Stephen Houston (Brown University)

“If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient.” [Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen, Vol. 2, Chap. 8]

A renowned example of Chinese calligraphy, Ritual to Pray for a Good Harvest, by Wang Xizhi (王羲之, AD 303 to c. 361), is known less for its size — a mere 15 characters on a slip of paper — than the 372 cm-long scroll in which it is found (Kern 2015:117; Figure 1). On that far larger document, composed of mounted and trimmed snips of silk and paper, three Chinese emperors and a string of connoisseurs left comments and seal impressions. Some were proud to own work by a celebrated calligrapher. They were yet more proud, perhaps, to make that discernment known to later owners and viewers. It could not always have been for content. Cherished by collectors, a few copies of Wang Xizhi’s letters referred to evenings in which the calligrapher “vomited heavily, ate little food, and vomited again” (Harrist 1995:244; Ledderose 1979:3–5). For collectors, there was also a certain anxiety. Was this or that work actually by Wang Xizhi? For Ritual to Pray, the Emperor Qianlong felt sure of it, in that the scroll achieved, in his words, an effect beyond “what a tracing copy can do” (Kern 2015:127).

 

That he was wrong — by some accounts, not a single original work of Wang Xizhi survives today— is less important than the purported tie to a master (Kern 2015:118–19). The association exalted the owner and burnished his reputation as a savant and connoisseur, especially during the second quarter of the first millennium AD. In China, that was when, according to one view, “individual voices within society” came to the fore in a milieu of literati and eminent, identifiable painters (Wu Hung 1997:43–46). [Note 1] Samples of writing by Wang Xizhi and others became the focus of learned discussion (Clunas 2017:110). By the late Ming dynasty, appraisal of calligraphy could clarify one’s sense of self, elevating the appraiser through a process of aesthetic and moral communion with a distinguished calligrapher (Qianshen Bai 2003:10–11). In this sense, at least aesthetically, a formidable figure such as Qianlong could look laterally at — or even up to — Wang Xizhi. He was not alone in these practices. Among the Mughals of India, the Emperor Jahangir (r. 1605–1627) enacted, out of a wish to control representation, a “metamorphosis of the court painter into imperial intimate” (Rice 2023:52, 54). [Note 2] A vast inequality of social station gave way to something else. In Imperial China, at least in the narrow realm of calligraphy, the fiction of collegiality and shared practice could mask profound differences in rank.

Far away, the Classic Maya had roughly similar ideas. Named painters have been known since 1986, when they were first identifed by David Stuart (Stuart 1989; n.b.: the conceptual stress seems to have been on writing per se, not the brush- or quill-work of imagery [Houston 2016:392]). Over twenty signatures are attested, including some that follow an expression for “says,” che-he-na, thus bridging the domains of writing and utterance (Grube 1998; Houston 2016:393). Notably, one painter, Sak Mo’, active in the area of Tikal and Uaxactun (and predisposed to rim-band texts in alternating groups of two glyphs with red and white backgrounds), used only that expression, hinting at further subtleties of practice and meaning (Kerr #1256, 3395; Love and Rubenstein 2021:488–89). [Note 3] To name a calligrapher was unusual. Not one, secure signature is documented for the large and expert production of so-called “Codex-style” pots, yet a large number come from the relatively small kingdom of Motul de San José and adjacent areas of eastern Lake Peten Itza in Guatemala (Just 2012:132–53; Tokovinine and Zender 2012:60–61, table 2.2). These ceramics were plausibly made by only two generations of painters who “almost certainly knew each other or trained in the same ateliers” (Houston 2016:396). Ceramics from the ateliers were much prized, making their way far beyond their kingdom.

