One of the most important and comprehensive books on Islamic calligraphy is Mahmud Yazir’s Calligraphy in World Civilization and the Beauty of the Pen in Islamic Civilization, which was edited and annotated by Professor M. Ugur Derman (Istanbul: Diyanet Isleri Baskanligi Yayinlari, 1972 and 1989). I first translated the following two sections of this text for my own use, to get a better understanding of the lore that was built up over the centuries about calligraphy. These are authentic concepts, passed down from teachers to their students and refined over and over. Then I thought, others too may find it useful, so I present this translation here, for noncommercial, personal use, with the generous consent of Dr. Derman.

Mahmud Yazir (1895-1952) came from a family of famous scholars. A keen observer with a philosophical and critical mind, he studied calligraphy with Rakim Efendi, son of Bakkal Arif Efendi; Omer Vasfi (Deli Omer); Aziz Efendi; and Hulusi Efendi. His brother was the distinguished scholar and calligrapher Kucuk Hamdi Efendi (1878-1947). Mahmud Hoca absorbed the lore of the calligraphers first-hand, hearing it all in its natural setting, the calligraphy studio, and unadulterated, straight from the calligrapher’s mouth. Although he did not become a first-class master of the art, he did produce some interesting work. However, it is this book that is his masterpiece.

The importance of Yazir’s work in the study of Islamic art cannot be overstated. His exposure to European philosophical concepts only helped him to formulate his own concepts and observations and adapt them to a classic Islamic art. He thus became, arguably, the originator of a comprehensive general theory of Islamic art.

The work is full of great examples of calligraphy, chosen to illustrate his points. He also uses his own calligraphy for explication, often to illustrate negative features or even bad calligraphy.

His presentation of the concept of “the pen’s breath-like flow” is extremely important. This concept is part of all successfully realized art but is perhaps most easily perceived in music. “The breath-like flow”: this is what makes the line live, what makes the work delight, what blows the audience away. This is the secret of successful production. Can I do it? Certainly not. But it is important to recognize this flow in the masterworks.

The flow could be likened to the wind support of a musician, which produces a seemingly effortless follow-through from beginning to end, uniting the work and giving it motion and life. It is this flow that impels the music of a group like Il Giardino Armonico or master euphonium player Art Lehman beyond skill and craft to artistry, raising it above the plodding, metronomic performances of so many players.

Mahmud Hoca’s Turkish is difficult; indeed, many find his work impenetrable. I have added comments and explanations in square brackets throughout to aid in understanding, but my translation is nevertheless choppy. I tried to catch some of the work’s flavor, and I hope some of it comes through. I chose these two sections because of their significance and general applicability. They can be looked on independently or as a hint of what can be found in this magnificent but difficult work.—Mohamed Zakariya

The Flow of the Pen (Kalem Cereyani)

Kalem cereyani—this Turkish phrase, using words that come from Arabic, means the flow of the pen. Earlier Yazir Hoca says: “It is the state wherein the hand, pen, and ink all work together in a flowing way.” This is something different from moving the pen and the way ink flows and follows the pen. The great calligraphers [of Baghdad in the Abbasi Period] Ibn-i Hilal and Yakut have expressed this as “The pen should flow like the breath,” so that the effect of this flowing movement be seen in the calligraphy, or that it must be seen. Like the way breath flows, the pen too has natural and artificial types of flow. The aim “to flow like breath” is for the pen to advance and go with the utmost innately natural motion. It also means “With no effect of artificiality.” These concepts will need explanation.

[ILLUSTRATION FROM P. 230 TO COME]

In each of the shapes above, the trace the pen makes is different. I wonder what the reason is for the resemblances and non-resemblances among them? Can we say that the breath-like flow is seen each of them? With a superficial viewing, we cannot say yes or no. Because now, we still do not know what “breath-like flow” is. Because of that, to analyze each stroke, we need to know the reasons of how they will be used in connection. But we will state that it is virtually impossible to determine precisely in every instance what those reasons are. This is because the one who moves the pen might have directed it with care, or carelessly.

While moving the pen, it may or may not conform to the model or external or mental image. [That is, it may not go the way you want it to.]

