Word-spirits
When Japanese words say it just so
Perfectly
“Absolutely not. You shouldn’t use them as brushes. They are incredible works of art that will be ruined if you dip them in ink. Don’t do it.” I had just shown my old college mentor the brushes I had recently finished making, who was visiting for a few days. I laughed because I was thinking the same. But I actually wanted to dip one in ink, just to say I had the courage to do it, just to see what marks it would make. And if the brush made marks, what would it say?
Why did I make them with such delicate craftsmanship? It’s certainly not the approach Lorna Crane took as she demonstrated making brushes in her online course, “Perfectly Imperfect — Discovering Your Visual Language.” Hers were decidedly imperfect. With dried grasses bunched and crunched, assorted yarns wrapped haphazardly to a stick, and her bold movements, rough cuts, and black electrical tape, she made the craziest alive brushes I’d ever seen. They were ready to be dipped in ink. No courage needed.
I must be working on the “perfectly” part of the course. When I started making my first brush, I thought my brush was like hers, or I wanted it to be, but it wasn’t. I was working with different materials and took my time making each one. I was working with handspun cotton and silk thread, as well as handwoven fabric remnants from Laos, which were naturally dyed and expertly handmade. Besides, the thread and fabric took time to make. It started with seeds in the ground to grow the cotton and silkworms to spin the silk. So I took my time, too.
Kotodama
Kotodama, a Japanese term meaning “word-spirit,” refers to the original divine spirit of a word before it enters the world of thought waves. Words are alive and have the power to create. (1)
I came across this word on Instagram from someone I follow. I lingered over what she wrote and was dazzled by this new word, kotodama, one I had never heard of. It seems that the potential of something is always there, very near, and ready. The thoughts, before they become words, are potent. The thoughts, even if they don’t become words, have a spirit.
Each of my brushes has a personality, a mood, and energy. Word-spirits seem to be all around and within each of the brushes. Are marks considered words if you can’t read them? Can marks have word-spirit? Or maybe instead, “mark-spirits” are what’s alive in my brushes.
Ma
As I reflected on this and then searched online, another Japanese term came my way— “ma,” or the space, gap, or pause between objects, sounds, or moments. (2)
And this:
“The Japanese time-space concept of “ma”—a measurement of space or an interval—empty, yet never vacant—replete with potentiality, like the silence that is essential to music, the cognitive space between words and sentences in conversations, the stillness that anchors and releases both thought and action.” (3)
I remember when this idea was introduced to me eons ago when I lived in Japan. I almost remember in detail the place, the person, the occasion. I was moved that such a term existed, and I wanted so much to understand it then, but I didn’t. Can I say that I know it now? Maybe. Yes. Because I feel it, see it, and sense it often enough.
It’s present in the stillness between thinking about what to write, listening for a way to express it, and then typing it. I hear it in the silence of my keyboard, waiting patiently. Ma has been with me for a couple of weeks as I’ve contemplated what to write for this post, letting thoughts come, paying attention, and now writing something down.
Ma is in the space between the silent brush and the yet-to-be marks. It’s present in the pause between the stick and the dried grass before they meet. It was there when I made the brushes, lingering between materials, textures, colors, and the potential of what was being created.
Wabi sabi
These new Japanese words reminded me of one that is familiar: wabi sabi. My dear friend, Claudia (and newest Ko‑fi supporter!), gave me a book ages ago, “Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers” by Leonard Koren. I pulled it from my bookshelf to thumb through its thick pages of full-page black and white photographs and passages of large gray text to land on this:
“Wabi-sabi is the quintessential Japanese aesthetic. It is a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete. It is a beauty of things modest and humble.”
Do my brushes have a quality of wabi sabi? In some ways, yes. In other ways, no. They are not imperfect because I tried to make them perfectly. They are impermanent because they’re made of natural materials, and the colors will fade over time. They are complete as brushes but incomplete because they have yet to be used as brushes and make marks.
And then, searching online I came across this:
“In the world of wabi sabi there is no perfect nor imperfect. The beauty is not in the outer world, it is born from our inner world. The beauty of wabi sabi is in our state of being. With inner peace, we can see and feel things as they are without any judgment, without any prejudice.” (4)
A new understanding of wabi sabi! I love my brushes, just as they are, how they are, and yet to be.
Playing among word-spirits,
LouLou
“Word-spirits” was originally published as an exclusive post to supporters in August 2024. Now it’s public to you, too! If you’d like to support my art and writing life, please consider a one-time donation or a monthly membership ($6/month) on the creator platform, Ko-fi. I would be most grateful!
A huge thank you to my wonderful Ko‑fi supporters for supporting my creative endeavors! Kara B, Kori J, Marga F, Sharmila K, Skip M, Beck C, Richie M, Sush M, Michelle L, Claudia N, and John C.