An all-glyphic plate from the 8th-century AD is unique in the linkage of owner to calligrapher in a “fraternity” of shared practice (Figure 2). Photographed by Nicholas Hellmuth in the mid to late 1970s, it is documented in the form of 35 mm images, now at Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, D.C. The object was probably in Guatemala City, and it seems then to have entered a private collection in Florida (Donald Hales, personal communication, 2024). We do know the plate was large. In its holdings, the Canterbury Museum in New Zealand has a rare box of Verichrome Pan Film, with a noted box size of 36 mm in section. Extrapolating from those dimensions and the presence of such a box in Figure 3 yields an approximate diameter of 44 cm, a height of body at 7.2 cm, and of its tripod supports, each in the shape of a slightly misshapen Ik’ sign with central perforation, at 10 cm, for an overall height of about 17 cm. Wall thickness was ca. 1.8 cm, to judge from the surviving slab foot. In comparison, a large plate in Codex-style at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (2021.320) is about 42 cm across (this was also a jawte’ ceramic, see below). Ambitious painting needed expansive spaces, even if restricted by the medium of a fired-clay plate.

 

 

The disposition of glyphs is almost numerological: 18 glyph blocks (2 x 9) circle its everted, slightly concave body, and, in its interior, four sets of texts consist of 9 glyph blocks each, with a final, much eroded set of 9 in the center (Figure 4). Together, these total 18 glyphs around the rim, 45 in the interior, for an overall sum of 63 glyph blocks (9 x 7). The numbers “9” and “7” have a distinct resonance in Classic usage, the latter evidently with the meaning of “many,” both “9” and “7” being further tied to supra-kingdom partitions in the southern Lowlands of the Maya world (Beliaev 2000; Tokovinine 2013:98–110, figs. 53–56). The exterior glyphs are approximately 1/2 the height of the support, and the interior glyphs about 1/2 the size of the exterior. For the glyphs within, the awkward shift from sloping to flat surface resulted in a skewing of block alignments. The overall layout of the 5 interior texts seems also to go awry, and the central text in particular has slightly larger glyphs and a misalignment with the other texts. The interior would presumably be read from a seated position, by revolving the plate; the reader would look down at about a 45 degree angle to understand the text. The horizontal, exterior glyphs would be best seen while holding up the plate. As with any Maya painting or inscription, reading was kinetic, the result of grasping or moving around an object or carving.

Many Maya ceramics, or more accurately those with texts, refer to themselves. As much items of “furniture” as receptacles, certain plates on supports, particularly those of substantial size, went by ja(w)te’, obvious kin to words for “face up” in Ch’orti’, jaw-; the te’, “wood,” potentially reflects the default material for many receptacles — most such materials are long decayed (Houston et al. 1989; see Hull 2016:165, and, on wood, Houston 2014:43–44). On the Hellmuth plate this term occurs at positions G1–N1 and U2–U3 (Figures 4 and 5a, b). The plate has another label: ya-ja-la-*ji-bi, documented on other plates, with a clear instrumental suffix (-Vb) but an opaque root and attached particle (ajal-[a]j, Figure 5c, cf. Figure 5d, private collection, Guatemala City; Boot 2004). [Note 4]. The painter gave himself flexibility by deploying ergative pronouns, agentive particles, and syllabic or logographic reinforcements in separate glyph blocks, hence spellings like u ja-TE’ (U2–U3), ‘a-6-KAB ba (A’1–A’2), KALOOM TE’ (D’2–D’3). Jawte’ appears to have taken pride of place over ajal(j)ib, although, to judge from couplets on other dishes, both described the same ceramic (Figure 5e; see also Polyukhovych and Looper 2019:fig. 4). In addition, the plate was known as a lak, shown in the text as a stylized bowl with two tamales (Figure 5c; Houston et al. 1989). Steamed breads doubtless filled the bowl and, over time, led to erosion of its center. Perhaps, in an etiquette now lost, the layout of text blocks on the plate dictated the positioning and heaping of this or that tamale.

