Brush and Character: Tracing the Origins of East-Asian Calligraphy

In our previous article, we traced the history of Latin calligraphy, from the stately capitals of ancient Rome to the refined scripts of the eighteenth century. That journey revealed how the written word in the West evolved into both a practical tool and a vessel of beauty.

Now, we turn the page of our calligraphy atlas and travel across the seas to ancient China — the birthplace of East-Asian calligraphy. Here, writing was never only about legibility. From the beginning, it carried a spiritual weight, a link between the human and the divine, before blossoming into one of the most esteemed art forms of the East.

Across China, Korea, and Japan, calligraphy became not just a record of language but also a discipline of the mind and spirit. While each culture developed its own unique styles, all shared a reverence for the brush and ink as instruments of expression, philosophy, and beauty. To begin this exploration, we look first to China, where characters carved into bone gradually transformed into a living art, flowing from the scholar’s hand.

China: Where Writing Became Art

Chinese calligraphy traces its origins to the Shang dynasty (c. 1600–1046 BCE), where inscriptions were carved into oracle bones and tortoise shells. These early characters, created with a stylus or brush using pigments such as lampblack or cinnabar, were not written for decoration but for divination, serving as conduits between the human and the divine.

Left: Tortoise plastron with divination, Shang dynasty, Bronze Age, Yin Ruins, 127 Xiaotun Ash Pit, Anyang County, Henan Province, Collection of Institute of History and Linguistics, Academia Sinica, R044284.
Right: Tortoise plastron with divination inscription dating to the reign of King Wu Ding, 1250 – 1192 BC

The invention of the brush brought a turning point. The earliest complete brush, dating to the Warring States period (475–221 BCE), consisted of a wooden handle and a bamboo tube holding animal hair. This seemingly modest tool allowed characters to flow with a grace impossible to achieve with carving. From that moment, calligraphy became a living art, shaped by the movement of hand and mind. Writing media evolved, too: bronze vessels, bamboo strips. Moreover, different forms of scripts appeared, where bronze vessels carried more formal versions, and bamboo strips were used for writing in 'popular scripts'

Top left: Ding (ancient ritual cauldron) with inscriptions, approximately Western Zhou period (c. 1046–771 BCE)
Top right: imprinting of the inscription on Ding
Bottom level: bamboo strips with writing in 'popular scripts', different from 'formal' scripts used for inscriptions. Chu state, Warning states period ( 475 – 221 BC)

The Qin dynasty (221–206 BCE) first recognised calligraphy as a formal discipline, and under the Han dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE) it flourished.

Seal script — the ancient, highly ornate form of writing — gave way to clerical script (lìshū). This new style, with its flatter, more deliberate strokes, allowed for quicker, more practical writing on bamboo and wooden slips. In time, clerical script would evolve into semi-cursive 'running' script (xíngshū), fluid and joined like Western longhand, and further into cursive 'grass' script (cǎoshū), a spontaneous, abbreviated style requiring special training to read. Each shift reflected not only a change in tools but also a new philosophy of expression.

By the Sui (581–618) and Tang (618–907) dynasties, the art reached new heights. Northern and southern traditions merged, and with them, the techniques of brushwork became more sophisticated. Regular script (kǎi shū) emerged as the universal style, combining clarity with elegance — the foundation upon which generations of scholars would write. It remains the most common style used in modern texts to this day. 

In the Song dynasty (960–1279), modelbooks engraved on stone preserved the masterpieces of earlier calligraphers, yet the scholar-artists of the age went further. To them, calligraphy was not simply imitation but a deeply personal medium, capable of revealing the temperament and spirit of the writer.

Top: 'Plum and Bamboo', Wu Zhen (1280-1354)
Bottom: 'Orchid', Zheng Sixiao (1241-1318)
Right: 'Autumn Melon', Qian Xuan (1235 - 1301

From sacred carvings to expressive brushwork, Chinese calligraphy laid the groundwork not only for its own enduring traditions but also for the calligraphic arts of Korea and Japan.

Korea: The Prestige of Hanja, the Voice of Hangul

For centuries, ancient China stood as the dominant cultural force in East Asia. With its influence came not only philosophy and governance but also the written word. Chinese characters — known in Korea as Hanja — entered the peninsula during the Han dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE) and the Korean Three Kingdoms era (18 BCE–660 CE). From the beginning, Hanja was adopted for official documents, scholarly texts, and poetry

Yet the Korean language differed greatly from Chinese, and Hanja proved a poor fit. Complex in structure and unsuited to Korean grammar, it created barriers to literacy among the wider population. Nevertheless, Hanja became the script of the elite, and through them, calligraphy took root in Korea as both an artistic discipline and a symbol of refinement.

