The Art of the Straight Line: My Tai Chi

Lou Doing Tai Chi in the Afterlife, Ramuntcho Matta, watercolor, 2016

Dedication

Ren GuangYi’s hand from Tai Chi’s classic Single Whip technique, Lou Reed

Lou Reed

The editors would like to dedicate

The Art of the Straight Line

to Hal Willner, Bill O’Connor, and Mick Rock, all of

whom died while we were making this book.

Daily practice on the roof overlooking the Hudson River, Ren GuangYi

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

My Tai Chi by Lou Reed

Foreword by Laurie Anderson

Making a Book: A. M. Homes

1. What is Tai Chi?

2. Starting Out

3. Practice

4. Chen Village

5. Ren Guangyi

6. Meditation

7. Tai Chi in Art

8. Tai Chi on Tour

9. Tai Chi in Public

10. Mastery

Notes from the Editors

Afterword by Laurie Anderson

Photo Section

About the Authors

Copyright

About the Publisher

My Tai Chi

Lou on the phone

Ren GuangYi

Over the years I’ve been asked: How do you stay in shape? How do you take care of your back? Knees? Various joints that start to lose their elasticity as we age? The answer? The Four Noble Truths—there is suffering, the cause of suffering, the end of suffering, and the path that leads to the end of suffering.

So life is suffering. We all age. We all know it. We watch our parents, our friends wither, struck down by time. I watched my cousin Shirley, at 102, endure this. She said it was too much. She wished it was over. I asked her what her secret was to deal with the endless pain, the hospitals, the inability to see—macular degeneration. Her mind so sharp, she said, What can you do? This was her particular wisdom.

People ask about getting old because they know I probably shouldn’t be here—a study in reckless excess. Yet here I am, and at age sixty-eight.

I have studied Tai Chi for more than twenty-five years. The first fifteen or so in preparation for my adventures with my teacher Master Ren GuangYi.

I had seen a video of Master Ren. So I went to see him in his rented dance studio opposite the Public Theater. Anyone who has seen him and has interest in the art becomes his student. We all do. I wanted to learn his technique of explosive internal power: fajin. I study six to seven days a week for two hours a day when not touring. I’ve done demos with Master Ren everywhere from Carnegie Hall to the steps of the Sydney Opera House, where we did a seminar this past spring.

When I tour, it is with my Tai Chi. Not to get too flowery here, but I want more out of life than a gold record and fame. I want to mature like a warrior. I want the power and grace I never had a chance to learn. Master Ren’s teacher Chen Xiaowang told me that the Tai Chi would protect me. How?

Tai Chi lessons and demonstrations at Vivid Festival in Sydney, Australia, 2010, curated by Lou and Laurie

Mark McGauley

Because Tai Chi puts you in touch with the invisible power of—yes—the universe. The best of energies become available, and soon your body and mind become an invisible power. My Tai Chi has protected my body. Change your energy; change your mind. You have more ability than you know. The unexamined life and all that.

You don’t need equipment. My teacher has made forms (a series of choreographed moves) that can be done in an apartment with very little space. They are called compact.

I do not want to go gently into fat-senility-lethargy. We can do better than that, although our culture makes it difficult. (Other countries teach art or meditation in school. We have woodshop. Life for the uninspired.) Tai Chi is also a martial art of unparalleled sophistication. It is a system put together to maintain health and physical prowess.

Master Ren was a heavyweight champion of Chinese boxing [Tai Chi Chuan]. He is a great artist and teacher. His Tai Chi should be taught in universities, public schools, and hospitals. It is life-changing. All the same, you must have an authentic instructor. To correct alignment and save and strengthen the knees and back. The story of Master Ren is one for a film. Perhaps another time.

I wish I could convince you to change your life and save your body and soul. I know it sounds too good. But truly: Tai Chi—why not?

