letter arts review 27:4 . The fingernail as an artist’s tool . Calligraphy written with water in the parks of China An interview with Russian painter and calligrapher Vitaly Shapovalov . An exploration of Sacred Geometry by Ann Hechle $14.50 Detail from the seventh of the seven sorrows of the virgin mary . Brody Neuenschwander Letter Arts Review 2 The editor’s letter: The beauty of the graveyard Volume 27 Number 4 Autumn 2013 6 Cover artist: Brody Neuenschwander 10 Briefly noted: A new inscription at Yale University By Nicholas Benson 14 Nakha chitra: Fingernail art By Holly Cohen 18 A disappearing act By Robin Sutton Anders 32 Vitaly Shapovalov Interview by Christopher Calderhead Translation by Marija Zutić 48 Figures of speech: A journal of Sacred Geometry By Ann Hechle Left: Vitaly Shapovalov Trio Watercolor on paper See the article beginning on page 32. Letter Arts Review 27:4 1 nakha / fingernail { Christopher Calderhead and Holly Cohen go on an expedition to meet the artist detailed embossed artwork using only his fingernail. { Suhas Tavkar, who makes chitra / art Above: A work by Suhas Tavkar’s father, Anant Tavkar. Opposite: Works by Suhas Tavkar. The top piece renders his last name in a flourished Devanagari script. The bottom piece is the word “peace” in Armenian. 14 By Holly Cohen . I met Christopher on a train station platform in Jamaica, New York, where we hopped a quick train out to Bellerose. The sun was shining over a crisp fall day and we were off to meet Suhas Tavkar, a fingernail artist. Fingernail art is the embossing, or “drawing,” of images on paper, where the embossing tool is the artist’s actual fingernail. Paper and fingernails are the only materials needed. Suhas had contacted us after reading the Indian chapter in our book, The World Encyclopedia of Calligraphy. He sent us images of his fine, detailed work, which includes embossed calligraphy, figurative art, and abstract designs, all created with his fingernails. Christopher and I have been on many such outings together, exploring pockets of neighborhoods in New York previously unknown to us, invited into communities by artists of many ethnicities. We have spent afternoons at a Sri Lankan Buddhist Monastery in Queens, eaten dinner in Manhattan’s Koreatown with a Korean calligrapher (a most gracious host), and once met with a Burmese artist who shared his experiences as a dissident university student in Burma. We were excited to be on a new cross-cultural adventure. We walked from the Bellerose station through a suburban Indian neighborhood of neat, tidy houses, often identical in design. Many had colorful flowers and manicured lawns. We continued on to Suhas’ address, where he was waiting for us in front of his home. A handsome man dressed casually in jeans, Suhas looks younger than his seventy years. He welcomed us with hearty handshakes, a big smile, and led us directly down to his basement. We sat down on beige leather sofas in the den just outside his basement studio. “My father told me there are many types of artists in this world, but if you draw with your fingernail, your art can be seen by a blind person,” Suhas told us shortly after we arrived. Fingernail art, or nakha chitra, according to Suhas, is one of the world’s oldest and rarest of all art forms. In Sanskrit, nakha means fingernail and chitra means art. Suhas believes it dates back at least to the fifth century, when fingernail drawing was referred to in a play by playwright Kalidasa, The Recognition of Shakuntala. The character Shakuntala is found writing a letter to her lover on a lotus leaf, inscribing it with her fingernail. Nakha chitra was passed down through numerous generations in the Tavkar family. Suhas was taught by his father, and Suhas taught his three children. To ensure its survival, he teaches children at various branches of the New York Public Library. Above the doorway to Suhas’ studio is a cuckoo clock. Inside, a bronze dancing Shiva decorates one wall. There is a drafting table, and books, a glue pot, mugs filled with pens, pencils, and embossing tools fill the shelves. Letter Arts Review 27:4 Above: François Chastanet's book, Ground Calligraphy in China. All the images in this article were provided by Chastanet. Those that come from his book are marked with this symbol: Opposite: A man writes a large character with water on the pavement of a Chinese park. By Robin Sutton Anders . In his recently published book, Ground Calligraphy in China, French architect and graphic designer François Chastanet unlocks the cultural phenomenon of dishu—the Chinese art of lettering in public spaces. Rather than writing with traditional pen and ink, dishu artists rely on tall, handmade brushes as their instrument and water as their medium. And instead of a graceful movement of the wrist and fingertips, a dishu artist’s whole body performs a dance as it sweeps through the lettering strokes, the brush held at attention, parallel to the body, feet sidestepping in ballroom fashion. Here, Chastanet shares his experience with the art of ground writing and reveals the impact of its ephemeral quality on artists and their passersby. How did you first learn about dishu? I actually learned about dishu through lowquality tourists’ videos on YouTube, shootings dating from the early 2000s. Previously, I was only aware of specific large-scale calligraphic displays in China, like dazibao [large character poster] walls or propaganda posters. Why did this art form pique your interest? After writing two publications addressing the 18 unexpected evolution of Latin letters in urban graffiti contexts, I wanted to work on a similar massive urban writing phenomenon. The study of Asia and China then imposed itself quite naturally. Unlike the Pixação phenomenon in São Paulo and Cholo writing in Los Angeles that are vandal practices, dishu is a largely recognized, appreciated, and socially respected public graffiti practice. In an urban context, the ability to write both vertically and horizontally in Chinese visual language based on symbols