Sculpting in time - before the cinema

In his poetically named book Sculpting in timeTarkovsky dicusses a wide array of matters concerning the artist's condition, cinema art and art in general.

After I started reading, I realized that there is a deep and intimate connection between Tarkovsky's ideas about life, time or art and the Chinese traditional painting, and especially calligraphy. I first thought about the temporal dimension of cinematography in comparison with other art forms, and one would immediately notice that this dimension is the most tangible in cinematography, perhaps because cinematography offers a more complete experience of it. Regarding time in other art-forms,one would first point out music, even dance, or other sorts of performing arts which can be recorded on tape or film, or comics， or frescoes, bas-reliefs, etc. depicting scenes of a story. But apart from those, I believe that there is another art form, that has a true temporal dimension – Chinese calligraphy. Before going into further details, it must be said that Chinese calligraphy, or Shufa, has indeed a sort of time dimension fundamentally different from today's comics or the scenes depicted on the two thousand years old Trajan's column. Time in Shufa doesn't lay in a succession of static scenes which, when put together, give a sense of progress, of story-telling, of some kind of dynamism, but is rather an intrinsic quality of its expression and execution. But here I don't intend to talk about the superficial aspect of time representation in art, but about its expression, its "presence". The figurative way of representing time is indeed a far-fetched one, due to the fact that we can only experience the passing of time by "decoding" still images depicting real things, we perceive "hints" of movement, dynamism, passing of time. Perhaps a more appropriate way of explaining this would be to say that we actually don't get to experience a temporal dimension, instead we can only "be informed" of its presence. Therefore this way of representing time is not only superficial and incomplete but we could say it is only an illusion that cannot offer any deep and truthful experience of time itself.

About the way Tarkovsky describes the artist's place in the society, as well as the purpose of an artwork, I believe it matches in many regards with the essential principles in Chinese traditional painting and calligraphy. In the traditional Chinese frame of thought there is no separation between rational and emotional, there are no such principles (exactly as they are defined in the West, as concepts with absolute values). The poetical dimension of the world, about which Tarkovsky is talking, fits naturally in the traditional Chinese view of the universe. Moreover, the main principle in these Chinese art forms is not to describe, to offer to the viewer a complete and absolute way of acknowledging the artist's message, but instead they focus on the power of expression in simple things, which offers to the viewer only a very small part of the artist's view, it just points in a direction of contemplation and stimulates the viewer's imagination. This is most obvious if we take as an example the paintings of Shi Tao. He just needs to sketch with a few strokes the distant mountain peaks and a whole world is suddenly created in the empty space that remains. This is totally different from what art was like in the West around Shi Tao's time, this is not the complete and logical way of expression in which everything is offered right in front of the viewer, nor does it have to be decoded in some way using a logical mechanism. This is a poetical way, in which Shi Tao, using his extraordinary skills, is projecting a certain mood or emotion on the paper, that can initiate in the viewer a powerful reaction, an impulse that makes him recreate a complete view of the world in his mind, through the artist's eyes. As Tarkovsky says:

 

"Through poetic connections feeling is heightened and the spectator is made more active. He becomes a participant in the process of discovering life, unsupported by ready-made deductions from the plot or ineluctable pointers by the author. He has at his disposal only what helps to penetrate to the deeper meaning of the complex phenomena represented in front of him. Complexities of thought and poetic visions of the world do not have to be thrust into the framework of the patently obvious. The usual logic, that of linear sequentiality, is uncomfortably like the proof of a geometry theorem. As a method it is incomparably less fruitful artistically than the possibilities opened up by associative linking, which allows for an affective as well as a rational appraisal."

