|
翰墨之艺，滥觞龟纹，渐兴竹帛，遂流艺苑而成绝响。今观李木教作书，腕底风云，胸中丘壑，皆化素楮玄黄。其运管也，若老衲入定，承古法而自出灵机;落墨也，似春蚕吐丝，循矩矱而暗藏性灵。墨痕所至，非止筋骨形骸之工，实乃心源与造化相吞吐。  初观其笔，中锋沉厚若青铜铸鼎，侧毫轻灵似竹影摇窗。横画不作僵直态，常于收束处微昂，恍若云收霞散;竖锋未取峭拔姿，总在垂落际回腕，犹如松立雪崖。转折尤称妙绝：或似剑劈层岩，棱角隐现而戾气尽敛;或如溪穿幽涧，圆融流转而机锋暗藏。此等笔意，分明得宋人法乳——长枪大戟化为绵里藏针，刷字狂放纵作弦上余音。 墨分五色，各显玄机。素手研朱，观松烟与胶漆交融;澄心运管，任浓淡随胸臆起伏。饱墨重按，似夜潮漫卷乾坤;枯笔轻皴，若秋风掠过残碑。偶以清水破之，氤氲自化峰峦叠影;时借宿墨写意，斑驳暗藏汉简遗踪。此非刻意求奇，实乃天地文章借毫素显形。
章法经营，最见哲思。长卷铺陈如大江东去，字字相衔而气息绵亘;尺牍点染似空谷鸣泉，疏朗处犹闻余韵回旋。深谙疏可驰马之理，却化箴言为直觉：某行戛然留白，恍若钧天广乐骤歇;数字缠绵勾连，竟成太极阴阳相生。此等布局，非筹算可致，实积年浸淫法帖，将古人气韵炼作呼吸。 于技法精熟处，独守稚子初心。作狂草时，羊毫饱蘸如惊雷乍起，却在崩云裂石际陡然回锋，似狂涛拍岸复归平湖。此等收放之道，恰合禅门公案——至巧若拙时，何须记挂绳墨?正如案头汉印残石，凿痕斑驳间，自有匠人初念流转，此或即所谓'法成本能'真谛。 更深漏永，常见其悬腕临古。孤灯照壁，身影与先贤剪影重叠。摹碑之际，笔锋入木三分，金石气透纸背;习帖之时，墨痕带润含章，书卷香满斋轩。然此虔诚对话中，恒存当代心绪律动：某竖忽作微波，若心脉震颤图谱;某白故留毛边，似数码时代噪纹。古法今意之激荡，俱在纤毫发丝间。 尤重书写当下体悟。弃尽机巧算计，独留清明与笔墨相亲。春晨写楷，必听檐冰化水泠泠;秋夜作草，常伴窗外竹涛飒飒。楮素非死物，实为天地气脉载体：雨前氤氲使墨色愈润，雪后清寒令线条更峭。此等以身为器感通造化之境，故其书迹常带体温。
于风格锤炼，秉持道家自然。不避古法如百川归海，不矜个性似孤峰突兀。譬若山泉经岩层滤沥，自携金石气息;其字迹穿越晋唐风雨，终凝霜雪清姿。所习法帖，如经年霖雨渗青石，忽于某晨熹，绽出苔痕新碧——此即笃信'水到自渠成'。近年墨迹，愈见化境：北碑方折与南帖圆转竟可相生，篆籀古拙同行草流丽浑然一体。 墨戏纸素之际，独守本真三昧。当世多以奇崛造势，彼独持'致广大于精微'之念。尺幅小品，或书百遍以求灵光一现;数行笺札，常藏半世修为其中。此等苦行，类头陀面壁——非为顿悟，但求法乳沁骨。 暮色染窗，羊毫犹在素宣游走。墨色渐淡如远山隐雾，笔意愈松似老衲解衣。此刻书斋，恍成古今甬道：毫锋擦纸沙沙，与敦煌经生笔触共振;砚池漾影幽幽，映历代书家凝神容颜。而木教身形，渐融此星河璀璨长卷，化作其中温润一脉光焰。 书道玄微，非止笔墨功夫。木教以经年砥志，铸剑为犁，耕心田而种性灵。其迹也，既有北朝碑版之雄浑，复得南帖风神之俊逸，兼摄篆隶古意，终成独家气象。所谓'出新意于法度，寄妙理于天然'，此之谓欤?后之览者，当于飞白流韵处，见星霜岁月;在转折回锋间，悟天地人生。如此墨痕，岂独书家三昧，直是性命真如之印契也。
Li Mu Jiao: Inheriting Ancient Techniques while Innovating with Inspiration, Following Rules yet Concealing the Spirit The art of brush and ink has its origins in the tortoise shell patterns, gradually evolving on bamboo and silk, eventually flowing into the realm of fine art and becoming an unparalleled sound. Observing Li Mu Jiao's calligraphy today, one sees the storm beneath his wrist and the terrain within his chest, all of which are transformed into the raw, yellowish paper. His brushwork flows as if a monk enters a state of meditation, inheriting ancient techniques while emerging with new inspirations; when ink falls, it is like a silkworm spinning threads in spring, following rules yet hiding the spirit within. Where the ink marks reach, it is not only a mastery of structure and form, but a fusion of heart and creation. At first glance, his strokes seem heavy and firm like a bronze cauldron cast in ancient times, yet the side of the brush is light and agile like the shadow of bamboo swaying in a window. His horizontal strokes are never rigid; they always curve slightly at the end, like clouds parting to reveal the setting sun. His vertical strokes are not steep and sharp but gently curve as the brush returns to rest, like a pine tree standing on a snowy cliff. The transitions in his strokes are exquisite: sometimes like a sword cleaving through layers of rock, with sharp angles appearing as the tension dissipates; other times like a stream winding through a secluded ravine, smooth and flowing with subtle hidden energy. This kind of brush spirit is clearly influenced by the Song dynasty style—long spears and halberds transformed into softness that conceals hidden sharpness, where wild, untamed strokes leave lingering echoes like the reverberation of strings. The ink is divided into five shades, each revealing its own mysteries. His delicate hands grind ink, observing how pine smoke and lacquer mix; his heart in control of the brush, allowing the ink’s depth and lightness to fluctuate with his thoughts. With a well-inked brush, his strokes press down like the night tide sweeping across the world; with a dry brush, he creates texture as if autumn winds are brushing against an old stele. Occasionally, he breaks the ink with clear water, allowing the mist to transform into layers of mountains and reflections; at times, he uses residual ink to write freely, revealing traces of ancient scripts. This is not an intentional search for oddity, but rather a manifestation of the universe’s writing through the brush. His composition reveals profound philosophical thought. A long scroll unfurls like a river flowing eastward, each character connected with a seamless rhythm; a small letter, like water flowing through an empty valley, retains echoes in its spaciousness. He understands the principle of leaving space to let the horse gallop, yet he transforms these principles into intuition: some strokes suddenly leave a blank, like the sudden cessation of a grand symphony; others, intricately intertwined, form a dynamic interplay of Yin and Yang. This kind of arrangement cannot be achieved by calculation alone but comes from years of immersion in ancient model books, refining the breath and rhythm of ancient masters into something almost instinctual. In his mastery of technique, he remains grounded in the innocence of a child. When writing wild cursive, his brush is as forceful