My formal training is in Western calligraphy, where broad-nib pens and other flat tools move the ink. But since my early studies, the boundaries between Eastern and Western calligraphy have been blurred. I often grind ink on an ink stone — a practice from both Chinese and Japanese calligraphy. Paying attention to my breath as I make marks is a large part of my awareness, as is being in touch with the chi flowing through my body, both of which come from eastern practices.

The gestures of calligraphy come into play here: the movement of my arm, the sweeping mark of a flourish. The flow of ink, the place where liquid black meets water, laying down watercolor washes and areas of color, using blank space as an integral part of design — this is exciting to me. Bringing traditions from illuminated manuscripts into modern abstract painting is also important to me as a way of honoring my calligraphic heritage. I often use 23k gold leaf and some of my pieces keep the small and precious feeling from those early books.

It is a similar process with writing poetry. It comes from a place of intuition, from setting up a practice and keeping with it. The two have worked hand-in-hand with me for many years. Each discipline pushes the other to new depths. It’s like doing collaboration with someone I work with really well.