—Lou Reed, from the Original Letter Published by the New York Times, October 26, 2010

Foreword

Lou’s notes for the book, 2009

Lou Reed

The title The Art of the Straight Line is pure Lou. Tai Chi is made of circles, circles within circles. So what’s straight? Well, that’s the art! How to move through circles without losing your sense of direction and your overall goal.

Lou loved to talk about Tai Chi, and he was an enthusiastic teacher. He was excited about writing this book, and he started out with lots of ideas and plans. But too many things intervened, and the book he began in 2009 was left as scattered notes when he died in 2013.

At the beginning of the project, we named ourselves the Eds. We come from very different worlds. Scott Richman worked and traveled with Lou, Bob Currie spent time with him as a friend, Stephan Berwick—a Chinese-style martial artist and writer—was also a friend of Lou’s, and I was his partner for twenty-one years. Together, we set out to put this book together.

Fortunately, Lou had many fellow Tai Chi practitioners and friends. In addition to Lou’s own words, their voices and varied perspectives add to the richness and depth of this document. Me, I’ve learned a lot from the people we interviewed. As editors, we were struck by how many of them felt especially close to him. He was many people’s best friend. One of Lou’s most transcendent songs was I’ll Be Your Mirror. Observing, understanding, and empathizing with people were among his greatest skills.

I’ll be your mirror. Reflect what you are.

in case you don’t know.

I’ll be the wind, the rain and the sunset.

The light on your door to show that you’re home.

We didn’t plan to talk with a lot of people, but each interview added another note to what became a multifaceted portrait. In the end, Lou is the true author of this book. We see it as a helpful and specific how-to as well as an exciting picture of a side of Lou that few people know.

Lou wanted to write a book that would inspire people to learn about and do Tai Chi. He often showed people moves, corrected their posture, and gave advice about how to move. We all miss his voice—hilarious and dead serious at once. As the author, he would be addressing you as directly as possible. We hope this collection conveys the urgency, commitment, and sense of humor in his voice and that as the book unfolds you will find a way into this deep practice.

—LAURIE ANDERSON

Making a Book

A. M. Homes

Author and creative-writing professor at Princeton University

Lou making notes on Tai Chi forms

Ren GuangYi

SCOTT RICHMAN: The work started on this book in 2009. Lou had a tough time getting it off the ground and then he asked for your help. We have that email.

STEPHAN BERWICK: That email of yours actually helped us out a lot.

A. M. HOMES: Lou and I often talked about creative processes—how do you do something or how do you make something. But I also had no idea what I said to him. If I remember anything, it was about him having questions about how to structure things, how to shape it, and where to begin. He talked to me about Tai Chi, and oh, it sounds too enormous to say. It saved him. It was really central to his sense of well-being, self-regulation, a sense of a place to go explore. I think he found literally strength and energy and calm in it. He also liked to turn other people on to it. Just getting somebody excited about it meant an enormous amount to him. And he loved going to class, and he loved the range of people who were in the class. It was, like, at the core of where his investment was. And he asked for my advice about how to write this.

LAURIE ANDERSON: Could you read the email you sent to Lou?

A. M.: Okay. Notes for Lou. Teacher, think of questions. Do a full detailed interview. Re: how he manages health, his own emotions, his powers. Other students, what the practice means to them, their biographies, how they got to this point. Write about, ask about. Teacher is mentor. Flaws. Why teach? What does it mean to pass it on? Focus, a mastery of energy, how the practice teaches you when to expand and when to contract, how that also applies to decision making, anger management, the practice’s habit, the progression over time, how the person changes, and how the practice changes.

LAURIE: We’re following your outline as well as we can.

A. M.: I know. [Continues reading email.] Lou, use your own words. Act like a slow-motion camera. Use your language to describe the learning. Think of it as a long poem or lyric. I’ve told you a million times, just remember today. Physically and aesthetically thrilling, it could change your life. Detail how. Make a list of twenty things without stopping to think. And if you keep doing it, it just starts to happen. What does it mean to be ready to fight? To hold great power in reserve? Sitting, you can’t sit like this, you’re not ready. Lou also would talk a lot about positions. And he would just reach over sometimes and shove you. Just to knock you over! To show you that you just were not ready. I mean . . . really? That’s what that note is about.