 

Shi Tao's paintings are a good example, also because it is very representative for the 写意Xie Yi painting. This way of painting nature is in many ways very similar to what westerners name abstract art. The reason is that maybe the most important part in a XieYi painting is not its obvious subject, which is mostly used as a kind of medium, (i.e. a mountainous landscape, an orchid, etc.), but the expressive power that lays in the tension, balance, transparency, of the brush-strokes or pieces of the composition. Its relation with reality is rather judged by the way the viewer is able or not to experience it (reality) in a emotional, mystical way which is supposed to be conveyed through the artwork. If the artist's brush-strokes are "alive",have vigour, then a microcosm is succesfully created using only a few brush-strokes and the depiction of the world is authentic in the eyes of the viewer. At this point we realize that the actual depiction (in a photo-realist sense) of the reality, the object in front of the painter, however expressive, is not the main point of the artwork, the choice of painting a landscape or an orchid being more like a sort of pretext, and the shape, tension, size and number of the brushstrokes appear much more important, through them the artist is displaying his creativity, his technique, his own view of the world. And, as I will attempt to explain in the next part, this so-called "pretext" that it is actually a figurative painting (representing reality), its true function is to establish a set of rules, or rather a framework into which an abstract form of expression is made possible and in the same time can be easily evaluated and criticized.

 

This is exactly the case in calligraphy, except for the fact that calligraphy is completely void of figurative images, while the actual meaning of the characters written is less than secondary (but only when calligraphy is practiced as an art-in-itself, there is also a way of making calligraphy which is more similar to the western one, just as a decorative art, in which case, evidently the meaning of the text written is more important), hence the visual form of expression is entirely abstract. The inner graphic logic of a character, the rules of tracing it, the natural relation between its components allows Shufa to possess a unique and remarkable foundation, clearly defined, for abstract visual expression. Because of this it can be relatively easy to acknowledge its message, to establish a very strong and intimate contact with the author, as compared to, for example, the abstract expressionism of the West, or the so-called conceptual art. The kind of contact between the writer and the viewer is completely of a poetical nature, it lays more or less in the same frame of thought described above, of the traditional painting, only in calligraphy it is much more evident and direct. The absence in the writer-viewer communication, of a logical thread which can be followed to "decode" a certain message confuses the western viewer. Being used to a sort of logical, cold revelation of the message which is accompanied by a separate esthetical facet of the art-work, the western viewer is not accustomed with the direct and entirely poetical way of expression in the Chinese calligraphy. While a non-Chinese speaker westerner, looking at a cursive-script calligraphy in which the actual text is unreadible, will most likely exclaim that he doesn't understand, a Chinese viewer, on the other hand, despite the impossibility of understanding the text, would most of the times appreciate the beauty of it. The Westerner, paradoxically, has to be given a sort of logical recipe, which he can use to "decode" and understand the esthetical quality of the art-work, while a Chinese viewer doesn't feel any restrains to directly judge and asses the calligraphy's esthetical quality. This is because the Chinese viewer is already prepared for the emotional communication initiated by the artist. A fragment of a letter Tarkovsky received from an admirer speaks about this matter in a very eloquent way:

"There's another kind of language, another form of communication: by means of feeling, and images. That is the contact that stops people being separated from each other, that brings down barriers. Will, feeling, emotion—these remove obstacles from between people who otherwise stand on opposite sides of a mirror, on opposite sides of a door. . . ."

The reason for this difference most likely lies in the difference of the nature and structure of thought between East and West. Western thoughtissituatedentirely in a Platonicalparadigm – that of absolute concepts. The place where thought – Western thought, a highly abstract one – happens is in a completely different "world" than the one which is in front of our eyes. It is a perfect, absolute "world", this means that westerners have a very strong tendency, if not a need, to precisely define and trace the boundaries of each and every concept they use, thus making it a fix, absolute concept which does not exist in front of our eyes. This is a way of thinking that many times obstructs the intuitive-emotional interaction initiated by an art-work, as well as it can lead a Western artist on a wrong path, where his artwork does everything but just fails to move the feelings of the viewer.

