It is human thought when it falters and weaves its dream in a late hour of consciousness, and when the compass of the dream loses the art of leading horses to unbridled equestrian stables towards beauty, and the good conduct of collective memory.
Today, when the feather of the Arabic calligraphy has been left to the typewriter, it has become unreasonable to rely on the ink of the beautiful time, and it has been replaced by the clicks of the magical device in order to take the place of the fingertips that have written, and drawn in awareness the meaning of aesthetics on a bright white paper without bad.
This expression, in fact, expresses a human reality that seized the joints of his consciousness, the claws of the reckless scientific revolution, and affected the feelings of aesthetics, which lost them the charm of the self when it is free and without scratches or frills that obstruct the steps of the feather on the source of creativity, and how not while we became prisoners of the cracks of the machine and gears in her machine.
Whoever observes the behavior of an entire generation sees in the hearts what drought has afflicted the lands of that conscience, making it pale to the point of mediocrity, dejected to the point of darkness, because emotional drought is the result of days in which the sun of beauty has disappeared, which in turn is the first manufacturer of blood flows in human veins, and this person has lost his way to Touch the aesthetic spirit in the things around him.
We do not condemn the machine as much as we blame the human being who accepted being part of the machine’s components and not its leader. Meditation. And the possibility of touching that transparent part is the queen of the mind, as the mind has become just a machine that spins monotonously and without awareness of the importance of being lovers, and it is the abundant emotion that gives us the field of love for things in nature, and nature is nothing but the store of delicate dreams that we hung a long time ago on a pedestal dominated by the burning sun And make him a miserable fossil that is of no use except as a place for remembrance.
Today we remember that noble teacher who holds the tip of our trembling hands and walks the pen slowly until we complete a useful sentence adorned with Arabic calligraphy that has a unique feature that is unmatched by any language in the world.
This is not a bias in the language of the antidote, but rather this is the instinct of our language, and this is its nature that we broke when we thought that a rigid device could be the best alternative to the beauty industry.
Today, as we live in the midst of the turmoil of the twenty-first century, Arabic calligraphy feels a majestic loneliness and panic when the plate becomes empty from touching the tender fingers, and when the words written in Naskh or ruq’ah are just a memory of a bygone time.
We need a new sharpener that restores the tip of the pen in order to write again and not listen much to the clicks of the deaf device. We need a teacher to teach us how not to deviate the memory of the pen.
#Arabic #calligraphy #astray