The owner of the bowl was a “great youth,” chak ch’ok, close to their majority (I1–J1, Figure 6; see Houston 2018:44–50, 67–71). The plate itself may have been bestowed at that life passage. What distinguishes the text is that the scribe is named separately, at positions Q1–R1. He is associated with the Ik’ kingdom, ‘a-IK’-‘a, “he of the wind-water,” probably a reference to Lake Peten Itza, Guatemala, and, in another glyph block, to a region called “7 Tzuk” (Tokovinine 2013:figs. 15b, 53, 54, 60d). Other texts indicate that 7 Tzuk extended in an east-west band from what is now western Belize to a string of lakes in the central Peten; within it were the dynasties of Holmul, Naranjo, Yaxha, and Motul de San José (Tokovinine 2013:98–99). The scribe is said to have raised (t’abayi) the writing (u-tz’i bi), almost in the manner of an offering (N1–P1). [Note 5]. There are other passages in the interior text that moor its owner to the area of Naranjo (‘a-6-KAB ba, A’1-A’2), perhaps from the “land” (ch’e’n, A’3) of a higher-ranking lord (6-KAB AJAW, B’2-C’2). [Note 6]. Seemingly, the overall sponsor (u KAB?, B’3) was yet another person, a kaloomte’ or figure of the highest rank (D’2–D’3).

 

The geography of these figure thus ranges from the Ik’ kingdom — homeland of the scribe — to the area of Naranjo, Guatemala, well to the east of Lake Peten Itza, heartland of the Ik’ dynasty. A second epithet, 6 Kab Ajaw, concerns someone involved in the making of the plate and its painted text. He also went by the title, ‘a? TI’-MUT. Difficult to parse, this expression may, in its first glyph, record more than a simple agentive. Option 1: he came from the “edge” or “margins” (ti’) of Tikal (mut). Option 2:  he was the “speaker” or herald (ti’, from “mouth, language”) of that potent city (see Stuart 2023, for discussion of mut). In either case, the description situates him to the west of Naranjo, closer to Tikal. There is much here, then, about a particular object and its nesting within a web of social relations. The plate had an owner, a “great youth,” and a scribe from what a place famed for its calligraphers. Lurking in the background were at least two people of progressively higher rank.

Because of its size, high supports, and use of distinct expressions, the plate resembles pottery from Xultun, a large site northwest of Naranjo. This is reflected, too, in its use of phrases like u-yu-lu and u-CH’E’N-na, along with the separation of ergative pronouns into their own glyph blocks (K2295, 4387, 4909, 8007, 8732, 9271; also Garrison and Stuart 2004; Houston 2021; Krempel and Matteo 2012; Luin et al. 2018; Polyukhovych and Looper 2019; Prager et al. 2010; Rossi and Stuart 2020). One vase, from an area to the north of Xultun, specifies an owner to the north of that site, towards Río Azul, Guatemala (Figure 7, Tokovinine 2013:17–18, fig. 8). It also  mentions a scribe from Lake Peten Itza and underscores his foreign roots: the painter is from the 7 Tzuk province, while the owner hails from “13 Tzuk,” around Tikal, Río Azul, and Xultun (Tokovinine 2013:102, fig. 55). At this time, in the central and northeastern Peten, Guatemala, scribes from a kingdom known for calligraphy stirred from home and found employment with foreign kings. It may be a coincidence, but the large supports of the Hellmuth plate take the shape of the “wind” sign, Ik’, a possible allusion to the scribe’s homeland; multiples of “7” glyph blocks resonate with 7 Tzuk, his land of origin.

