And although it's been several weeks since practicing shodo, I channelled its lessons this morning while I used a recorder to practice a movement of Bach. Every take, there was something more to be wanted–a note held too long, something not started the way I wanted, out of tune, too much time, too little time–always in a different spot. I remembered mornings spent with the brush, page after page, always something more to be wanted, using the blank space on my best copy to practice more. And I remembered the way my teacher would so easily mark up one of her beautiful examples, so free in letting it go. I remembered finding the answer less in the copy she gave me than in watching her make it.
There are many lessons hidden inside of Japan. Soon it will be time for me to seek them again.