While the Westerner's mind dwells in a "conventional" paradygm of absolute concepts, the Chinese is on a completely different "wavelength" – it is pragmatic and relative. Chinese thought never loses the connection between subjective thoughts and the objective world, it doesn't need to fiind one either, because this distinction had yet to happen in Chinese thought till the first Western works of philosophy started to be studied in China. However, most likely also because of the structure of Chinese language, especially writing, (I will develop more on this idea later), despite the overwhelming influence Western thought had in recent times upon Chinese culture, the underlying character of the "old" system of thought remained more-or-less unchanged, it being most visible in traditional arts, such as painting or calligraphy.Firstly, it is pragmatic because, as I said, it stays deeply connected with reality, to such an extent that we shouldn't even make the distinction between reality and conscience; secondly, it has a relative nature because it doesn't deal with absolute concepts, which are precisely defined, it rather has a sort of vaguely and/or rarely defined concepts which present themselves as some sort of emblems, that have such a symbolic power that their meaning doesn't need to be explained or questioned, it is accepted like an axiom. When one needs to point out, or explain, the meaning of a certain concept, unlike the West where the most common way of doing this would be to define it precisely, a Chinese would rather put it in contrast with another concept, in this manner he will only be able to show us some feature of that principle when put in relation with something else. This way of dealing with concepts illustrates perfectly that in Chinese thought no concept can have an absolute condition, it cannot exist by itself, it only exists and is important through its relations with something else, through a relative inter-determination. And this second feature of Chinese thought is clearly strongly connected with the Chinese writing system, perhaps this inter-connection being also the reason for which such a strange and impractical writing system survived to modern day. Therefore, when one writes Shufa, every character traced is a powerful statement, full of symbolical meaning, that can draw the reader into a vast universe of ideas by stimulating the viewers associative thinking. It dynamically points in a direction not only of thought, but of action as well, and lastly, of creation. The viewer's mind will follow the rhythm, the trend of what he sees, eventually being inspired, creates and discovers together with the artist. The viewer's mind doesn't need to work, to decipher, it just needs to let itself lead by the artist's action-statement. I consider that Shufa is a powerfully dynamic form of art.

Shufa has a tremendous power to evoke life. A work of calligraphy is not only deeply rooted in life, it is also a living thing itself. Bringing a calligraphy work to life is the ultimate goal of the artist. The work has to be credible, to look natural and pulsing with life. When Tarkovsky is talking about the artistic image, he points out one thing which is extremely relevant to this matter:

 
"We cannot comprehend the totality of the universe, but the poetic image is able to express that totality.
The[artistic] image is an impression of the truth, a glimpse of the truth permitted to us in our blindness. The incarnate image will be faithful when its articulations are palpably the expression of truth, when they make it unique, singular—as life itself is, even in its simplest manifestations."

 
To achieve this, the artist has to become a mountain of knowledge and a master of technique, but has to avoid displaying all of this in his work. The atom of the calligraphic art-work is the brushstroke, over which the artist has to hold a "demiurgic" control. And here, again, I must cite Tarkovsky in the matter concerning the technique in art:

 
"Problems of technique are child's play; you can learn any of it. But thinking independently, worthily, is not like learning to do something; nor is being an individual."

 
So, there is never the so-called problem of technique. For a true artist mastering perfectly the technique is merely a prerequisite to true creation. Like in Shufa, a good level of technique is mandatory for any Shufa amateur, but being able to create a valuable piece of art-work is a different story.

 
Now about the Chinese perception of time, I would say that it fits right in with the idea of the "pragmatic" Chinese thought. While in the Western paradigm time is viewed as a vector, a parameter of existence, the Chinese see it as a cycle, a succession of moments-symbols, like the succession of the seasons. The singularity of each moment has more suggestive power than the idea of movement and measurable duration. While in the West the perception of time is a sort of infinite, unidirectional advance, in China it is an eternal transformation from and into moments in time: seasons, epochs, etc. These moments, when put into perspective, give a sense of dynamism and flow, like a pulse. Time is the pulse of existence, a part of it, not as "passing", but as a succession of inter-related instances, which can never be precisely delimitated, they can only take shape when put against other instances. Their actual length is less important than their significance. Therefore, we can see very clearly here that for Chinese time is rhythm. When we perceive the transformation of things in and around us, in a cyclic movement, we actually perceive time.
In Chinese art, nowhere is rhythm more present than in writing. As an obvious deduction, calligraphy, or Shufa, has the unique capability of bringing this rhythm to the visible realm. Its purpose is both to express the rhythmical pattern that emphasizes and clarifies the meaning (somehow having the same role which the complicated syntax has in Western languages) and to evoke time in a correct manner.