Thus the resulting traces, even if they originate from the nature of the pen or not, whether or not there is the “breath-like flow,” without being able to distinguish between voluntary and compulsory traces, how can we say “breath-like flow”? Working with full knowledge, it is possible to have similar traces resemble each other. Motions that are made in a haphazard way will most likely make traces that will not resemble each other and perhaps this will be unavoidable. For, in intentionally made strokes, the will power dominates the movement. But in regard to the randomly made ones, the motion dominates the will power. In both situations too, the result might show the existence or nonexistence of the “breath-like flow.”

There is no doubt that the flow resulting from a purposely made movement is more artificial than natural. As for this calligraphy, in respect to its being made through an act of will, in full awareness of it being a work of art, what does the concept “natural” mean when it is sought in the breath-like flow? The breath-like flow that is in a piece of calligraphy must be such a different thing than in these so we must find an artistic expression for it that corresponds exactly with the natural fact itself. The abnormal traces which originate in conflict with these natural flowing strokes should be avoided, so that things like the breath-like flow and the natural characteristics within the voluntary motion can become manifest. To demonstrate this confusing point, let us look at Figure 206.

Figure 206 to Come

Here, an attempt was made to demonstrate as far as possible the pen’s natural flow. In order to keep this clearly in view, not a single part of it has been re-touched. The pen, although directed by the will consciously, and even though in a few spots the results will be seen to diverge from what was desired, a large part of it flows like the breath. For this reason, the pen’s flow exhibits from beginning to end a natural character. This character is the expression of that breath-like flow. This means that a natural flow originates from the will of the artist. The expression of the art, which is this naturalness, an expression of the art, at the same time expresses the nature of the pen itself. Or, under the domination of the writer’s will, the pen’s natural flow can be seen to flow like the breath. In other words, if the pen’s artificial flow can dissolve into the natural flow, the pen’s motions, ink, and writing which are associated with it [the flow] can gain the character of the breath-like flow.

In this case (see Figure 206) the parts which stand out conspicuously and express anomaly can be said to originate from this stipulation [The pen’s artificial flow dissolving into the natural flow] not being realized [put into effect]. Now, as one takes into account these two conditions, this important point becomes immediately apparent: Among the important points sought in a work of beautiful calligraphy is that, “In the flow of the pen in a calligraphic work, the quality of being natural must be total, or at least predominant.” The traces which display artificiality must not exist, but if so, they must be removed. In spite of the writing being from beginning to end a work of conscious will—in other words, being a work of art—not a bit of artificiality must be presented to view. Only to the degree that the expression “the breath is flowing” corresponds to the pen’s natural flow can the calligraphy gain the right to be considered beautiful. It makes no difference whether the pen is moved slowly or quickly. Therefore, we can say that seyyaliyet hususiyeti (the fluid characteristics) which are among the distinguishing qualities of the art of calligraphy … owe a debt to the “breath-like flow” of the pen.

Figure 204 to Come

When we look at Figure 204, it would be impossible not to see, from this viewpoint, what a poor state of flow is seen in it. [Figure 203 is an example of Mahmud Hoca’s own calligraphy—he is criticizing himself.] There is nothing in the traces of the pen that can be called the pen’s flow. The traces remaining in view of the distress and agitation between the hand and pen while writing are part of one another. The conflict between the inherent capacity for articulation and combination in letters and words, and with the natural and artificial motions cannot find a resolution. The labor and energy spent to allow such a resolution to take effect did not keep the artificial motions from predominating.

It is destiny that in cases like this that such things will happen to those who work at calligraphy. As long as one does not gain dominance over the pen, there is no probability of overcoming situations like these. Therefore, the masters of the art, in order to explain to their students these bitter and sad states, said, with the intent of increasing their students’ attention and zeal, “This writing is breathless. The hand and pen go to work like a beginner-servant. As long as the writer, while writing, does not protect his pen from being breathless, he will never get over this sickness.”

