Led by a curiosity toward scale and pursued
through the words of Marcus Aurelius
inspiration/
Around two months into my coming back to calligraphy, when I didn’t yet know that scribing Moby Dick would eventually grow into a project of its own, the radial design developed during this daily practice sparked an interest in expansion and bursted into an urge to find out what it would be like to write bigger. Until then, I had been working relatively small; limited to the dimensions of my A4-size sketchbook, which only allowed a maximum writing surface of A3 when opened as a spread.
This piece gave me the chance to find out how writing is like when it took up more space physically, also in terms of dedication and consistency as well.
The dormitory-style housing in Nybyen is equipped with just the essentials. Small and perhaps a little cramped, but that is exactly what makes for a cozy nesting spot. In the entrance of the building, I had been eyeing a large table that was just sitting there, and thanks to Angie, Jan, and John, I got to move it into my room. From that moment on, my already space-limited room was fully dominated by the theme: TABLE!
The table is placed right in front of the window. As daylight was slowly being swallowed away by the approaching polar night in October, I witnessed the season shifting second by second as I wrote on stroke by stroke. The roaming reindeers and the occasional trotting fox echoed the dancing stillness of the mountain backdrop. I got the whole world writing with me.
kickstart/
kickstart/
Coming back to calligraphy is one of the intentions I brought to Svalbard with me, without any idea of how inspiration would unfold. Needless to say, I also had no clue where to get my paws on paper large enough to get Meditations going. Luckily, Eileen, a smiley, friendly printmaking artist-in-residence at Artica, shared with me that it might be possible to buy paper there.
Pointed in the right direction and thanks to Artica, one evening, I got to hike that 2.5 kilometers home in a snowstorm with a black-plastic-bag-wrapped paper roll. Somehow, we all made it back intact.
process/
I didn’t realize how spoiled I’d been by the dotted grids in my sketchbooks until I was faced with a giant pool of blankness. Drawing the grid by hand from zero quickly became confusing. I made so many errors: Draw, Uh-oh, Erase, Repeat. And somewhere in the middle of writing, I still managed to only just discover a mistake in the grid that threw off the centering.
The final work isn’t sitting in the center of the page, which was resolved during framing. But now I wonder if I should have left it crooked, let it be part of the piece—a reminder that our sense of “perfect” often dissolves when we’re engaged in the doing rather than the final result.
Just like with Moby Dick is the Practice, I find that scribing messages I want to absorb is a great way to hit two Arctic terns (Sorry bird, I promise I’d never actually throw a rock at you). This piece covers the first two books, out of twelve, of Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations.
Book 1 places emphasis on gratitude and acknowledgment toward those who influenced Marcus' character: family, teachers, mentors, and even emperors. This book sets the stage for everything that follows. As I wrote, countless faces came to mind (far too many to list, but maybe one day). It put me on the spot to recognize that my progress cannot be realized simply through the commitment of my fingertips, but is pushed forward by the spirit of those who have lifted me up. My eyes sometimes got too watery and I had to take breaks from writing.
Book 2 discusses how to begin each day with readiness, humility, and reason. A reminder not to waver or be corrupted by rudeness, selfishness, or ignorance. It reasons the acceptance of the natural order of the universe, the cultivation of discipline, rational thought, and inward peace. It holds the idea that life is for each presence, not to be drowned in pain and complaint, nor lost chasing pleasure and fame.
When the idea was first forming, the story I made up in my mind was that it would be a challenge. Yet somehow, intimidation never arose during the making. It simply felt like something I was doing now, so I did, naturally. With unintended ease, it was finished almost too fast! This piece carries recognitions softened by gratitude and flourishes steadily with intention. Looking back, that crooked guideline embodies a kind of Stoicism that isn’t afraid to examine flaws without judgment.
Perfection isn’t the Point;
Virtue in the Action is.
Writing is only a medium to keep what matters close.
process/
process/
• Svalbard / October 2024
• Hahnemühle Mould-Made Printmaking Board, 300 g/m²
• 78 × 106 cm
• Pilot Parallel Pen (0.5 & 1.2 mm), red & black
This paper, made for printmaking, has a beautiful texture and weight that offers fine lines I’ve never experienced with the mediocre sketchbook I use for daily practice (sorry, Moby). Its thickness gave the letters a slightly rusty vibe—an unexpected gift that added character with every stroke.
aftermath/
I was terrified the piece could get ruined, but having a photoshoot in front of the snow-covered valley felt too fun to pass up. What if one snowflake soaked through and blurred it into nothing? After all that work... was it worth the risk?
Wendy, a like-minded illustrator who offered more than just constant encouragement and generous spirit, also became the photographer. She captured me holding the final work against the landscape that took our breath away every single day.
After days of snowstorms blowing through town, we anxiously tried to time the last bit of Arctic light before polar night fully settled in.
Wait, not yet.
Maybe tomorrow.
Now?
Now.
The wrapped-up piece, anxiously waiting for the right moment, was finally dragged out into the powder snow.
We stood exposed under that quiet slice of life.
aftermath/
I was kindly given a tube to travel with the finished Meditations when my one-hundred-day stay in the north was up. The best part of making things has always been the making itself, and I’m often unsure what to do with the finished work at the end. Now as a full-time traveler, it’s an even bigger headache. Do I continue carrying it from place to place? Luckily, it took no convincing for my friend Eric to let this now-framed big guy live rent-free in the Netherlands.
The most meaningful part is always in the making. Sitting at the big table each day, showing up. Now that it’s done, I’m still learning what it means to have finished it. The real work lives in the process more than in that final result that is now hanging on a wall.
I was expecting the process to be challenging, but it came together steadily—almost too fast, really. There was no moment wasted on doubting whether I could do it. That steadiness, and faith, really surprised me in the best way possible. It’s now a driving force to plan bigger formats in the future.
