How does time become a material in its own right?

 

Its intrigued me for years how time can change the way a material behaves, especially how a vintage tee softens and drapes differently as it ages. I see the same thing very clearly in sumi ink.

 

 

In making sumi ink, time is the element that lets the material become itself. It spends years drying. Soot and glue slowly turn into a dense ink stick that already carries a history before it ever touches water. When you hold it, you’re holding time in a solid form. To turn all that stored time into liquid ink, you have to add a little of your own. 

 

 

You wet the inkstone and start to grind the ink stick in small circles. You listen to the sound, feel the pace, watch the water slowly darken. This is a ritual, trading your minutes for its years. It forces you to slow down, and with each use you begin to feel the time and care that went into making a single sumi ink stick.

 

 

Unlike synthetic ink, sumi ink rarely settles into a flat, uniform black. It breaks into subtle tones of blue or brown, depending on how much water you use and how long you grind. The same stick can give you a different shade every time. That unpredictability gives each sumi ink it’s own character and is what makes it feel alive.

 

 

When sumi ink touches paper and begins to sink in, a slow change starts. Just as the calligrapher changes, the sumi ink will also shift in tone over the years. Calligraphers who choose sumi ink over synthetic ink value the ritual of turning the stick into liquid. The grinding calms and focuses the mind before any line is drawn. It changes the way writing feels, as if the quality of the sumi ink carries over into the quality of the calligraphy itself. A master calligrapher can feel the difference in the smoothness of the stroke and in how far the ink will stretch before it breaks.

 

 

In a world that moves quickly, choosing materials that carry time is simply choosing how you want to live with the things you own.