 
Tarkovsky believes that rhythm can be created by manipulating the components of the art-work in such a way that they fit together, and the experience of time in each component is distorted in such a way that it can create rhythm:

 
"Assembly, editing, disturbs the passage of time, interrupts it and simultaneously gives it something new. The distortion of time can be a means of giving it rhythmical expression.
Sculpting in time!"

 
In Chinese calligraphy there is a different approach to this. Rhythm is not something artificial, it is a component of life, it is the structure of time, it doesn't need to be created, it needs to be evoked.

 

There are two ways in which time can be experienced in a Shufa art piece. One is the most obvious way, in the semi-cursive or cursive script, we can trace back every stroke of the brush, every movement, we can experience the rhythm and speed and even the change of the position of the brush, thus we are able to recreate in our mind the execution of the whole calligraphic work to such a detail that we might even guess the emotional state of the author at the moment of writing. In this way we can perceive the powerful dynamic nature of Shufa. As we admire the art-work, the strokes, characters, rows, they just flow in front of us, just like the notes in a tune. A powerfully dynamic image is recorded on a sheet of paper and it stays alive for centuries, or even thousands of years. And this is the second way we experience time in Shufa, reachable to the viewer only through the first one. It is this "moving still picture" that inspires and intrigues us. Just staying in front of our eyes as fresh and expressive as it was at its creation. Now, as it is with most of the other "classic" works of art, a classical Shufa piece, in its way through the centuries, gathers an ever-growing symbolical baggage, being "fresh" in the eyes of the viewer in almost every epoch it is admired in, but I believe that with Shufa there is a difference: this "freshness" goes much farther than in other cases, due to the strict rules of its execution and technique, it is a strong testament of both the untouched continuity of its tradition and in the same time its mutations in the course of time, before, during and after it was conceived. All this, just like a case study, is clearly visible at the most personal level in the calligrapher's style, movement and mood. You could as well imagine that when we look at a calligraphic work, reading character after character, row after row in a fluid manner, we not only experience the passing of time which is evident in the strokes and characters, but we experience this flow as well in a bigger perspective, it is a flow that unites us with past and future, actually renders them very difficult to distinguish.The flow of time, past, present and future, become one single thread, perceived in our conscience as just the pure idea of flow, of passing, of moving and mutating. And here, again we arrive at the Chinese understanding of time, not in a vectorial, linear way, but in a symbolic manner, in which not lengths and durations matter, but mutation, transformation and hierarchy of the event's symbolical importance.

I am convinced though, that for the average Western viewer it can be quite difficult to perceive these things described above, mostly due to the nature and structure of our thought: purely analytical, even when it doesn't need to be, as is the case in art. For this reason I believe that Tarkovsky's theory is in many regards much closer to the traditional Chinese conception of what art is and how it should be done.

 

 

 

 

 

Stele umblătoare

Documentîndu-mă pentru o lucrare, căutam în textele vechi menționări ale luceafărului și mi s-a părut interesant felul în care chinezii din antichitate denumeau diferite corpuri cerești. Am trecut aici denumirile stelelor umblătoare 行星 - adică cele cinci planete cunoscute în antichitate, care împreună cu soarele și luna alcătuiau cei șapte orînduitori 七政 sau cei șapte lucitori 七曜. În prezent cele cinci planete sunt denumite folosind cele cinci elemente: Aur (metal), Lemn, Apă, Foc, Pămînt. respectiv mot-a-mot: Steaua Aurului 金星 - Venus, Steaua Lemnului 木星 - Jupiter, Steaua Apei 水星 - Mercur, Steaua Focului 火星 - Marte, Steaua Pămîntului 土星 - Saturn.

Cea mai importantă dintre ele, Luceafărul, Venus, era numită cel mai des Steaua strălucitoare - 明星, dar i se mai spunea și Măreața Albă sau Prea-alba - 太白. În Clasicul Poemelor, în Odele regatului Zhou și de Sud, poemul Nevasta spune: Cîntă cocoșul! 女曰雞鳴 este menționat Luceafărul, ”Steaua strălucitoare”:

子興視夜、明星有爛。
Deșteaptă-te (domnule) și privește cerul nopții,  Luceafărul tocmai ce lucește.

sau în poemul ”Plopul de la poarta de răsărit” 東門之楊:

昏以為期，明星煌煌
La amurg e ceasul întîlnirii, cînd  Luceafărul începe a străluci.