Early Korean scholar documents, written in different script styles of hanja, also known as Literary Chinese. Hanja relied on Chinese symbols to transcribe Korean phonetics, making it extremely complicated to master.

Korean calligraphers drew from Chinese traditions but shaped them into their own distinctive practices. Five principal styles of Hanja calligraphy emerged. Among them, there are three distinct scripts, that look drastically different, yet are fit for purpose.

Left to right: Seal script, Block script with semi-cursive and Cursive scripts of Hanja.

• Jeonseo (篆書, Seal Script): The oldest style, with uniform thickness and balanced spacing, still used for seals and formal stamps.
  

• Haeseo (楷書, Block Script): Regular, square-shaped characters — the most legible and practical form.
  

• Choseo (草書, Cursive Script): Rapid, highly abbreviated writing, often unreadable without training, valued for its spontaneity and artistry.

Despite the elegance of Hanja calligraphy, the script’s complexity deepened social divides. In the fifteenth century, King Sejong the Great sought to change this. In 1446, he introduced Hangul through the Hunminjeongeum ('The Correct Sounds for the Instruction of the People'). Designed with scientific precision to reflect the sounds of Korean speech, Hangul was simple to learn and intended to empower common people with literacy.

The original copy of Hunminjeongeum ('The Correct Sounds for the Instruction of the People'), held by the Kansong in Seoul, South Korea

Resistance was fierce. The yangban elite, fearing the erosion of their privileged status, resisted Hangul’s adoption, and in 1504, its use was even banned by King Yeonsangun after critics published a satirical text in the new script. For decades, Hangul survived only at the margins, preserved in folk tales and private writings. It was not until the late sixteenth century that stories written in Hangul began to circulate more widely, marking the beginning of its cultural revival.

Alongside its functional role, Hangul also developed its own calligraphic traditions. Two main styles emerged: the Panbonche (판본체) style, based on the original Hunminjeongeum manuscript of 1443, and the elegant Gungche (궁체) style, cultivated in royal courts during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. While Panbonche retained a simple, sturdy character, Gungche became a refined art form in its own right, used for official documents and admired for its delicate grace.

Two main styles of Hangul: simple, geometric Panbonche (판본체) style on the left and artistic, delicate Gungche (궁체) style on the right.

Thus, for nearly five centuries, Korea lived in the shadow of two scripts: the prestige of Hanja, entwined with calligraphic artistry, and the quiet resilience of Hangul, destined to become the nation’s true voice.

Japan: The Brush Finds Its Own Voice

The written word reached Japan in the sixth century CE, when Chinese characters (kanji) were introduced alongside Buddhism and Confucian thought. At first, Japanese calligraphy mirrored Chinese practice closely, a style known as karayō (“Chinese style”), which preserved the brush methods and aesthetics of the mainland.

'Gakki-ron', written by Empress Kōmyō in 744 CE, showcases the deep connection of ancient Japanese calligraphy to its Chinese roots.

One of the most important figures in this cultural transmission was Kūkai (774–835), a Buddhist monk, scholar, and artist. After travelling to China to study esoteric Buddhism, he returned to Japan with sacred texts, brush techniques, and a deep appreciation of calligraphy as a spiritual art.

For Kūkai, writing was more than a skill: it was a way of embodying truth and enlightenment through the movement of the brush. His influence established calligraphy not just as a scholarly pursuit but also as a revered discipline within Japanese religious and cultural life.

In the Heian period (794–1185), Japanese calligraphy began to develop its own identity. At first, scholars and poets practised by copying Chinese texts, but the Japanese language required a different system. Reading kanji with Japanese sounds could not fully capture the richness of native speech. Out of this need, new phonetic scripts were created: kana.

Two forms of kana emerged. Hiragana — graceful, flowing, and originally called “women’s hand” (onna-de) — gained popularity in the late Heian period, particularly in court poetry. Katakana, more angular and practical, was developed by monks as an annotation tool for reading Chinese texts. Together, hiragana and katakana offered a purely phonetic system, making it possible to express the full range of the Japanese language without total reliance on kanji.