[Continues reading email.] Lou, your biography, your personal history of the practice. When did you start? Where were you? What was your life like at the time? Where did you first go to practice? Early teachers. What did you learn? Did you stop and start? How did you take it with you on the road? How your life changed. How you’ve changed. And then there’s a quote [from Lou in reply]: I like martial arts people. They’re straightforward. You know they went through it too. You watch out for wise guys—when the guys have shown you something, they hurt you.

He was very aware of that too. Of the way people could physically hurt each other and the stupidity in it. The stupidity in doing the move to show off, overreaching one’s own boundary. And he would look at you and laugh. I could kill you. But I’m just choosing not to in this moment.

Lou had an incredible sense of humor; in the midst of a very serious thing, he would just crack up. Which I think makes him different [from] a lot of other Tai Chi practitioners, because they’re not always laughing. He took himself seriously, but there was always that crack that you could just cleave open for a good joke. Anyway, he said [in reply], Put in practice, because of power and confidence. People who pick up on it can’t knock me down.

[Continues reading email.] Sections of your story, your teacher’s story. Think of ten or fifteen questions to ask, the same questions for each person. Ask them, ‘What is the secret you’re not willing to tell me? The thing you fear most? What drives you?’ Open questions about life, focus, desire, mastery. How you get what you want. Learning to operate and to trust one’s intuition. And then there’s, Look at Lou Reed not shaking now. Contrast between who you were and who you’ve become. Your own personal journey. And then there’s this big blank page that Lou didn’t fill out [reply to].

When we talked about Tai Chi, we talked about the sense of mastery and control, and I always felt that when Lou talked about it, it was a place where he felt very in himself. And it sort of allowed him to navigate other things that he would not have navigated as gracefully.

He was always saying, Try to come to class. Come with me. Come with me and Ren. Come do this. You have to do that. You’re gonna die if you don’t. It was always now. It was not later.

And also, we’d go on pizza adventures. You know, you had to go far for pizza. Or there would be that one pizza place in the East Village that only bakes till they run out of whatever.

LAURIE: You know, one of the moves in the Chen Tai Chi 19 Form—such a beautiful move—he named Delivering the Pizza, and it really looked like that: one arm, palm up, like a cartoon chef carrying a hot pie. And the name made it easier for people to remember the move.

A. M.: It’s funny, as Lou got older, he got to be a foodie. And when I met him, he was going out to Barolo places with Oscar Hijuelos. My sense of Oscar always was that Oscar was sort of complicated, very playful, and also melancholy. And I think he and Lou understood that part of each other. The playful sparring, and then with this other layer of something.

LAURIE: And they loved watching boxing together and smoking cigars, and then they would eventually move to playing slow, sad things on their guitars.

Why do you think he didn’t write this book?

A. M.: I think it’s the difficulty of it. And it’s funny, because it’s what he did in his songs all the time. But it was the difficulty of combining the incredibly, deeply cellularly personal ideas into words. Not just personal in the most physical sense of it but with a kind of larger, philosophical spiritual idea. And it was hard to render that in language with structure. I think it seemed difficult to him because it was a truly felt thing.

LAURIE: Did you see Tai Chi in his writing?

A. M.: Sometimes, in his sense of movement or rhythm and the ability to be both abrupt and not.

STEPHAN: We used to say to him, Why don’t you just use the dictation app on the phone and just start talking into it? And even that was hard.

A. M.: It’s not that kind of language. How do you create the language of talking about this and how would Lou create Lou’s language of Tai Chi out of not just the physical movements of it but a verbal, a spoken language of Tai Chi? That would be something I’d wanna ask him.

