Chinese Art

Dante’s first art class in Taiwan was a calligraphy class. Chinese calligraphy appealed to him in ways that studying art in America never had. He felt connected with ancient Chinese scholars as he copied their masterworks. Practicing calligraphy was a meditative skill that his teachers assured him would make him a better, more focused person as well as cure his constipation.

It was a discipline that was supposed to teach humility. Dante was constantly being complimented on his shaky calligraphy, even though it was at the level of an average Taiwanese middle school student. The teachers took to Dante. He was a novelty. His calligraphy teacher sent him on errands. That was an honor, apparently.

As it turned out, calligraphy would be a constant in Dante’s life, a more dependable pursuit than marriage, often more rewarding than sex.

His calligraphy teacher talked about getting married to a woman that he didn’t really care for. He was in his 50s. She was in her 30s. It was his first experience with a woman, he said. The teacher said that over time he had grown fond of this woman. It took him about 15 years to warm up to her and now they had a good relationship. He felt some affection for her.

That different than marriages I grew up with, Dante thought