Pe lîngă acestea, Venus avea denumiri diferite cînd se arăta dimineața sau seara. Cînd este vorba de Luceafărul de dimineață, el mai era numit și Arătarea zorilor, mot-a-mot: ”Începerea strălucirii”  启明. Luceafărul de seară era numit Chang Geng (unde Chang înseamnă lung, iar Geng este numele celei de-a șaptea tulpină cerească - Tulpinile cerești și ramurile pămîntești 天干地支 este metoda antică de a măsura timpul, folosită și azi în calendarul tradițional chinezesc).

Jupiter era numită Steaua anului 歲星 , probabil pentru că Jupiter face o orbită completă în 12 ani, în fiecare an trece printr-o anume secțiune a cerului, fiind foarte importantă pentru calcularea calendarului. Denumirea este întîlnită foarte des în literatura clasică. Am ales un exemplu din faimoasa ”enciclopedie istorică” din dinastia Han, alcătuită de istoricul Sima Qian: Analele Istoricului 史記 (dinastia Han de apus, aprox. 100 î.e.n), din Cartea Palatului Ceresc 天宮書 (unul dintre cele mai vechi și complete dintre tratatele de astronomie antică păstrate pînă în ziua de azi), relevant și pentru faptul că cele cinci ”stele umblătoare” sunt împărțite în stele de tip Yang 陽(principiu masculin, care corespunde direcției Sud-Est) și stele de tip Yin 陰(principiu feminin, corespunde direcției Nord-Vest) în funcție de poziția lor pe cer, ceea ce este cu atît mai interesant cu cît se poate face o paralelă cu zeitățile ce guvernează aceste astre în mitologia apuseană:

陽則日、歲星、熒惑、填星；【……】陰則月、太白、辰星
Yang înseamnă Soarele, Jupiter, Marte, Saturn; [...]Yin înseamnă Luna, Venus, Mercur.

Mercur era numită Chen, sau Steaua Chen 辰星. Chen este a cincea dintre Ramurile pămîntești, și îi corespunde așa numita oră Chen, ora dimineții - între 5 și 7 (după metoda tradițională-antică, ziua este împărțită în 12 ore, simbolizate de cele 12 ramuri pămîntești, fiecare oră fiind corespunzătoare unei perioade de două ore după calendarul modern). În același timp, Chen mai înseamnă și corp ceresc.

Marte era numită Vicleanul (înșelătorul, amăgitorul) Strălucitor 熒惑. Același cuvînt -yinghuo- este folosit și ca verb, cu sensul de a amăgi, a păcăli.

Saturn era numită Steaua liniștii, sau Steaua gravității (cu sens de sobrietate, apăsare). În Shuowen Jiezi 說文解字(cel mai vechi dicționar chinezesc în care sunt analizate și explicate atît sensul cît și structura și pronunția caracterelor, alcătuit de Xu Shen 許慎, din. Han de răsărit, 100~120 e.n., Shuowen este precedat de Erya 爾雅 care este cel mai vechi dicționar cunoscut pînă acum în lume, însă care nu vorbește și despre alcătuirea caracterelor sau pronunție, ci doar despre înțelesul cuvintelor), caracterul 鎮 este explicat ca însemnînd o ”mare apăsare” sau ”mare presiune”: 博壓也. În versiunea reînnoită și completată de Duan Yucai din dinastia Qing a Shuowen Jiezi, există o explicație mai detaliată, care spune că bo 博 este, de fapt 簙, un tip de joc de tip Go din antichitate, iar ya 壓 este, de fapt yan 厭care înseamnă a forța, a presa, a apăsa. El spune că se aseamănă cu acea apăsare, gravitate din timpul jocului, atunci cînd există o miză mare.