One glyph block deserves attention. The original owner of the Hellmuth plate, a youth from an area northwest, perhaps, from Naranjo, south of Xultun, and east from Tikal, was said to be a scribe, ‘a-tz’i-bi (K1). Whether this label was true is less relevant that its assertion. A plate endowed with a large number of glyphs, to the exclusion of imagery, savors of someone who appreciated the calligraphic arts…or, rather, someone who should be so inclined, in a gift offered at the threshold of adult life, under the sponsorship of important lords and magnates. The rhythm of the text leads from his name to that of the actual scribe. He is not alone in joining a “fraternity” of skilled, manual practice. A royal sculptor, offspring of the king, is also recorded at the city of Motul de San José, flanked by the names of two sculptors (Houston 2016:fig. 13.9). Likely the actual authors of the work, they nonetheless conceded a central position to the prince. The Hellmuth plate attests to similar yearnings, claiming an equalization of ability that was more revealing than persuasive.

 

[Note 1]  Calligraphy from the legendary “inventor” of Chinese script, Cangjie, was said to have survived to the Ming period, but the idea was ridiculed at the time (Clunas 2017:7–8, fig. 1.4).

[Note 2]  For Persian analogies, see Welch (1976:190–91), who also emphasizes how such relationships depended on the personality of the patron and the ability of painters to leave such service. For an especially esteemed image, the Mughal emperors might award an elephant(!) to a favored artist; other paintings, some of them war booty, were collected by the emperors or sent as diplomatic gifts (Beach 1997:212). Jahangir delighted in being able to recognize the hands of certain painters, who began to be labeled overtly in his reign and that of his successor, Shah Jahān, r. 1628–1658 (Beach 1997:212).

[Note 3]  Names identified with che-he-na or u tz’ib/tz’ihb, “his writing/painting,” may be mutually exclusive. There is also the suspicion that variant spellings of tz’ib (tz’i-bi) or tz’ihb (tz’i-ba) signal different meanings, the first being, perhaps, the residue of ink on a surface, the second the act of leaving that ink. There is another morphological difference. An appended -IL sign tends to be preceded by u-tz’i-ba, not u-tz’i-bi. That is, the patterns are non-random, and the spellings are not in free substitution. There are two che-he-na spellings on the Hellmuth plate, at Y1 and less clearly at E’1, in a pattern being studied generally by Morgan Clark for her doctoral work at Brown University. One spelling is followed, at Z1, but what appears to be glyph for formal utterance or prophecy: u-mu-ti?-IL?, u muutil, “his news, fame, word” (Barrera Vásquez et al. 1980:542; see Dresden Codex 17b, 18b).

[Note 4]  The scribe on the plate favors phonological elisions, as in the missing /w/ in jawte’ or second /j/ in –ajaljib.

[Note 5]  In a personal communication, Donald Hales notes that there is another ceramic, a jay or drinking cup, by this very scribe, evidently with the same owner (K5838, for jay reading, see Hull 2003:419, photograph below by Justin Kerr). This flat-bottomed bowl is now in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (M2010.115.604, ex-Lewis Ranieri Collection). Its exterior text is highlighted by the same blobs of pink as on the Hellmuth plate, although with a misspelling, the ja and na syllables being incorrectly transposed. 

Compare with an image sent by Mr. Hales, photographed by Lee Moore, composited by Paul Johnson:

To speculate: these two objects may well have been made as a set — not as a bridal trousseau, naturally, for they belonged to a chak ch’ok, but as equipment for another rite of passage, the transition to male adulthood at court. Mary Miller has explored such sets in an incisive study of mortuary materials (Miller 2022).

[Note 6]  In these contexts, the exact meaning of the ch’e’n expression is unclear. Does it refer to “land” or “cave,” as David Stuart proposed (Vogt and Stuart 2005), or is there some topographic metaphor for a concave or cylindrical receptacle, hence referring to the ceramic itself?

Acknowledgements  My thanks go to Nicholas Hellmuth for allowing use of images from his archive at Dumbarton Oaks (DO), Morgan Clark for reminding me of these photographs, which I first saw in 1985 as a Junior Fellow at DO, and Bettina Smith of DO’s Image Collections and Fieldwork Archives (ICFA) for guiding me as to their use. Jeffrey Moser gave good leads, as did Donald Hales. I was further encouraged by comments from Simon Martin and David Stuart.

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