Whether it be the athletic shadow boxing sequences performed by Shaolin monks, or the slow, elegant brocades of a Wudang tai chi practitioner, solo form practice tends to get a bad rap from what might generally be considered more “practical” martial arts – boxing, judo, wrestling, BJJ, Muay Thai.
Why waste your time perfecting your techniques against nobody? The air doesn’t fight back. Training and sparring get you better at martial arts, not memorising long lines of movements, pretty as they may be.
Well, it depends on your purpose. If you’re learning martial arts to fight, to take part in competitions, then yes, testing yourself against a resisting opponent is of course crucial. No one would think practising forms alone makes you an accomplished fighter. Right? (Actually, you’d be surprised…)
But even for “real” martial artists, I think there’s a strong argument for form practice as something useful to add into the mix. Not just in terms of repeated drills to instil unconscious movement patterns, but to take your awareness inside, find ease of movement, internal lines of connection… in fact, a whole host of physical and mental qualities.
For me, form practice is a great way of getting out of the thinking-mind and into a more body-centred, “now”-oriented state, pulling mind and body together. It’s great as a movement practice, as a way to explore ways of moving and develop internal connections and strength beyond sheer muscular force. It helps install efficient movements and sound structure. Going to something familiar is also restful and soothing; a means to peacefulness.
Learning new forms and maintaining old ones is good for linking up mind and body, and a good workout for your memory balance, and coordination skills, too. It keeps you supple, and your joints mobile and lubricated. It keeps your mind focused and your awareness keen, provided you approach it with an appropriate mindset. Also, having a definite form allows you to then practice it with emphasis on different qualities. And it’s generally good, low-impact exercise, with all the health benefits that brings, and satisfying, and… fun (definitely not to be underestimated)!
On the other hand, with no testing against partners there’s the notorious delusion-pit so many martial arts enthusiasts fall into. I’ve seen that in tai chi mostly. “I’ve been shown an application for this form so I could definitely pull that off in reality.” “My Ting is so honed I’m untouchable.” I suspect there’s some of that in more external styles too. “Well, I imagine I look & feel like Tony Jaa, or Bruce Lee, so I must be lethal.”
In internal styles especially, it’s easy to be misled by language, or by thinking you get it when you only get a bit of it. When I started learning Ip Man wing chun it was all about lightness and switching quickly between snapping power and relaxation, to avoid being manipulated or unbalanced.
Aha! I know relaxation (to corrupt a Neo quote)! Relaxation means being free of tension, maintaining lightness and having freedom to move and react quickly. Techniques and follow-ups were crucial, and the forms we learnt were like a library of ideas.
But more recently we’ve been learning wing chun from the Chu Shong Tin lineage, which is much more tai chi-like in its heavy feel, and like xingyi too in its insistence on acting-not-reacting and just ploughing through, with less emphasis on techniques and much more focus on mind-state and a different kind of relaxation. So instead of feeling light and fast, it’s more heavy and relentless. It’s “soft” power, but it sure doesn’t feel soft when you’re on the receiving end. Same word – “relaxation”; totally different feel.
Oh, shit. Turns out I don’t know relaxation…
When you’re partnered with someone with some real skill at this kind of soft power, it’s like fighting two relentless anacondas. They give you their weight and writhe in at your spine until they induce some tension. As soon as you lose your internal relaxation and connectedness through to the ground, as soon as you jam up somewhere, or lose your structure and let them in, you’re screwed.
Form practice just doesn’t give you that visceral experience. You could practice forms for decades with the “wrong” idea of what relaxation is, or maybe more accurately having just one idea of what it is, like having only one piece of the jigsaw and believing you have the whole picture. Form practice doesn’t help you develop a sense for your partner’s centre, or their points of tension, or their habitual moves. Plus of course there are all the other things that come with partner-work, like timing, distance, angles, spontaneity.
I suppose it depends very much on why you practice. My emphasis is on forms because, well I’m over forty and fighting just isn’t an aspiration for me. I’ve got through so many decades with no need for physical self-defence; fingers crossed it’s likely I won’t need it for the next forty. I think there’s a lot to be said for posture, though. Martial artists don’t stand meekly and look vulnerable (unless it’s a trap!). But for me it’s the calming, mindful benefits over the macho shit, by a long way.
Having said that, being pressured in partner-work is brilliant for developing emotional strength. Can I get hit repeatedly, feel like a lemon for not seeing obvious windows, and not get angry or upset? Can I capitalise on a hit and move forward decisively? These aspects definitely carry over into other aspects of life, in terms of confidence, or dealing with difficult people/situations, and suchlike. Also humility: you do well against one guy, then you swap partners and get destroyed. It’s an excellent reality/ego check.
And if I didn’t do any partner work, I could still be proudly holding on to my one piece of the jigsaw puzzle, thinking I had the whole thing. I have a couple more pieces now, but I’m certain there are plenty more to discover. If I only did solo work I might get plenty of health benefits, but I’d be missing out on so much of these arts. I’d probably think I understood, but actually I’d understand pretty much f#@k all. Now at least I know I know nothing (Jon Snow), or next to nothing.
Words just can’t fully convey sensations or inner qualities. What one person means by relaxation can be totally different to another’s definition. You only get to it through feeling it. It’s not an intellectual concept. What’s “sinking”? What’ is it to “direct force from your centre”? To be “connected”? “Chewy”? “Inflated”? It’s even harder when you bring in unfamiliar terms… Song? Yi? Peng? It’s all just an idea you think you have until it’s tested, or practised with someone with some degree of skill/accomplishment. Then you can begin to “get” it. Or get a bit of it. Then you train with someone else for whom it means something different, and you can “get” their jigsaw piece, too.
Especially with the Chu Shong Tin stuff we’ve been learning, I’m able to put some of that internal work into my tai chi forms. And the other day I put a bagua vertical circle (surprised myself to be honest!) into my chi sau when I was grabbed. No one in wing chun expects you to turn your waist, let alone the Spanish Inquisition. So each feeds into the other… hopefully! I suppose the exact balance between solo and partner work will depend very much on your style, goals, situation and personality. But to totally neglect one or the other would be like installing your own glass ceiling to progress.
Unless you’re aim is to delude yourself into thinking you’re superhuman, by refusing to practise with others (and miss out on all the social benefits, too), or your aim is to deprive yourself of solo training and all that time mindfully soaking qualities into your body and mind, why wouldn’t you do both?
The Azure Dragon 