed for a discussion of ‘Art and the Spiritual’.
That so many should surrender precious time to explore
the issue might seem surprising. Yet exhibitions on this
theme have mushroomed. Increasingly, too, artists welcome
opportunities to show their work in sacred spaces.
Calligraphers
exhibit an equally striking interest in spirituality. Religions
have always had a need for craftspeople - those that have
sacred texts, for scribes in particular. Something of this
relationship, it seems to me, still exists at a subconscious
level.
It
becomes visible in the texts that calligraphers tend to
choose — "good" words, which carry significant
meaning. A retreat aims to make this connection between
calligraphy and spirituality a conscious one. A move north
in 1986 to work with the Chaplaincy to the Arts and Recreation
gave me the chance to explore this relationship. Holy
Island, with its special resonances - both as the birthplace
of Christianity in north east England and the site of
the Lindisfarne scriptorium - offered the perfect setting.
A meeting with Ewan Clayton provided the ideal colleague.Together,
we visited the island to meet Canon Kate Tristram, Warden
of Marygate House, where we planned to stay. Her ability
to draw her hearers into the island story, was to become
a vital ingredient in the process. On that visit we also
became aware of the importance of the island itself. The
ever-changing light, the alternating busyness and silence
as the day-trippers come and go, the rhythm of the services
at the parish church, even the unsettling nature of the
bleak landscape — these are what seize people’s
imagination
|
|
 |
|
What
happens on a calligraphy retreat is quite different from
a calligraphy course. There is no formal teaching. Instead,
under the leader’s guidance, participants use their
calligraphy to focus their response to the experience
of being with strangers-becoming-friends, of exploring
the island, of sharing in the services which punctuate
the day, of having space for reading, talking, and listening.
But though there is no teaching, each individual becomes
more aware of how a piece of calligraphy can emerge from
within, from their inner self.
In
the early days — 2000 sees the tenth retreat - people
were expected to work collaboratively on specific projects.
Books were made for other visitors to Marygate House to
use. Within this structure, however, there was considerable
freedom. The content or aim of the book was left entirely
open, so that the group could choose its own direction.
This created anxiety, but also a sense of excitement,
of flying by the seat of our pants, as everyone wondered
if we could achieve all we intended within a mere five
days
|
|
|
 |
As
our experience grew, however, we sensed the need to assert
the value of the individual alongside that of the group.
This change came about as we absorbed the story of the
Lindisfarne community, founded by the Irish St Aidan.
Here, individual and community related differently, compared
with continental monasteries inspired by Rome. Such developments
gave us the sense of being on a journey — a journey
whose direction was to be influenced on many occasions
by what we learnt of the island story. These changes also
gave the opportunity to involve a wider range of personnel.
Sue Hufton, a participant on the second retreat, returned
as a leader, using her knowledge of brush lettering to
enable the group to create a series of ‘journey words’
on small pebbles. Barbara Vellacott, too, became part
of the team, bringing her love of language to enable people
to write their own words.
A
retreat offers calligraphers the chance to step back and
ask themselves — "Why am I doing this?"
We have never been better served than we are today by
the variety of books and courses which deal with the "how?"
of calligraphy. The technical accomplishment to be seen
in exhibitions is often breath taking. But is style always
matched by substance? After we have looked and been amazed
— what is left? I remain haunted by some words of
Rainer Maria Rilke’s, which were written out by someone
on the very first retreat:
"Work
of sight is done;now do heart work on pictures within
you". Retreats
encourage people to explore this "heart work",
not least in the creativity of those who produced such
work as the Lindisfarne Gospels. By questioning why it
took its particular form, we can discover something of
(in Ewan’s words) ‘the work it did for its community’.
From there it is only a short step to asking what ‘work’
calligraphy can do in today’s world. The ancient
scribes were transmitters of their communities’ most
significant traditions. The challenge for today’s
scribes is to discover a role of comparable significance.
|
