Here at the frontier, the leaves fall like rain. Although my neighbors are all barbarians, and you, you are a thousand miles away, there are still two cups at my table.


Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn, a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter. If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things, this is the best season of your life.

~ Wu-men ~


Sunday, April 19, 2026

An Aesthetic of Taijiquan Practice


Over at Thoughts on Tai Chi, there as a recent post about the poetry within Taijiquan practice. I believe this applies to any martial art. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

 

The real poetry in Tai Chi is in its simplicity. The problem is that it’s nothing you can show to others, it’s something invisible.

All high arts strive towards simplicity. Why? Because you can judge all high art forms by the perfection in its details. And here is the thing: The more simple something is, the harder it is to perfect.

  • Holding one high note is harder than just sing “anything”
  • Making pottery perfectly straight, thin and absolutely even is harder than making curvy shapes
  • In Chinese calligraphy, single brush strokes should be practiced thousands of times before trying to connect two together.

There are so many more examples that would make the same point. But it is also the same in martial arts. Even though I am not a fan of Japanese martial arts in general, I still think they often do a better job at this than in the Chinese. Just look at Kendo, Iaido or Japanese bow arts – they are all about perfecting one single strike, one single shot. Endless repetition of something seemingly simple.

Even a seemingly crude and unsophisticated style as Karate, compared to Chinese martial arts, does something very well. It only has a few types of kicks and punches that are repeated and perfected. Here is something I really respect, the philosophy that less is more. Or like Bruse Lee famously said: “I don’t fear someone who has trained ten thousand kicks once, but someone who as trained one kick ten thousand times.” This is a generalization of course, but it certainly makes a good point.

And I believe that this type of mind-set is also something that separates great Tai Chi practitioners from the mediocre ones. The mediocre ones are always obsessed about visual appearance. They like to train in Chinese traditional clothes, they like a ceremony around the practice and in class, and everything around the art. And obviously – they like collecting forms, both empty handed and weapon forms.

And the worst Tai Chi practitioners do everything out of own vanity and ego, they want to feel they know something “special” and look pretty while practicing. Some are lost cases. How much they train, they can never understand Tai Chi, because they are not interested in the art itself, but they use it as a tool to feel superior to others.

And on the other side of the spectrum, there are those who only focus on the perfection of every single movement they do. Just to raise hands, or turn to the right, becomes something very difficult, something they spend years and years to perfect. They practice on how to feel how the balance and weight distribution in their own body changes by every little small shift and movement. They study years and years to embody the simple Tai Chi principles in every movement and all of the time.

Poetry means to cut away everything unnecessary, and to strive for the most simple and clear expression possible. You can show poetry through words and sounds. But when you achieve it in Tai Chi, it looks like “nothing”. Because you can’t see it.

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