Calligraphy and bonsai: the roots of an art
By Andrew Smith

The roots of bonsai are very deep, and extend far, far down, into the distant past. At some point they become tangled in, and finally merge with, the roots of other Oriental arts until all separating distinctions are lost, and only the essential thrust of the culture's art remains.

That essential root could be calligraphy, the Japanese art of writing with brush and ink. For calligraphy, like bonsai, is in large measure a study of the use of line. And not only is the study of line the basis for all Oriental art, but the basis for the culture itself is the literature that the line makes possible.

Japanese calligraphy is very different from the Western version of the art. In the West calligraphy, or "beautiful writing," refers to handwriting that is almost technically perfect. Although usually very ornate, calligraphy often appears mechanical and lifeless. Japanese calligraphy however, is writing brought to life. The legibility and neatness of the characters is a minor consideration compared to the spirit and vitality they express. Beyond that, it is an abstract study of the beauty and expressiveness of pure line. It involves an artistic sensibility that should be familiar to any bonsai artist.

Like bonsai, calligraphy was first developed in China, then later imported and refined by the Japanese. The first known examples of Chinese characters were found carved on pieces of turtle shell that dated to around 3500 years ago. Some of these characters are very similar to characters still in use today, making Chinese the oldest living written script.

The first pieces of brush and ink calligraphy were excavated in Roran, in Western China, and date to about 300 A.D.. The characters were written in ink on thin wood strips, called mokkan, and concerned official government business along the silk road. Although the writing was more functional than artistic, the skill seems to have already been highly developed at this early date.

The first Chinese characters were pictorial, semi-abstract representations of common objects such as fish, birds and trees. Over time the characters became more and more abstract, and grew immensely in number, so that today there are over 10,000 characters in use in the Chinese alphabet. Compared with 26 in ours.

The characters in the Chinese alphabet are called Kanji, and provide the backbone of the Japanese and Korean alphabets as well, although the meanings and pronunciation can be vastly different in each case. The Japanese have always revered kanji, considering them to be a mark of high culture and learning. But they also developed their own alphabet, called kana, which is a very graceful and beautiful script. Kana differs from kanji in that kana is strictly phonetic, and is used much like a western alphabet; whereas kanji express both a phonetic sound, and a specific meaning. Traditionally, Kanji was used by men, and for official business, and kana was used by women, and for personal correspondence. Today the Japanese mix the kana, katakana and kanji scripts in their writing. And there are several other scripts as well.

Calligraphy made its way to Japan with Zen Buddhism, from China, around 600 A.D. The art form has always had strong ties to Zen, and many of the greatest calligraphers have been Buddhist monks and scholars. Indeed, the act of creating calligraphy is considered a meditative discipline in itself. The calligrapher is much like the Zen archer, striking the paper with his or her brush, trying to express perfectly the mysteries of the heart.

It was Zen monks who first seriously pursued calligraphy as an art in and of itself.

Bonsai also arrived in Japan, from China, at this time, and if I am not mistaken, it at one time also had some strong spiritual overtones associated with it. Like the calligrapher, the bonsai artist strives to take the viewer beyond the seen, into a hidden, deeper world.

For several centuries both bonsai and calligraphy remained the province of monks, scholars and noblemen, and flourished under their care. The population at large was mostly illiterate, and had not the time, nor means, to pursue artistic aspirations. By the mid-19th century though, public education became more common, and average people began learning calligraphy. The first public calligraphy exhibitions were held around 1900. Bonsai became more widely popular during this time, too.

Today calligraphy is probably the most revered art form of the Orient, expressing all the depths of Oriental philosophy with just the few skilled strokes of a brush. The artists often write just a single, ancient kanji, letting the combination of the characters inherent meaning and the texture of the actual brush work move the viewer. Some of the most modern calligraphy has become totally abstract, and focuses completely on the pure expressiveness of line, without any meaning introduced by a character.

Artistically, calligraphy has a strong resonance with bonsai. In essence, both are studies in line, space and time. Although bonsai are three dimensional, and should be pleasing from all sides, they are made to be viewed as a silhouette, seen from the front of the tree. As such, they become compositions in line.
This is especially noticeable in the "bunjin," or literati style tree. The graceful, feminine curves of a good literati are instantly recognizable in the dancing brush strokes of a fine piece of calligraphy. In either case the effect is one of freedom and lightness, combined with an enduring strength.