In summation, although it is said that “The pen’s flow may not be present, but even if it is, in a calligraphic work in which it does not flow like breath, the so-called quality of sehl-i mumteni [the quality of a difficult job done with such skill as to make it seem as if it were easy to do] required for the art, the quality which indicates the natural state, does not exist at all.” It can always be claimed that this destroys the work a little, or a lot. For instance, in Figure 207 we do not see even one letter that conforms to the rules of the talik script, nor expresses the natural flow required in this style. There isn’t a sign of even the artificial flow. But again, let us look at Figure 208. We see here the pen’s natural flow quite clearly. Regardless of whether one is writing the mufredat or the murekkebat [the beginner’s calligraphy lessons], one works to the utmost degree to make the work conform to the innate requirements of the art. For another look at such a flow, we can see it in Figure 80.

Figures 207, 208, and 80 to Come

For esthetically acceptable calligraphy, ensuring that the pen will have nefes gibi akisi (breath-like flow) the following points must be kept in mind:

1. The part of the pen’s edge (agzi) which contacts the paper must not be shaggy and worn, nor totally sharp. The condition of this sharp, freshly cut edge is called ham keskinlik, unripe sharpness. With such an open cut, it is impossible to give it a natural flow. Therefore, after cutting the pen, one must, by writing with it a bit [breaking it in], take away the unripeness, bringing the pen to a docile state and allowing it to flow like breath.

2. The paper must not be nappy and rough to the degree that it could restrain the flow of the pen. There must be between the pen and the paper such a kind of contact that each one does not spoil the other’s role.

   When the paper is too smooth and slippery, the pen writes on it as if on glass, and the resulting traces of the pen never express the desired, natural flow. Paper that grabs the pen also spoils the natural flow. Because of this, if obstacles like either of these occur, the calligrapher has to take them into account and handle the pen accordingly.

3. One must take care that there be not too much or too little ink on the tip of the pen. There must be just the right amount of ink to be sufficient for a motion and to ensure the breath-like flow. With a lot of ink flowing down the pen, putting pressure on the pen can spoil the flow. Also, with too little ink on the pen, the natural flow cannot be expressed. A part of a letter will be too full-bodied; the rest, puny. The flow is influenced by these two states, resulting in an abnormal appearance, as if the letters were written by two types of pens [wet and thick, and dry and narrow].

4. In order to ensure and protect the flow, the contact of the pen with the paper while writing must be made in conformity with the pen’s nature. Turn strokes, ascending and descending strokes, and long extended strokes must all be made according to the natural motion of the pen. If it becomes necessary to leave the pen, to stop the motion, this must not happen at random; rather, it must be done according to the requirements of the pen and the part of the letter being written [drawn] at that instant. One also needs to take account of the need to go slowly or quickly to produce the proper flow.

5. To protect the natural flow, one must not have the pen opposite or contrary to the proper direction for writing the letter or letters. Therefore, as can be seen in the Sulus, Nesih, and Celi Sulus scripts, it is always recommended that there be a slight leaning, looking to the fore [the left] in the direction of the flow.

6. The natural flow of the pen may exist, yet the resulting edges of the stroke can look raggedy, for several reasons. The opposite situation may also apply, although the edges of the stroke maybe quite sharp, the breath-like flow may not exist. Because of this, being seen as raggedy or sharp does not indicate the presence and naturalness of the flow, nor does it indicate its absence. Therefore it is necessary to take these qualities into account in writing, one by one. (In the previous examples, because we have thrown sufficient light upon them already, we see no need to go further.)

7. One must hold one’s breath while writing so that while the pen moves on, breath-like, the flow does not become “short of breath.” To breathe in and out does not necessarily impede the manifestation of the pen’s right, but it can give an artificiality to the flow.

8. When one takes the first look at this condition of the flow in a piece of writing, among the writing’s essential characteristics there must also be appropriateness. Because it is not possible to perceive this while in the act of writing, one cannot rest satisfied with the first manifestations of the writing. One must put the work away for a while, then look at it from a bit of a distance, checking the natural flow; then by constant checking, one must correct the conspicuous abnormalities.

