THOUGHTS ON BONSAI

I’ve lived in Japan for a lot of years (almost half a century!) and have enjoyed and experienced many of the traditional art forms. And I’m not done; just recently I had a chance in Kyoto to try kumi-himo, a complicated way of braiding strands of silk to make decorative cords of varying sizes and complexities. Though it was rather hard on the back to sit upright and unsupported and move my arms in a repetitive pattern for almost an hour, it was an enjoyable experience. I realize what I did was laughably simplistic compared to some of the designs on show in the small museum attached to the demo area; but I did come away with a heightened awareness and respect for that particular art form.  

Every time we travel, I ask my husband, who is in charge of bookings, to find me a hand craft to try in a taiken-kyoshitsu (demonstration lesson). But there is one Japanese art form that I will never try, in fact I really don’t want any part of it. No, it’s not sumo (I think with my physique, I would probably be pretty good at that). I’m talking about bonsai, the art of growing miniature trees in shallow trays.

You’ve probably seen some amazing examples of these trees. Venerable pines, hundreds of years old, that are less than a meter tall. Graceful maples, stands of bamboo. They usually grow out of a mossy bed in a pot or tray (the bon in bonsai means tray), and the trees themselves are not special plants but actual trees whose growth has been restricted by various techniques. The Wikipedia article I read says that the aesthetic aimed at in this art form is related to Zen Buddhism and wabi-sabi, but it doesn’t say how. I’m pretty familiar with Zen Buddhism, and the aesthetics of both wabi and sabi (which are not at all the same), but I can’t myself make this connection at all.

The trees are lovingly crafted to look exactly like the tree in nature, only miniaturized; it’s a big effort that takes years. It’s very Japanese in that it is intricate and complicated, and takes a long time to learn how to do it properly, and the result is something beautiful. There are schools and hierarchies, masters and apprentices, as in any Japanese art form.

What’s my problem with it? I emphasize that this is my own personal opinion, and I don’t intend to start any demonstrations. People for whom this is fascinating can continue with this practice, without any grumbling from me.

On the other hand, I won’t apologize for how I feel. I am a farmer and have raised numerous plants in pots, so I know how “pot-bound” a plant can become even after a short time. This means that the roots of the plant have grown through the holes at the bottom of a too-small pot, or when you take the plant out of its pot, its root system exactly matches the contours of the pot. In other words, the plant’s root system has had no room to grow. In a few months or a year! How about several decades, how about a century or two? Many of these bonsai trees are extremely old. Yes, I know the roots are subject to special techniques, so I’m sure they are not “pot-bound” in the ordinary sense, but they are still unable to grow as they should. That growth, both on the roots and tops, is restricted by the practitioner, who hopefully knows what he or she is doing, but may not. Famous bonsai are cared for and pampered by experts, but this can’t be true of all of them.

In what way is this different from keeping a fish or giant salamander in a tank much too small for it, day in and day out? Many times I’ve seen underwater creatures kept in tanks much too small for them. Some of them can’t even turn around. There used to be a torture device for human beings, a box into which the prisoner was locked, of a size where he could neither stand up straight nor kneel or sit. That reminds me of the feelings of creatures penned up in too-small places. 

Sorry, but I can’t see the attraction. In our yard there used to be a ginkgo biloba (maidenhair) tree, about 40 cm high, that my father-in-law kept as a bonsai. It was recognizably a ginkgo tree, in a small shallow tray, and it languished in our yard for a long time, surviving my father-in-law by many years. Finally I said to my husband, “Let’s plant this poor tree in our yard, in the actual ground, and see what happens.” Well, that was about 10 years ago, and this ginkgo tree is now a sturdy young tree about 20 cm in diameter at the base, constantly growing upward, and now about ten meters high. It’s a beautiful little tree shape. It dances! You can really see how happy it is to be free. Maybe someday it will be one of the grand old men of the neighborhood, towering over all, with its benison of lush green leaves that turn a startling golden yellow in autumn. I’m proud that I liberated this tree from   confinement in a shallow tray, an uncared-for bonsai.

As I have lived so long in Japan, I reserve the right not to like every single manifestation of the culture. I love trees, and I like to see them grow untrammeled, with nothing to hinder them but natural environmental factors such as proximity of the next tree, amount of water or sunlight, minerals in the soil. Fortunately I live in a place where this is possible.

We have trees specially planted along the streets in the center of our town, but they are systematically pruned down to the nub every year, because (as I was told) “they would block people’s view of the fireworks”. Also, there was apparently a bidding war about the cast of caring for the trees, and naturally the cheapest bidder won, which means that these trees are being short-changed in the care department. About half of these trees are now dead, because they were pruned unskilfully. Trees can’t defend themselves, they can’t even move out of the way. They are helpless and must endure whatever we do to them. Perhaps some bonsai are pampered, but in the countryside, generally speaking, if a tree is in the way, you cut it down. There are few big trees around, except next to shrines and in the mountains. We have lost so many beautiful old trees in our area simply because someone didn’t want them any more. It’s heartbreaking.  

At least I can enjoy my lovely little ginkgo tree, saved from an ignominious fate. All the trees on my property are like my children, and I vow to protect them as long as I can. There are many trees in our area that I love and cherish. But I’ll never go to a demonstration or an exhibition of bonsai. It’s one Japanese art form that I just can’t take.