that represent an idea and/or word was powerful. This different relation to space and the ephemeral nature of dishu inscriptions seemed to constitute a very rich photographic playground. The homemade writing tools’ design process also seemed very interesting; it became a photographic work on its own. What are Chinese lettering artists attempting to communicate through dishu? Usually, these artists aren’t trying to communicate a particular message. Dishu is more of an introspective monologue, wherein the process of writing is more important than the sign produced. Most of the time, practitioners are not inclined to clearly explain their intentions. Letter Arts Review 27:4 Vitaly Shapovalov Виталий Шаповалов In August this year, I received a spate of e-mails from readers about a Russian calligrapher, Vialty Shapovalov. Did I know him? Would I like to write an article about him? I searched him out on the Internet and was very impressed by his work. I asked a friend, Marija Zutić, who speaks fluent Russian, to act as my interpreter. We contacted Shapovalov, and he agreed to do an interview by e-mail. The interview we reproduce here has been translated from the Russian by Marija, and it has been edited. In some places, Shapovalov's longer answers have been paraphrased. I am delighted to present the work of this talented Russian watercolor artist and calligrapher, who deserves to be widely known. —the editor All the images in this article are executed in watercolor on paper. On this page and opposite: Two images from the series 33 Alphabet Calligraphic Initials, which explores the letters of the Russian alphabet. The image opposite is a quotation from Niels Bohr describing how a horseshoe may bring one good luck. Where do you work? Can you describe your studio or working space? I live in a multifamily building, in an apartment that has three rooms. One room is for me. It is a small room with one window and that is my workspace. What’s the nature of your work? In other words, do you have clients who commission your works, or do you paint and make calligraphy on your own and then exhibit and sell it? Is your work intended for reproduction, or are your paintings and calligraphy original artworks, meant to be seen in person? All of my [calligraphic] work I do exclusively for myself. I come up with the theme, and I decide on a form, that is, how it will look, because sometimes I do a series of works with the same theme. For example, my last [series] is comprised of 33 works. This job lasted exactly two years. Sometimes I get paid to do some work. Most often, these are portraits. But mostly I’m working for myself based on my interests and inspiration. I never get bored working for myself. It turns out that only I myself can determine how and what I should do. That is why I can display my work in an art shop or gallery. In an earlier e-mail, you said you live in the provinces. Where exactly do you live? Do you feel isolated not being in a major city? Yes. I live in a Russian province. My city is called Rostov-on-Don (Rostov-na-Donu). This is the beginning of the North Caucasus region in Russia. Rostov-on-Don is not a small town, 32 Letter Arts Review 27:4 F I G U R E S O F S P E E C H : A journal on Sacred Geometry By Ann Hechle . This journal was originally a commission for one of three exhibitions put on by the Edward Johnston Foundation. When Ewan Clayton first spoke to me about the commission in 1999, he suggested that the work might be about the creative process, as he knew that I was interested in the subject. I chose to investigate this in book form, it being the most flexible, and the first three sections were completed quite quickly and formed part of the exhibition in 2000. However, as I had become fascinated with the subject, I decided to continue the work, which has been carried out spasmodically for over a decade subsequently. Most books are written when the author has completed studying the subject matter, so that the book is the record of her findings, which she then wishes to publish to a wider audience. This journal was the opposite. I knew hardly anything about the subject of Sacred Geometry when I started, and the journal reflects that; it looks quite patchy and disconnected. This did not worry me as I knew that this was a personal journey, and though the book would be held in a public collection, it would not be published. This gave me a great sense of freedom, as I felt I could wander through ideas as they came up, page by page, without having to stick to a logical thread. Letter Arts Review 27:4 And the book would end either when I ran out of paper or I died! There is one great advantage in knowing nothing—it is that when, out of the mass of information gathered, you repeatedly stub your toe on something, you know it must be significant. This freshness of approach is important, because recognition of a significant connection can bring together quite different and surprising elements, whereas learning in a more formal way tends to box information into separate categories. Also, I had my eye not only on the subject of Sacred Geometry but also on another more personal quest to do with design in calligraphy, and art in general. contemplating calligraphy today But I need to go back a bit, and explain why I chose the subject of Sacred Geometry to investigate the creative process and to make the journal. This journey had started some years previously, prompted by the recognition that I needed to rethink my teaching practice in light of the way that calligraphy has changed in the last decade or so. I began to realize that in certain circumstances the traditional methods of looking at letterforms and their contexts seemed no longer entirely viable. The images in this article, unless otherwise noted, are taken from Ann Hechle’s manuscript book exploring Sacred Geometry. Opposite: Page 14 of the manuscript. Following pages: A spread exploring the relationship of musical intervals and their relation to Sacred Geometry. These are pages 38 and 39 of the manuscript. 49