The Calligraphy Artist

It started with a pigeon. Once again, at 6am, Molly woke up to the sound of aggressive cooing outside her window.

“Oh my gosh, shut up!” said Molly, flinging the windows open.

The noise seemed to be coming from a few floors up. The other neighbours' lights were off and no one else seemed to notice. Even the old man who watched loud TV all day wasn’t awake yet.

“Well I guess this pigeon business is up to me, just like everything else,” she sighed.

There were still 3 hours until her first virtual class, and her mom wouldn’t be back for a while from the night shift, so Molly decided to go on an adventure to scare off the pigeon for good. It felt nice to do something exciting, especially after being cooped up inside for months due to the pandemic.

Molly dressed in her comfy clothes and climbed out of her window onto the fire escape. When she reached the top of the ladder, there was still no sign of the pigeon, but the cooing was getting louder. The apartments where she lived were close together, so she made a small jump to the other fire escape so she could keep climbing. It felt so good to feel the wind on her skin and touch the rusty metal ladders. This was real, and she had a mission. It was totally different from learning school math over the internet.

On the rooftop, near the ledge, was an old chimney with a few bricks crumbled on the side. Inside the ring of rubble at the base of the chimney was the culprit. A mother pigeon was nesting and cooing to her three babies.

“Well, I guess I can’t be mad at you. Just try and keep it down, will ya?”

Energised by her morning adventure, Molly crawled back into her tiny apartment, and began cooking breakfast for her mother.

By the time her mother came in through the door, Molly had finished making eggy toast with some tomatoes that they grew on the windowsill.

“I have the best daughter in the world don’t I?” said her mother. She gave Molly a giant hug, and enjoyed the food. “You sleep okay baby? Did that pigeon wake you up again? We can tell the manager to get an exterminator or at least put up some needles so they can’t land on the buildings.”

“No, it’s okay, I slept fine today,” Molly lied.

“Okay baby, that’s good. Mommy’s so tired, I need to go to bed now. But you study hard in school so you don’t end up like me working the graveyard shift okay?”

“School isn’t fun anymore, and the teachers don’t care. We just do online quizzes all the time,” complained Molly.

“As long as you get good grades, don’t worry about learning. That’s how you beat the system and get out of this dump,” said Molly’s mother. She crumpled onto the bed, and Molly tucked her in.

Over the next few weeks, Molly became addicted to her new morning routine. The pigeon would wake her up around 6am. Molly took crumbled granola bars up to the mommy pigeon, and spent the rest of the day climbing around the urban jungle of her neighbouring apartment complexes. She loved the exercise, and nobody noticed a little kid outside, so Molly began spying on all her neighbours. People lived just a few feet from each other, but normally you couldn’t interact with them unless it was through a phone or computer. And when she watched them, she could see how they really were, not just how they presented themselves to the world through technology.

For instance, Molly learned that loud-TV-man was just a sweet old man who laughed hard at his sitcoms and enjoyed his coffee. Sometimes his grandkids would visit, and he would always prepare a treat for them. There was also a man who hung his clothes outside to dry, and would curse himself whenever the wind would take a pair of pants.

But the person that seemed most interesting to Molly was the Asian woman on the 4th floor. She was quiet, and spent her whole day drawing. If she was an artist, she was someone unlike anyone Molly had ever known, because all she drew were simple black shapes and what looked like Chinese characters. She had a black brush that she would use to draw on a single white paper. Afterwards, she hung them up in only 1 of 4 spots on her wall, replacing them each day. Molly didn’t understand the characters and what they meant, but they were indescribably beautiful.

Drawing-woman became the morning stop that Molly would linger the most. She enjoyed watching her work, and the precise caring nature she performed each task. Even the way she ground the ink was interesting. One day, as Molly peered in through the open window, the woman, without even looking up from her work desk, said, “Hello little girl, do you like my drawings?”

Molly was surprised, but the woman seemed so calm and matter of fact, that Molly replied very matter of factly, “Yes, I like them very much.”

“Then why don’t you come in from outside. Tell me, what do you like about them?”

Molly came in slowly from the window like a cat, surveying her surroundings. Everything felt clean, and safe. The room felt like a hug. She walked over to one of the 4 hanging spots and pointed, “Like this one. It’s just a circle. But it makes me feel curious.”