Același Duan Yucai într-una din completările pe care le-a adus la Shuowen, identifică cele ”cinci stele” cu denumirea lor de astăzi:
五星。水曰辰星。金曰太白。火曰熒惑。木曰歲星。土曰塡（鎮）星。
Cele Cinci Stele: Apă este Steaua Chen (Mercur). Aur este Măreața Albă (Venus). Foc este Vicleanul Lucitor (Marte). Lemn este Steaua Anului (Jupiter). Pămînt este Steaua Gravității (Saturn).

Este evident că există anumite asemănări între cultura chineză și cea occidentală în felul în care astrele sunt descrise sau ceea ce simbolizează ele, în mod sigur o parte dintre aceste asemănări se datorează unor factori naturali ce puteau fi observați de ambele culturi, dar mie mi se pare că uneori asemănările merg mai departe de atît.

Practicing Mifu
临摹米芾

A fragment from my article about Shi Tao's "One Stroke" philosophy

欣賞石濤的畫我們不僅欣賞他的技巧，他也會使我們被拖入他自己創造的世界里。在《畫語錄》中，他鼓勵我們先放棄所有的規律，可是我們必須注意：这絕對不意味着畫畫時不需要任何規律，關於規律石濤說：“至人無法，非無法也，無法而法，乃為至法”沒有規律才是最高無上的規律。石濤認為，所有規律之根在於他所描述的“一畫”，它的原本在“太古”，那時不存在任何規律：“太古無法，太樸不散，太樸一散而法立矣。法於何立？立於一画。”因此“一畫”是最純潔的“法”，瞭解“一畫”的奧妙之至由此成為了畫家的一種神聖任務。在他的目光中，皆從“一畫”開始：“立一畫之法者，盖以無法生有法，以有法貫眾法也。”

那麼，這個“空”或者說“虛”，不限於指出佈局或黑白相關的意義，我後來發現了，它蘊含著深厚的哲學意義。在一幅畫中，藝術家創造一個新世界，其中，這個所謂“虛”是絕對不能缺少的，甚至可以說是最重要的一部份……老子說：“天地之間，其猶橐籥乎？虛而不屈，動而愈出。多言數窮，不如守中。”我就這樣學會了畫裡的空間有多麼重要！……我現在認為它就是一種透進畫家想像里的窗戶，其中存在著超過毛筆所能描述的現象，超過畫家所能傳達的感想，它就是畫裡的一種完美、純潔的部份，因此它是無法被畫出來的，它屬於另一個世界——藝術家的世界。

在創造這個新世界時，爲了使它活躍起來，藝術家有一個極大的責任，而且他成功的機會僅在於他能否掌握“一畫”:“古今法障不瞭，由一畫之理不明。”掌握了“一畫”之後，藝術家有無限的權力，畫裡的世界以及它所包含的東西，都是從畫家的筆劃而形成的。那麼，一個成功的作品，就像現實世界一樣，爲了能活著，需要存在平衡。這並不一定是黑白或佈局的一種平衡，它寧可食精神方面的平衡，畫家只能在有對自己的完全誠信態度的狀態下實現此事，我認為這就是“一畫從心”的主要意義。如果畫家去學習很多複雜的規律，他最可能什麽都不會真正地學會，他應該要去瞭解最原始，最基礎，最純潔的規律之一，那就是“一畫”。

OBSCURE AND PERPLEXING WINEGOD 冥幻酒神

wine on xuan paper

Despre începuturile scrierii chineze

Punctul decisiv de unde se poate vorbi despre un sistem adevărat de scriere chinez se situează la trecerea de la simboluri pur pictografice (complet figurative, fără nici o legătură cu limba vorbită) și un sistem de simboluri ce începe mai mult sau mai puțin să fie fidel unor trăsături specifice limbii vorbite (gramatică, sintactică, pronunție, etc.).