SCOTT (on listening to Lou’s voice at an event the night before the interview): When Lou verbalized some of the concepts of Tai Chi that we got from the commentary, we isolated that stuff. But it was part of the discussion, of working something out as a group.

A. M.: And I have to say, when I was listening, I didn’t want to look up. I just want to hear Lou across the room. I just want to be standing here while he’s talking over there. That sort of thing. He sounded young and strong and, like, you know?

LAURIE: You forget that he had plenty of ups and downs in the last bit of his life, times when he was very strong again. And he talks to us from the afterworld.

A. M.: I hate when that happens, but I think he’s receptive to the . . . you know!

LAURIE: Lou used to use the Ouija board all the time. So what would you ask if there was a Ouija board?

A. M.: I think I could picture a whole different kind of sound coming out of Lou. What is the verbal sound of Tai Chi? What is the language?

LAURIE: He did that in music. And Ren and Lou did a lot of drawings together—diagrams of how Tai Chi works. That’s probably the closest to language that that came.

Back to the Ouija board. What would you ask Lou right now? He’s been gone over five years.

A. M.: I would ask him what he’s been working on. I was thinking about, when you were just showing me those drawings, about lab notation and the way choreographers mark their dances—their specific language. It was Doris Humphrey who came up with the system of that. But what is the language of that? How do you show the flow?

BOB CURRIE: That was a failed language, though. Because they only showed the front.

LAURIE: Well, in Tai Chi Push Hands training you watch it, you almost see the flow of chi. If you start visualizing it, you can see how it moves down your shoulder and then up your arm and then into someone else’s and back. You start to see energy flow. And Lou was saying something last night in the last part of the recording about how he had his head coming in and out of focus. And he talked about how everyone is so individual. He makes that really clear.

Push Hands, or Tui Shou, is partner training in Tai Chi.

SCOTT: Everyone expresses their energy differently.

LAURIE: Something like that. Yeah. It really jumped out for me, because it wasn’t somebody pontificating about chi.

SCOTT: He really did express it through language when he was talking with other people. And his guitar sounds made me feel the chi. When he did stuff like that, you really felt it.

A. M.: But is it because it articulated some of the shifts?

LAURIE: Each note called attention to itself in that way. Yeah. It had this gnarl. Or, like you said, they weren’t polite.

STEPHAN: There was something a little bit provocative about it. And then it kind of ignites something in people.

A. M.: Lou totally got that everybody had their own energy. And there were people that other people didn’t like and Lou liked them. And he liked them even if their energy was super complicated. He liked them for who they were. And even, for lack of a better word, for their commitment to themselves.

LAURIE: The other thing about it was his just straight-up generosity. We would go to shows and films and concerts almost every night, and he would always find something good about them, and I would often find something negative.

A. M.: Right. Right. But see, there’s something about that, that to me was always so interesting, because on the one hand, he could be so cranky. And then, on the other hand, this incredible optimist.

But back to Tai Chi: the physicality of it gave him both physical strength but also a spiritual or creative expansion. I can remember seeing Lou in shorts and his arms out a lot! There was the public Lou with sunglasses, but for me Lou was mostly, I don’t know, just regular Lou.

When my daughter, Juliet, was really little, she used to say, Lou, I wanna go here. And Lou would do whatever Juliet said. And when we’d go to a restaurant and she would say, I wish Lou were here, because then he would have gotten us a . . . You know? But the funny thing was, there was this time when she had written a play on the death of Lincoln. And one of the kids who was supposed to play Lincoln bowed out, because she was afraid that after she died, the kids had to carry her away and they might drop her. And Lou said, Well, I’ll come and be Lincoln. And I remember we were all thinking, That would be really funny. Lou Reed—for one night only—as Abe Lincoln in fourth grade! But that was very Lou-like. I’ll just show up and, like, be Lincoln for an hour! You know? It would have been great. Especially after one of the other actors, Mrs. Lincoln, ran off crying and I had to step in for Mrs. Lincoln. But yeah, I just, like, miss him, you know?