as a sudden thunderclap, yet it suddenly turns back at the peak, like a turbulent wave crashing on the shore only to return to a calm lake. This way of releasing and controlling strokes aligns perfectly with Zen practice—when the craft is at its highest, what need is there for measured rules? Just like the ancient Han seals, where the chisel marks are worn and weathered, one can sense the first intentions of the artisan flowing through time. This is perhaps the true meaning of “technique becomes instinct.” He often meditates on ancient works under dimming light. The solitary lamp casts shadows on the wall, overlapping with the silhouettes of past masters. While copying inscriptions, his brush penetrates deeply into the wood, with the spirit of gold and stone shining through the paper; while practicing model books, his ink marks are rich and contain hidden meaning, filling the study with the fragrance of scrolls. Yet, even within this earnest dialogue with the ancients, his contemporary emotions are ever-present: sometimes a vertical stroke breaks into subtle waves, like the pulse of the heart; sometimes a white space is left with frayed edges, like digital noise. The clash of ancient methods and contemporary ideas is woven seamlessly into the finest details. He places great importance on the feeling of writing in the present moment. Having discarded all mechanical calculations, he remains in clear-minded harmony with the brush and ink. Writing regular script on a spring morning, he listens to the sound of icicles melting from the eaves; when writing cursive on an autumn night, he is accompanied by the rustling of bamboo outside the window. The paper is not a dead thing but a vessel carrying the spirit of heaven and earth: the mist before the rain makes the ink richer, and the cold after the snow makes the lines sharper. His writing always carries the warmth of his body, as if he is one with nature. In his style, he adheres to Taoist principles of naturalness. He does not avoid the ancient methods like rivers flowing to the sea, nor does he emphasize individuality like a solitary peak rising from the earth. His characters are like mountain springs filtered through layers of rock, carrying the breath of gold and stone; they traverse the winds and rains of the Jin and Tang dynasties, ultimately crystallizing into a clear and elegant form. His practice of ancient model books is like the slow seepage of rain into blue stones, until one morning when sunlight breaks through, revealing new moss-covered green—this is his firm belief in 'water flows naturally to form its path.' In recent years, his ink has increasingly merged with the world: the angular strokes of northern inscriptions and the fluidity of southern scripts now coexist harmoniously, and ancient seal script and cursive flow together with a perfect blend. In the play of ink on paper, he adheres to the purest state of true intention. While others may create grand gestures for effect, he holds fast to the idea of achieving greatness through subtlety. His small works may be written a hundred times to capture that flash of inspiration; a few lines of correspondence often conceal a lifetime of cultivation. This kind of dedication is akin to a monk meditating in front of a wall—not for sudden enlightenment, but for the immersion of the spirit in the essence of the practice. As dusk settles and the window frames turn golden, his sheep-hair brush still moves gracefully across the paper. The ink gradually fades like distant mountains hidden in mist, while his brushwork becomes looser, like an old monk undressing. At this moment, the study seems to merge with the passage of time: the brush tip scratches the paper with a sound reminiscent of Dunhuang manuscripts, while the ink stone ripples in quiet reflection, echoing the countenances of generations of calligraphers. Li Mu Jiao’s figure blends into this vast, glittering scroll, becoming a warm pulse of light within. The Dao of calligraphy is not merely about brush and ink technique. Li Mu Jiao, through years of refining his will, has forged his sword into a plow, cultivating the fields of his heart and planting the spirit within. His traces bear the grandiosity of northern stele scripts and the elegance of southern models, encompassing the ancient styles of seal and clerical scripts, ultimately forming a unique aura. What is meant by 'new ideas within established rules, subtle principles within nature'? Perhaps this is it. Future viewers, upon observing the flowing strokes and rhythmic beauty, will see the passage of time; in the transitions of the brush, they will understand the vastness of heaven and life. This ink mark is not just the calligrapher's essence—it is the very seal of life’s truth. 责任编辑：苗君  独家专访： |
|
|