“Ah, you like my Ensō. You have a good eye. I was very curious that day, I was remembering decisions in my youth, and thinking of what might have been different. Come, to truly understand Ensō, you must try.” The old woman gestured for Molly to the work desk. Molly peered over the desk at the pristine work space and was in awe.

“Really? Me?” asked Molly.

“You try. Draw a circle,” said the old woman.

Molly took the brush, pursed her lips and drew a circle, trying to be as precise as possible. When she was done, she looked up at the old woman, wondering if she had made a mistake.

“When you look at your circle, what do you feel?” she asked.

“Mmm, nothing really. My drawing is just a circle, it’s not like yours,” said Molly.

The old woman nodded and removed a beautiful black notebook from her desk. She took a deep breath and in one graceful motion, drew a small circle on the first page. “What do you feel when you look at this one?”

Molly gazed at the circle and became overwhelmed by a sense of peace. It felt like when she used to run around the playground all day sweating. Then afterwards, with her friends they would take their shoes off to put their feet in the sandpit while they ate lunch. She got that same feeling from the circle.

“But... how?” whimpered Molly.

“Let your emotions flow from heart to your arm to your hand to the brush to the paper. You have talent little girl. Take this notebook, and this little brush and ink. You can practice in it, and come back if you like. I can teach you.”

“T-thank you,” said Molly, taking the notebook carefully, and clutching it to her chest. It was the first time that anyone had given something of value to Molly, and it made Molly’s heart weep a little with joy and sadness.

Over the following month, Molly spent every day with the old woman. Molly learned to understand her own emotions and the days felt full of adventure. But one day, the old woman looked at one of Molly’s Ensō drawings and said, “Your strokes are so bold. So much pressure. Why are you angry?”

Molly stared downwards. “My mom got really mad at me. The teachers told her I haven’t been going to class as much. She said drawing all day is useless and I have to get good grades to make anything of myself.”

“School can help you learn of the world, and you can understand yourself and others.”

“But I LIKE drawing. I just don't want to end up like my mom bored and tired everyday. I don’t know what to do, I want to make something of myself too.”

The old woman thought deeply for many moments. Molly wondered if she would ever talk again, or if something had offended her. Then she took out a small index card and wrote something on it. “The self is not something that can be made. It is something to know. Go to this address, show them your little black book, and find out what the value of knowing yourself can be,” said the old woman.

The next day, Molly took a bus downtown to the address. It was a large store with a sign that said, “Prestige Auction House.” Molly walked inside and an elegant woman greeted her with a smile.

“What are you doing here, little girl, are you lost?” she said.

“No, I was just wondering if maybe someone could look at my book?” said Molly.

The woman took the book, and flipped through the pages. “Well, this certainly looks interesting. We’re a bit busy today preparing for a new showing, but let me just get the opinion of one of my colleagues. I’ll be right back. Have a seat.”

Molly sat down on a fine leather couch and looked at the walls. There were many pictures of paintings, but also of strange objects that she had never seen before, like giant scary masks, and ominous statues. A few moments later, a man with a British accent, wearing a cardigan, rushed from the back of the shop with the woman beside him.

“Young lady, where did you get this book?” asked the British man.

“It’s mine,” Molly said.

The man only became more agitated. “Yes, of course. I understand, but the Ensō. There were many that were beautiful, but the first one.” He turned to the woman, “It’s a Miura, I’m sure of it!”

“Miura?” asked Molly.

“Young lady, I am not in the habit of deceiving children. I’m going to be frank with you. There are many people who would want this book. One of the drawings was done by an artist and philosopher of great renown, but no one’s heard from her in over a decade. Would you be willing to sell your book?” asked the man.

“How much is it worth?” asked Molly.

“Well… I’d have to get it authenticated, and it’s not a full portrait, but if it’s real… I can comfortably offer you $20,000.”

Molly thought about the excitement of telling her mother about the money. But she began to imagine what would happen afterwards, and she didn’t like how it felt. There were a lot of empty pages left in that book. Molly got up, and began to walk out.

“Young lady, perhaps you could bring your parents to come talk about selling it?” said the British man.

“No, thanks. I’m going to be needing it.” Molly hugged the notebook and smiled, as if she knew something, and walked home.