   [A note by M. Ugur Derman: This reminds me of Sami Efendi (1836-1912), the most peerless in his attention to detail, a writer of Celi scripts, and the master of the last epoch of great calligraphers. After he would write a piece of calligraphy, he would put it away for a long time and not look at it. Months later, he would take it out and correct the defects he would spot. In this way, months, even years would pass. The corrections he would make would not give the work any sense of artificiality because of his great mastery. Truly, the masterpieces he would bring forth would petrify with wonder those who really understood the art. After he would finish a work, he would show it to his friends and students and tell them: “For the love of God, if you see a defect, tell me!” My teacher Necmeddin Okyay, a student of Sami’s, told me this.]

   [A note by Mohamed Zakariya: In a nutshell, this is why it is very difficult to do good work today; customers want their jobs done too quickly for the calligrapher to give them the proper course of examination and correction.]

9. It is necessary to know how to distinguish the natural flow of the pen from the artificial manifestations that come from the characteristics of the way any part of the writing is written. This point is very important. If we write the same letter five or ten times side by side and then compare them with each other, how many inconsistencies can be seen between these artificial manifestations and the natural flow! Because it is unavoidable for both the artificial and the natural to exist in these individual instances, it is not a simple matter for anybody to chose whether the pen will have a natural flow or not.

10. The calligrapher’s mental state must be in its natural condition. The hand’s motion must not be spoiled for whatever reason, internal or external. States like exhaustion, boredom, receiving bitter or sweet news, excessive fear, or indecisiveness will extract the naturalness from the pen’s flow.

11. The hand must both be submissive to the pen and dominate it. This domination, along with the harmonizing quality of naturalness, is a delicate and difficult page from the story of the art of writing. At first glance, it is very difficult to explain the concept of “naturalness within domination.” The hand, in order to give the pen its natural flow, leaves the pen free—that is, free enough to be sufficient for the action. But the pen will not be exactly submissive to this freedom; rather, the pen will apply this freedom by being dominated by the hand. In that case, to dominate the pen’s flow is more meaningfully expressed as “to dominate in giving it its own natural characteristics.” It is necessary to come to understand this, but that does not only mean to dominate the pen. Therefore, while practicing one of them [i.e., naturalness], it is necessary also to try to achieve the other [i.e., domination], since in some places and some situations one of them can spoil the other. Were it not for this possibility of spoiling, every hand could give the desired flow to the pen. But look how the pen wanders around!

    This is just as the calligrapher’s strong wristed-hand, while using the pen, is like the dominator of it. While writing he brings out the letterforms in the sharpest way. But this domination is not the same domination as that of which we spoke. This—the domination which gives the pen its natural flow—if it is not relaxed, the writing cannot be saved from abnormalities. Under the other kind of domination, because the pen becomes “short of breath,” there is no possibility for it to attain that breath-like flow. So it will be seen that to attain the natural mastery in the art is not merely a one-sided affair. In order to make this point more clearly, let us consider the next topic.

Natural Mastery in the Art (Sanatta Meleke)

Meleke [a word of Arabic origin meaning natural capability, mastery] means to become so accustomed to doing something that it becomes an innate condition of one’s being. The general character of meleke is: Its output is firm, its effect is strong, and it is usable on a constant basis. It can exist in degrees: humble, medium, and sublime. We have previously discussed acquiring meleke, the singular power that takes away the clash between art and nature. But this acquisition is not an absolute: To possess mastery in one aspect of the art does not guarantee perfection from every standpoint. It is, however, advantageous in developing perfection. One first should gain mastery in our topic; then it is necessary to come to a state of domination in all dimensions of the art. Just as it is not sufficient merely to be able to write this mufredat for this or that script beautifully, it is also necessary to acquire competence and complete domination and successful application in each of the topics under consideration.

The following few topics and aspects should be considered one by one, by seeing and doing, by perceiving and understanding:

• Arranging the letter elements in a word;
• giving the pen its rights;
• ensuring the pen’s natural flow;
• writing so the letter forms have sharp edges;
• making corrections conforming to these stated qualities;
• properly setting the writing elements on the line;
• appropriate action in writing compositions and the vowel marks; and
• being able to bring forth new and inventive qualities in calligraphic writing.

Therefore, in order to study each subject one by one, if only about its essential principles, one must take lessons from a master of the material, and spend years to gain experience.