Deși simbolurile ce aparțin primei perioade puteau fi identificate precis cu anumite înțelesuri, ele nu se puteau încă numi ”scriere”. În primul rînd pentru că ele erau pur figurative, fiind doar desene ce reprezentau obiecte ”cu formă”, deci puteau fi reprezentate direct printr-un simbol, cu un grad limitat de abstractizare (ex.: caracterul 炅 - jiong, cultura Dawenkou), din acest punct de vedere acest sistem de simboluri era limitat la o arie relativ restrînsă de lucruri ce puteau fi reprezentate direct; în privința unor înțelesuri cu totul abstracte, acest sistem nu avea încă o soluție de reprezentare, cu atît mai mult nu exista o legătură directă între limba vorbită și aceste simboluri, în perioada cea mai îndepărtată nu exista nici măcar intenția de a ”înregistra limba”, nu era necesar să fie introduse elemente lingvistice, ci singura necesitate era aceea de a înregistra fapte, evenimente. Scrierea este o convenție de simboluri desenate care au rolul de a ”înregistra” o anumită limbă, ea are o caracteristică fundamentală: urmează îndeaproape structura și regulile limbii pe care o reprezintă. Or, în cazul acestor caractere timpurii nu există nici o legătură cu limba vorbită, cu gramatica sau pronunția ei, prin urmare nu este vorba de un sistem de scriere (exemplul cel mai important de astfel de caractere este din perioada cea mai tîrzie a culturii Dawenkou, pe la 2800-2600 î.Hr.), dar pe de altă parte nici nu putem să trecem cu vederea faptul că acele simboluri ajunseseră la un grad avansat de simplificare și că ele constituiau un sistem (care este totuși puțin cunoscut deocamdată din cauza materialului insuficient). Acest aspect al originii scrierii chineze are cu atît mai multă relevanță cînd vrem să înțelegem mai bine formarea sistemului de gîndire chinez, mai ales așa cum arăta el în perioada cea mai veche (cele mai vechi texte).

Așadar momentul de cotitură de unde putem vorbi despre un sistem adevărat de scriere este cel în care s-au produs anumite schimbări în acest sistem de simboluri deja existent, care face o legătură directă între limba vorbită și ceea ce este reprezentat prin simboluri. Pentru a reuși reprezentarea unor înțelesuri din ce în ce mai abstracte, chinezii au început să formeze caractere cu două tipuri de componente (deja existau simboluri cu mai multe componente, dar ele făceau parte din aceeași categorie funcțională): una ”explicitivă”, care indica plasarea în cutare categorie de lucruri a înțelesului ce urma să fie redat (astăzi încă greșit denumite ”radicali”, pentru că nu sunt o rădăcină a caracterului ci o cheie care indică apartenența la o anumită categorie), și o componentă fonetică. Această componentă fonetică era inițial un simbol de sine-stătător, ce reprezenta un înțeles care, de obicei, nu avea nici o legătură cu înțelesul caracterului nou-format din care face parte, dar este folosit pentru că pronunția cuvîntului coresponent cu înțelesul inițial reprezentat este identică sau cel puțin apropiată cu cea a cuvîntului atribuit caracterului nou-format. Noul caracter este construit special pentru a corespunde unui înțeles ce nu poate fi reprezentat în mod direct, ci printr-un soi de ”aproximare”, spre exemplu caracterul 麒, are cheia ”鹿”, care indică apartenența la o categorie de animale, căci nu este 鹿, dar este înrudit cu el, și are componenta fonetică ”其”, pentru că în limba vorbită, cuvîntul atribuit acelui animal se pronunță ”qi”, prin urmare 麒 se citește ”其” și aparține categoriei de animale reprezentată de ”鹿”.

Pe lîngă asta, este interesant de precizat că scrierea chineză se naște și urmează o linie de evoluție pur vizuală, simbolică, pictografică, spre deosebire de scriere proto-cuneiformă, a cărei perioadă de început a fost la fel de distantă față de limba vorbită însă a avut un caracter matematic, adminstrativ, urma o structură relativ bine definită (în funcție de perioadă), dar evident, nu o structură de natură lingvistică. Observația este relevantă mai ales în domeniul cercetării începutului gîndirii estetice chinezești. Mai mult decît atît, în ceea ce privește abordarea semnului grafic la cele două culturi, în scrierea proto-cuneiformă factori precum forma, linia, compoziția spațiului scris, toate au caracter pur funcțional, pe de cealaltă parte se poate observa foarte clar că în simbolurile grafice chinezești cele mai timpurii exista o preocupare evidentă pentru formă, aspect, proporție, al căror caracter estetic se distinge clar de rolul lor funcțional.

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