Brush up ... calligraphy is a popular national pastime in China.Credit: AFP
George Mills learns to write like a dream in a calligraphy class in Beijing.
If you want to know why I'm sitting here in a calligraphy class in Beijing - with my notoriously bad handwriting and zero talent for art - we'll need to backtrack to a long-ago Christmas.
I'm not sure why my mother gave me a fountain pen set that year. Perhaps the poor state of my cursive script was already raising eyebrows.
Anyway, as things panned out, I lacked the patience to work at all those looping Fs and flowery Gs. But the gift wasn't a complete waste of time; ever since I've harboured a secret desire to form letters not just well but beautifully.
And now on a balmy evening in the Chinese capital, I'm about to take the first step towards fulfilling that ambition. Here in this tastefully decorated classroom belonging to the China Culture Centre, I have before me the so-called four treasures of calligraphy: brush, ink stone, ink stick and paper. At the head of the class is my teacher in a sky blue shirt with mandarin collar.
Paul Wang is in his mid-30s and neatness personified. If you had to imagine a calligraphy teacher, he might well look like this gentle figure. Wang exudes great calm. Before his arrival, we were gossipy and restive. Now we are all ears.
Chinese calligraphy - or shufa - is an exacting blend of discipline and creativity and we need to carefully prepare for the task at hand. Our class, therefore, kicks off with a series of gentle stretches designed to focus our awareness. "Listen to your breath," Wang intones as Zen music tinkles away in the background. "Feel the energy flowing through you."
Watching my classmates as they slowly bring their arms towards their chests, I wonder if I've stumbled into the wrong class. But the exercises pay off. After several minutes, I have tuned out the roar of Beijing's traffic and I'm ready to start.
Today, we are practising the calligraphic style known as coshu, which literally means something along the lines of "slovenly script" but is usually translated into the far more pleasant-sounding "grass" style. Coshu, explains Wang, is informal and flowing, and the demonstration that follows is breathtaking.
Within moments, four beautiful lines appear on the paper before us. "Meng," says our teacher, using his brush to highlight the character. "It means dream. You are writing dream and you will write like a dream."
How little he knows. Nervously, I lift my bamboo brush and hold it as I've been instructed: almost vertical to the paper. Then I dab at the ink, collecting just enough to execute my first stroke.
"More fingers and less wrist," says Wang, who is observing closely.
Only when he turns away do I let loose. But my first meng is more nightmare than reverie. I botch half a dozen more attempts, slipping on the downward strokes so that my page is littered with what look like dangling monkey tails.
Periodically, I cast envious glances at the work of Mari from Sweden, whose parchment already contains several beautiful rows of meng.
In my defence, I'm a latecomer to the course. Tonight's class is the last of four and most of the other students have already been initiated into the mysteries of bronze-and-bamboo script.
After 20 minutes we take a welcome break - welcome for me at any rate. Again we do our stretches and then Wang says something that clicks with me. "Now I want you to stop focusing on the form and concentrate on the feeling."
And suddenly I get it. Wrist, hand, brush and paper become one. My strokes, previously mechanical, are now fluid. It doesn't last long - this floating feeling - and I can't say my "dreams" become any more beautiful but I am enjoying it.
It's at about this point I score my little victory. I'm toiling away when Wang sidles up and nods approvingly. "Yes," he says, singling out a character of mine, "you have a good feeling on that one." And that's more than enough for me. Whatever else happens, I can call the class a success.
Of course, there is something faintly ridiculous about dedicating yourself to calligraphy in this city where people queue for hours to get their hands on the latest iPad. But this is one of the fascinating aspects of Beijing: the way traditions persist in the face of rapid change.
In fact, shufa is everywhere in modern China. It is there in the bold slogans that adorn factory and office walls and its traces can be discerned in the signage of even the most humble of street stalls. Mao himself was a keen practitioner; the Chairman loved nothing more than having his picture taken with brush poised over paper.
Calligraphy is also far from being a static art form. In the past few decades, influenced by Western art, Chinese calligraphists have experimented with different media.
Wang says "the modern stuff" with its focus on "peculiar things" is still traditional. "Even if it doesn't look it, there is always a continuity with past." I'm curious to know if the computer age has led to a fall in the popularity of calligraphy. Surely children are turning to less demanding pastimes? Wang says it is as popular as ever.
For the students at tonight's class, it's the meditative aspect of calligraphy that appeals most. "This is my yoga time," says Amy, a bubbly woman from the US. Elena, from Russia, agrees. "And what's really great about it is the more you understand what you're doing, the more difficult it gets."
Wang's calligraphy class is just one choice among many activities at Beijing's China Culture Centre. The organisation offers everything from kite-flying workshops to Mandarin language lessons and lectures on Zen.
"The centre offers an insider's perspective on China's rich culture," says centre manager and former China Daily journalist Feng Cheng. "We want to show a side of the country that tourists don't often see."
FAST FACTS
Getting there
Singapore Airlines has a fare to Beijing for about $1315, flying to Singapore (8hr), then Beijing (6hr). Air China flies non-stop in about 12 hours for about $840. Fares are low-season return from Melbourne and Sydney including tax. Australians require a visa for a stay of up to 30 days.
Studying there
China Culture Centre is at Anjialou 29 on Liangmaqiao Road in Chaoyang District. A taxi ride from Tiananmen Square should cost about $5. A single beginner's calligraphy class (conducted in English) costs 160 yuan. See chinaculturecenter.org.
Staying there
4 Banqiao guesthouse in the city's historic Dongcheng district has small but comfortable rooms around a beautiful courtyard. Doubles cost from about $105 a night. The area around Dongcheng's Nan Luo Gu Xiang also has plenty of budget and mid-range options.
Sign up for the Traveller Deals newsletter
Get exclusive travel deals delivered straight to your inbox. Sign up now.