Here I think it would be useful to take notice of a noteworthy event. While studying Celi Sulus with my teacher, the late Omer Vasfi Efendi, I benefited from studying famous works by Rakim, the Kadiasker [Kadiasker Mustafa Izzet], Sami, and a few other calligraphers via photographic copies. Then I wrote out the Koranic Ayet “Everything shall perish except his face” in Celi Sulus, with arsenic ink on black paper. I then went and showed it to my teacher. “This is not your writing!” he said.

Hearing this I was bewildered. My state didn’t escape his gaze, and he said laughing: “Yes, you may have written it, but it is not your writing. This is so because, if I am not deceived, you didn’t accomplish this completely on your own. By continuously looking at this or that writing you saw, you wrote trying to make your writing resemble theirs. Because the way the pen is placed, and pulled, and the ways of writing letters, shows this state, piece by piece [part by part], this expresses a variety of writing styles, not a unified approach. The “Kull” is Sami Efendi’s, the “Shey’in” is that of another—the writing goes from beginning to end in this way. By uniting the styles of various masters, you have made a brand new mixture! Even though it might please those who are not artists themselves, there is strangeness in the structure and the way it is written, a whiff of inexperience. It exudes a lack of mastery, it almost resembles asure [a pudding composed of many ingredients]. Have mercy, give your pen stability so that you can acquire the control of it you seek!”

He wrote a mesk [lesson] on a tiny piece of paper and told me to write the piece accordingly. He kept my original to correct it, and while giving me the mesk he said: “Perhaps a thought like this will occur to your mind: Since there exist many different examples, is it correct [or proper] to be bound to only one example? If your writing resembles mine from beginning to end, it will bear the character of being written by the very same pen. Thanks to this, it will be possible for you to give life to the values of a stable structure in your writing. Even if you are no Rakim Efendi, you can be a masterful calligrapher. You can benefit from studying the great works of the art, since to be a possessor of mastery means to be a dominator of the art. If you do not become a dominator of the art, you will dissolve like salt thrown into the sea. To have mastery in writing is something different than mastery in art. This is like someone who sets sail into the wind, ignorant of the consequences, and someone who stands up to the storm, with all prospects of reaching his destination—like a ship with a captain and a rudder. It is sufficient to know that in either case, you would be caught up in the storm, but you would know how to swim. Like art—the spirit of art and its mastery is like the storm and its waves. It is an endless, vast and dangerous sea. Think about this, and also the road you take, and its future. I wish that you do not consume the mastery you attain, nor your art, and that you do not waste your life.” He said this, may God have abundant mercy upon him.

It is understood from this advice that in order to obtain mastery in the art, one must look forward from the stage one is in and not be satisfied with one’s calligraphy and knowledge, nor to kill one’s artistic passion with egotistical pride. To recognize the better parts of one’s writing and to know the possibilities inherent in it, it is necessary to have recourse to legitimate means to obtain these possibilities. Moreover, apart from a work’s being praised, apart from that work’s being praiseworthy or not, it is something else to appreciate its artistic worth.

The artist himself must be able to grade his work before anyone else does. But the first stipulation of this is that the artist must have mastery of the art. Because the grade given for merely having mastery in writing, compared to mastery in the art, may be disgrace. However, when he confronts his work, even an artist who possesses mastery in the art cannot be spared being twisted by the sensation of a certain divine antipathy toward his work. This is the state when the capability and comprehensiveness of the mastery proportionately increase.When the artist cannot successfully deal with this increase, he wants to break his pen and throw it away. The high masters who have made revolutions in calligraphy and almost all those who have followed their methods for ages with drive and ardor have been elevated by this God-given perception and criticism. This perception is such a blessing that it protects a person from being afflicted with the catastrophe associated with being famous. The feeling of “drawing back to get close” (cekinerek yakinlasma) within which the artist works, under the light of the ideal, ensures the tranquility of heart that is required in order to advance. Securing this for oneself is an experienced mastery as well as a masterful accomplishment.

It is appropriate for us to say that precisely for this reason, meleke [mastery, natural skill], from whatever direction you observe it is a possession of the artist, which continuously elevates him.

Translation copyright 2003 by Mohamed Zakariya.