Bonsai and calligraphy both depend heavily on the use of negative space, both in the composition itself, and as a buffer around the artwork. Calligraphy especially uses empty space to balance the work, but bonsai too are best displayed in front of a blank, light colored background, to highlight the negative spaces.

Time is an essential element in the composition of both bonsai and calligraphy. For the bonsai artist, time is the true force that forms his or her tree. The artist merely tries to direct this force to produce something of beauty. To the calligrapher, a piece of calligraphy represents the essence of a moment in time, captured in ink and paper. Knowing which moment to catch is the calligraphers great meditation.

And as a bonsai becomes more revered with great age, and the echoes of the centuries that surround it, calligraphers often use very ancient kanji for their work; knowing that the characters themselves are steeped in the traditions and flavors of many forgotten epoches.

I often describe bonsai to my friends as a "minimalist tree." That is, it's a tree with everything non-essential to it's treeness removed. Calligraphy is the essence of minimalism, using a few lines of black ink, on white paper, to express the most vital and profound ideas. Both bonsai and calligraphy, at their best, use less to express more. Both try to use only the essential to carry the viewer away into the rich realms of imagination, beyond what can be merely seen.

Both deal with small enclosed worlds, that capture some essential ingredient of life, and hold it there for us to see. The bonsai in its pot and the calligraphy in its frame, are really like doorways into our own inner natures.

I think there is an especially strong link between literati bonsai, and calligraphy. Of course, compositionally, they are very similar, but they must have a historical link as well. For one, the term, "bunjin" means "old wise one," and refers to a scholar. It also refers to one who lives simply, and gets to the heart of things. In ancient China and Japan, to be a scholar was primarily to be a calligrapher, for the tests that could land one such a position were primarily calligraphy exams. Good calligraphers were very highly esteemed.
I have read that the bunjin, or literati style bonsai tree was developed by 19th century Japanese scholars, who began copying the exaggeratedly tall and graceful trees that were popular in certain landscape paintings of the day. These painters and scholars were first and foremost expert calligraphers, and I would assume that their painted and bonsai art was heavily influenced by the aesthetics of their written brush work.

My friend, Gyokuyo Omoto, is a Japanese master calligrapher, with over 40 years of training in her art. Kumiko, as she calls herself, says that calligraphy is a life long pursuit, where the artist must keep learning until the day they die. Perfection is never reached. But one can never stop trying.

She has told me many times that calligraphy and bonsai are the same art, just using different mediums to express itself. She looks at the thickness of a trunk, like the thickness of a brush stroke. The texture of the bark is like the varying textures achieved by using a goat hair brush, or a mouse beard brush, or a bamboo brush; or the effects achieved by the combinations of different paper and ink mixtures. The drama of a curve, a windswept look, or a feeling of stillness, are achieved in both bonsai and calligraphy by the harmony and balance of the composition. It is the rhythm and pulse of the lines which brings the work to life.

Once, she showed me pictures in a Japanese newspaper of bonsai for sale that had been styled so they looked like kanji. At certain times of the year, it is traditional to display a tree shaped like this. The one I remember best was shaped like the character "Kotobuki" for "joyful."

Kumiko likes American bonsai, because she says they are very free compared to those of Japan. And that, she says, is much like calligraphy.

I like to go over and watch her work, sometimes. She has huge sheets of rice paper, of varying kinds, that she brought from Japan. Some of it is old, and the most highly valued is of great age. Her inkstone, where she grinds her ink, is over 200 years old, and has been used by many scholars before her. She considers it an honor to use something so ancient, something with "soul," instead of something new. She has a whole rack of brushes, all of fine grades of exotic animal hair. Brushes made of goat, rabbit, tiger and horse hair are popular, as well as those made of duck, peacock and white egret feathers. Some of them cost up to $500 each.

Before she moves the brush she becomes very still, and lets her mind clear. Sometimes she sits like that for many minutes, sometimes hardly at all. Then the brush dances. Before you know it, she is done, and the ink is already drying on the page. After it dries she puts her stamp in red cinnabar at the lower left of the compositions she wants to keep.

She has books and books of kanji, some ancient and some modern, with all their shades of meaning. I don't understand it all, but I get the feeling that in Japan everything has two meanings, at least. She can write the same word ten different ways, and though they all mean the same thing, they all have slightly different implications. Every character seems to have an echo, a hidden depth behind it. Perhaps it's just the past.

Kumiko says that in Japan, great bonsai are often commemorated by, and displayed with, a calligraphy. I had her look at a few of my trees and record her impressions with a brush. The pictures are scattered throughout this article. I hope you enjoy her work.