Writing and Dancing

“You draw the hips, curving the body here, and then letting yourself go once you reach the top,” explains my calligraphy professor, all the while drawing a “yeh” on the board. Some of the girls are giggling, but he is aloof to the humorous nature of his analogies. He does this all with a stern face.

“Loosen up your ‘seen’s,’ shake a little here, and then stretch!” I wonder if this is illegal in this Islamic Republic classroom: making our words dance in public. Provocatively moving our alphabet on the page, with suggestive rhythm that’s bound to dispatch public morals into decadence. “Loosen your ‘seen’s’,” he says to me. I can’t! Not with Big Brother watching.

This is calligraphy 101, and we are being taught the art of Nastaliq calligraphy: “The Bride” of all other forms of calligraphy, as our dancing instructor... I mean, um, professor, refers to it. She's beautiful, this bride of ours. She is also an Iranian bride, Ms. Nastaliq, because the art of calligraphy was a movement that was very much pursued by Iranians, or so our books say (they tend to be very Iranocentric).

Prior to the integration of the Arabic alphabet into Persian writing, Avesta, the ancient Zoroastrian book, was written calligraphically. For better or worse, Persians were very concerned about the aesthetic beauty of the written word. In the post-Islamic era, one the first developers of the art was Ibn Moqla. His parents were of Persian origin, but he was born in Baghdad, where he studied and held political office in the Caliph’s palace in the 10th century. Ibn Moqla was very learned and the master calligrapher of his time But the ruling authorities, who are usually inept, began to feel threatened by Ibn Moqla’s artistic, intellectual, and political aptitude.

The Caliph accused Ibn Moqla of treason, cut off his right arm, and threw him in the dungeon. Ibn Moqla, defiant and unbroken, attached a qalam to what remained of his arm, and endlessly practiced writing until he once again mastered the calligraphic art! The Caliph was not at all impressed by this endurance of the human spirit, so he once again took up the knife and this time cut off Ibn Moqla’s head. The Caliph figured that was the end of him, once and for all. But alas, Ibn Moqla’s naskh writing still exists today.

So I gather calligraphy is not just a pretty bride; it can also be used to draw political position.

Back in the classroom, “You are either above the line, on it, or below it,” says my calligraphy professor. Like a vertical version of the political spectrum: Top, Middle, Bottom, instead of the established Right, Middle, and Left—the Middle Moderates are a constant though; they don’t move. No matter how we revolutionize the system, they will always moderately position themselves on the middle fence. It reminds me of moderate President Khatami, who writes beautiful Nastaliq and has been sitting on that fence for nearly eight years now. Unable to condemn the conservatives and unwilling to support the reformers. Not even the earthquake in Bam shook him off that fence. But what am I saying, I could have my left arm cut off.

Eight to ten hours a day- that’s how much time the masters spend trying to perfect the art of calligraphy. There’s an intimidating building on ValiAsr Street here in Tehran, owned by the Calligrapher’s Association, which is a bourgeoisie intellectual circle, supported by the state. Hence, the importance of having nice writing continues among Iranians to this day, for one cannot be learned and cultured yet write improper ‘yeh’s’ and ‘seen’s.’

Like any other art, calligraphy is not just about mastering a technique, it requires soul: you have to ‘feel’ the words as you write them. You must aspire to reach the truth in the streaming movement of lines that transcend the physical world and arrive at tawhid, Divine Unity. Becoming One with the Word. Your rivers of ink must find their way to the Ocean. A form of worship; a spiritual dance of the qalam. In pursuit of understanding, truth through beauty.

The professor looks over what I’ve written so far. “Let me see. Yes, you are quite smart!” He said it, not me. “Smart but stubborn,” he turns towards me, “At your age, you have to be a little more easygoing. Life is but a two-day journey. Don’t frustrate yourself with the little things.”

I’m intrigued but not convinced of my graphology reading, so I ask him, “How can you tell all these things?” glancing over the page.

“Why, from your writing!” he tells me, like it is exceedingly obvious. Now he is thinking: maybe she’s not that smart after all. He gets down to the technical mistakes. “Your ‘dal’s’ need to be more closed, see, like the beak of a songbird,” and he draws me a birdie bird. “Your ‘noon’ has big thighs,” and so we perform liposuction with the eraser. “The hat on your ‘alif’ is too big.” But I like big hats!

There seems to be no room for individuality in this art. Nastaliq calligraphy follows mathematical geometric codes of proportion; the thickness and length of each line is a fraction of six dots. Under this system, there’s only one Right way to write (and no leaning to the Left is allowed). So we are working with pre-established rules where beauty is standardized. She is only a bride because the groom paid to throw her a wedding.

Femininity seldom shows up in the Iranian arts, and when allusions are made, they are very, very subtle. I seem to have stumbled into a bolder expression of femininity in this calligraphy class. But she can’t wear big hats, she can’t have big thighs, and her dance is limited by beats of six. She is (surprise, surprise) bound by male-defined notions of ‘beauty.’

Mastering an art requires that one internalize the laws that govern that particular mode of self-expression. Before any leftist feminist comes along and prescribes to diversify Ms. Nastaliq’s fashion senses and emancipate her from the Atkins diet, a thorough understanding of what has shaped herstory is necessary. Before uniqueness can be articulated, the units which constitute that particular language must be learned (which could cost an arm or two). Laws and institutions can only be changed or even justifiably dismantled when one has lived under their governing conditions. Prescriptions from outsider emancipators are mere Bushisms. Life is but a two-day journey.

There goes the bell. That’s enough dancing for today.

Nassim Mobasher is a Canadian political science student. She recently returned after spending a year in Iran.