LAURIE: Isn’t that weird? He’s been gone for over five years.

A. M.: It doesn’t seem like that. Honestly, I feel like we’re just waiting. Like we’re waiting for Lou to come back. I like hearing his voice a lot. I still have some messages on my machine.

STEPHAN: When he first started the book idea, he said Zen in the Art of Archery was something that inspired him.

A. M.: It’s a book about creative and spiritual risk-taking.

LAURIE: And also targets. Because he had a goal. It’s about how to get from here to there in this really circular structure!

SCOTT: Everyone’s straight line is different.

Chapter 1

What is Tai Chi?

The Chinese say you meet the hard with the soft, the yin with the yang, the down with the up

Lou practicing at home

Ren GuangYi

I have often thought of Tai Chi as some kind of physical unity to the universe itself, some strange ancient methodology that could link us to the basic energy wave of existence. I don’t want to seem mystical, but something does happen to you when you practice this ancient art. There are history books about the families, the creators of all this, should you like to know. My concern is how it relates to myself and my classmates, who have all gone through the pain and practice of approaching the art. And it is an art, though rarely seen by us here in the States. It won’t really help to see martial arts movies, as they will not show you. We are talking of the art and internal power of Tai Chi. Many people talk of internal power but they never actually do it. It’s always some form of external force, like Bruce Lee’s one-inch punch. I’m talking about no-inch punch. And not only punch but every part of your body—your chest, your elbow, your butt, your entire body at any time and any place.

Tai Chi frees you from preconceptions—music or tempo, this, that, or the other thing. It is, I think, a pretty enabling kind of thing. I hate to use that word, enabling, but there it is. It’s very, very useful for centering yourself, for experiencing these different kinds of disciplines, be it meditation, bodywork, Tai Chi, Yoga, whatever. Or I like to just have it going all the time because it makes the outside sounds into a more musical environment.

—From Lou’s Notes on Tai Chi

TONY VISCONTI

Rock music producer and Tai Chi practitioner

I always loved martial arts. I wanted to learn how to defend myself. In the sixth grade, I had this fantastic teacher Mr. Flanagan. He talked about serving in World War II and said, When I was in Asia, I saw a man who could break wood with his bare hands. I’m twelve years old and said to myself, I have to learn how to break wood with my bare hands. My dad was a carpenter, so I started immediately with that. He had wood!

I started studying Tai Chi in 1980 with a teacher named John Kells, who later became a grandmaster. He studied Yang Tai Chi in Taiwan with a Dr. Chi Chiang-tao who was a Tai Chi master and a top student of Cheng Man-ch’ing. His whole thing was softness. You could rush him, you could try to punch him, grab him, then he’d barely touch you and you went flying through the air and ended up on the ground. This was uprooting power. His emphasized softness and relaxation for Push Hands. To this day I think of what he used to teach me if I become tense during practice. That was my beginning to Tai Chi, five years studying the Yang style with Grandmaster John Kells.

I met Lou back when he was making Transformer with David Bowie and he was kind of half sleeping on the studio floor. David was in proper Ziggy regalia. I couldn’t see Lou anywhere until David said, Oh, Tony, you should meet Lou. There he is. So I walked up to him with, Hi, Lou. He looked up. Hi, Tony. And he went back to sleep. That was the first time I met Lou, the very first time, in the ’70s. After that, I would meet Lou with David in New York, but we never really talked much.

I went to lots of music biz events where Lou could be very hard-ass in person. Several times I’d bump into Lou but he just wouldn’t acknowledge me, or maybe he’d forgotten that he’d met me. This was before we studied Tai Chi together. All those barriers melted away with Tai Chi. I think Lou worked out most of his anger around his early days of Tai Chi. You can’t really be angry in martial arts. You can’t afford that luxury. And that’s something you learn quickly, depending on your teacher.

I reconnected with Lou in 2003. I was making an album with Bowie called Reality. David asked, "Are you still keeping up with your Tai