Ink behaves like nature. Calm one moment, chaos the next. That’s the earliest truth. Fighting it is pointless. You greet it, play with it, and accept accidents.
We begin with tools. The Tingology
A block of ink. A grinding stone that resembles a pool. Water carries memory. Grinding ink is slow ritual. Circles flow evenly. The room falls silent. Paper sits ready, thin as moth wings.
Exercises appear trivial, but they are essential. Simple strokes repeated. Pressure goes up and down. The brush shows your state. Lines reveal you when tension rises. Exhale slow. Loosen the arm. Try again.
Then the worth. Gradations from dark to light. Wet, dry, and in-between. Like soft twilight. A knife cut severs a leaf. Students pack tones into hair tufts. The core deepens, end lighter. A physics trick that feels mystical.
Subjects arrive as soft riddles. First: straight bamboo. Spines straight, knobby joints, flicking leaves. Next: orchids. Move with a flick. Finally: rocks, the last and oldest. We study borders: firm and gentle. Negative space becomes the hero.
Sam says, “Seems like sweeping.” The room laughs. Teacher grins. “Yes, brooms carry beat. Now give it life.” Her soft stroke drips like nectar. A bloom appears.
Accidents invite focus. Overflow creates haze. A broken tip creates texture. Smudges sing if allowed. Perfect is lifeless. Movement tells narrative.
The materials don’t need to be expensive. A solid brush, a workhorse brush, ground or bottled ink, rice paper and felt pad. Tissues. Clips. Sketch pencil, and little else. If choosing, go for strength. It’s not about expensive gear.
We draw from imagination. A goldfish with shocked eyes. A listening pine. Homework is easy but constant: a few minutes a day of stroke and calm. We watch stance. We review flow. We consider emotions. We breathe with joy.
Critique is sharing not judging. Two soft points and one praise. We analyze flow to see where they spread. Hands grow steady. Lines get confident. Cameras show brush tips. Angles kept sharp. Live demos zoom close.
Fresh students progress quickly. Experienced hands search nuance. Classes are intimate for focus. You leave with collections of work and a piece for your wall, plus a morning ritual of grinding ink. It won’t copy someone, but it gives you water’s song. That is vital. And yes, your broom will sing.