The arrival of kana transformed calligraphy. Calligraphers could now blend kanji with kana in the same text, weaving Chinese characters with native phonetics to create uniquely Japanese works. A style known as Oieryū (“imperial style”) arose in the Heian court, reflecting the elegance and refinement of the aristocracy.

Japanese calligraphy example, scholar text of the beginning of the Edo period. Both kanji and kana are used simultaneously in one document.

By the Edo period (1603–1868), calligraphy flourished as both art and education. Japan, closed to the outside world, cultivated its own diverse schools of writing. Calligraphy was no longer confined to monasteries and courts but spread among the common people through teaching academies. New styles emerged, such as edo moji, bold characters used for banners, kabuki signboards, and sumo posters — highly decorative, often without the religious associations of earlier bokuseki calligraphy practised by monks during meditation sessions. 

Unlike formal courtly scripts or scholarly exercises, bokuseki was not primarily concerned with precision or legibility. Instead, it sought to capture the state of mind of the writer in a single, spontaneous act. A monk would take up the brush and, with one unbroken movement, write a character or short phrase — often a teaching, a poem, or a Buddhist term — allowing the strokes to flow as naturally as breath.

While practising Bokuseki, a monk would take up the brush and, with one unbroken movement, allowing the strokes to flow as naturally as breath.

For this reason, bokuseki often looks bold, even rough, to an untrained eye. The ink may appear uneven, the characters exaggerated or abstracted. But this immediacy is the point: the writing embodies the moment of enlightenment, the spirit of the monk, and the Zen ideal of truth revealed through simplicity.

When Japan reopened in the late nineteenth century, calligraphy diverged into two streams: one continued to look to Chinese masters for inspiration, while the other sought to refine and elevate Japan’s own scripts. Today, Japanese writing blends three systems: kanji (borrowed Chinese characters, used for meaning), hiragana (a flowing phonetic script), and katakana (a sharp-edged phonetic script often used for emphasis, loanwords, or technical terms).

Alongside these scripts, Japanese calligraphy recognises five principal styles of brushwork:

• Tensho (Seal Script): An ancient, decorative style with rounded forms, often used for seals.

• Kaisho (Standard Script): Clear, square characters, ideal for beginners and formal works.

• Reisho (Clerical Script): Angular and deliberate, echoing the Han-dynasty style from China.

• Gyōsho (Semi-cursive Script): A balanced style, faster and more fluid than kaisho while retaining legibility.
  

• Sōsho (Cursive Script): Highly expressive and flowing, reducing characters to abstracted, elegant strokes.
  
  

It is important to note that scripts and styles are not the same. The three Japanese scripts — kanji, hiragana, and katakana — can all be written in any of the five calligraphic styles. Yet in practice, kanji, with their complexity and historical depth, often remain the central focus of formal calligraphy.  

The Written Word Shaped by Culture

The story of East-Asian calligraphy does not end in the dynasties and courts where it first flourished. Its influence continued to shape history in profound ways. In China, the civil service examinations — the backbone of the imperial bureaucracy for more than a millennium — depended as much on elegant brushwork as on knowledge of the classics, making calligraphy a gateway to power and status. 

In Korea, Hangul, once dismissed by elites, became a rallying point of national pride during the twentieth century, when the script symbolised independence and identity under colonial rule. 

In Japan, the discipline of shodō (“the way of writing”) was woven into education, ensuring that every generation practised the art, while bold urban styles like Edo moji influenced everything from kabuki playbills to modern graphic design.

Taken together, these legacies show that the written word is never merely a vehicle for language. Calligraphy has been an engine of governance, a tool of cultural resilience, and an enduring school of aesthetics. It continues to link the past to the present, reminding us that every stroke carries both history and intention.

Turning the Page of the Calligraphy Atlas

What makes calligraphy so endlessly fascinating is how universal and yet particular it is. The same desire to capture words on a surface produced radically different traditions across cultures — some valuing precision and form, others spontaneity and spirit, still others accessibility and inclusiveness. Each script is a mirror of the civilisation that nurtured it. 

As we close this chapter on East Asia, we are reminded that the history of writing is also the history of human thought and creativity. And so, with brush and ink still in hand, we look forward to turning the next page of our calligraphy atlas — to discover yet another region where letters, symbols, and scripts become an art form, embodying cultural, social, and political contexts of its time.