Strana 21
Mari Kučera
She has been practicing Japanese
calligraphy, shodō, since the age
of six. Her life and calligraphy
are deeply intertwined with faith
and Asian philosophy, heavily
influenced by nature, Taoism,
and Buddhism. She has lived in
the Czech Republic since 2003.
Besides her own artistic work,
she leads numerous courses and
workshops throughout the country,
gives lectures, and performs
large-format demonstrations.
She has written several articles
for magazines and appeared on
the "Dobré ráno" (Good Morning)
program on Czech Television.
She belongs to the Kenshin Shodō
Kai, one of the most traditional
schools of Japanese calligraphy
in Japan, and received the Hōjō
Award at exhibitions in 2024 and
2025.
REPORT
work was made, even if it is several years old.
In Japanese culture in general, "things that cannot be
seen" remain an essential part of life. If the energy
flow were not part of the creative process, the
written inscription would essentially be meaningless.
It is also often said that the "remaining" white space,
where nothing is written, is an "essential" white
space. This is called johaku. Johaku can be seen
everywhere in Japanese culture, most typically in ink
paintings, traditional Japanese houses and gardens,
and tea ceremonies. By writing letters, we often
strive to create beautiful "empty" space.
However, it is not possible to create this space with
the mind alone. The inscription and the "empty"
space must resonate, and to achieve this, we need
to maintain perspective and perceive the work as
a whole during its creation. The slightest thought
flashing through the mind interrupts the energy flow,
creating disharmony.
The effort to create good work largely involves
removing various obstacles within ourselves. These
include the desire for success, a closed view on the
world, fixed ideas, etc., which are associated with
bodily tension.
Often, we ignore our own feelings due to thoughts
influenced by our nature or approach to life,
resonating somewhere deep in our subconscious
without our clear awareness. Subconsciously,
we tell ourselves we don’t want to ruin the work and
we want to succeed. Even before we start writing,
we fear failure, and both the soul and the body tense
up unpleasantly.
If the mind constantly dictates, “This stroke should
be this long,” or “The next stroke should start here,”
the senses fail to perform their primary function
of maintaining balance in the developing work.
And when the mind controls everything and
something doesn't go as planned, internal criticism
immediately follows – “Damn, that stroke should
have been longer!” This can thoroughly destabilize us,
at least until the work is finished.
It’s truly fascinating to observe how clearly all of this
appears on the paper, how our inner world manifests
there, and how the body reacts at such moments.
Our body’s movement is closely tied to our inner state,
making it essential to cultivate our inner selves for
calligraphy.
A finished piece of calligraphy reflects not only the
personality and personal approach of the calligrapher
but also their shortcomings and weaknesses, which
usually show up as flaws in the work. Improvement
in Japanese calligraphy demands self-awareness
and self-cultivation. This is probably why Japanese
calligraphy became one of the "Ways – Dō," just like
kendō, judō, sadō, and others. By observing our own
calligraphy, we can improve our approach to life.
As you can see, a calligrapher must carefully choose
their tools and writing style to best express their
inner self in a given work. These choices greatly
influence the atmosphere of the work.
For the inscription "Kamikaze Tokkōtai," I wanted
to create an atmosphere of dignity and severity,
containing inner strength while avoiding harshness.
Therefore, I used the kaisho style – standard script
– with a hint of gyōsho – semi-cursive script – which
conveys strength and movement within a certain
tension. Through this, I wished to express my respect
for the souls of those who fought in these aircraft.
Storm Clouds Falling Flowers
INFO Eduard
21
May 2025