Swirly black lines and delicate brush dips are just the beginning of ink art. When you paint with a brush, does it ever twirl on the rice paper? An unsteady or steady flick conveys more meaning than a thousand words. Like transforming feelings into smoke and then observing how they linger. This course in 5-star rated ink painting course will give you that and more: a touch of enchantment and a wealth of history.
To put it in perspective, picture yourself nervously seated at a table. If you use too much ink, the page will be drowned; if you apply too little, you will scrape. The first brushstroke touches the ink. The advice of earlier artists was to “listen to the brush.” You will, in class, but it may sound strange. There is an old murmur within each bristle.
Every stroke doesn’t have to be flawless. The finest forms are sometimes born out of what are ostensibly blunders. “Ink runs like memory,” the instructor says, beaming as he rolls up his sleeves to his elbows. Quit worrying about it. There are students testing this near you. A extremely inky bird is doodled after attempting a bamboo leaf. No one takes offense. Somewhat of a papery and nostalgic aroma wafts around the room.
Every lesson includes a little bit of history. As part of their morning ritual, ancient Chinese scholars would carefully sharpen ink sticks, as you will see in this lesson. Even before alarm clocks were invented, their rough hands would cast shadows on porcelain stones. When you give it a go on your own, you’ll almost feel the centuries-long patience at work.
The tools are a maze in and of themselves. Sable bristles that contort themselves like little dancers. As delicate as worry beads, ink stones. The texture of the paper crinkles as if it were trying to tell you something old. Plus, you’ll see that the natural untamed energy of a real brush is far superior to that of modern markers.
You won’t get a military-style hammering on technique. On the contrary, we dare you to play. Experiment with line collisions by splashing, pressing, and dragging. Exploration, rather than only imparting knowledge. A moon was once made from spilled ink. In art, mistakes happen.
People start talking. Ink lands on every person’s hands and, occasionally, face. The comment “We’re slowly tattooing ourselves” is made in jest. It’s chaotic and full of life. From disorder, patterns arise. Smudges can also be beautiful in their own right.
If you’re not good at drawing cats, it’s okay. Capturing the essence of a windy day in a just two lines? That’s where ink art is at its core. Attempting, learning, and forgiving are what bring the most delight.
At the conclusion, you will have works that are unique in every way, reflecting nothing but your emotions. Once you do, you’ll know what the old artists meant when they gazed at blank canvases, letting their brushes guide the way. Even after class is over, you may find yourself lost in a monochrome reverie.
