Worlds Within:
Reflections On The Art of Chinese Penjing Master Qingquan "Brook"
ZhaoWorlds Within:
Reflections On The Art of Chinese Penjing Master Qingquan "Brook"
ZhaoWhen I was a child, I had a collection of special objects that had magical properties known only to me. One, in particular, was a marble that seemed to contain an entire world, as if it was a miniature planet complete with mountains, valleys, ocean, and sky. I held that world in my hand and gazed at it with wonderment. And when it was inevitably lost, something else seemed lost with it forever. It wasn't until my first encounter with Chinese penjing master Qingquan 'Brook' Zhao forty years later that these memories returned. That was back in 1991, when I had the good fortune to be invited to a penjing demonstration he was doing at Lotus International for his hosts Chen Shue and Karin Albert.
Like many Westerners, most of my experience up to that point had been in Japanese bonsai, and I had never met a Chinese master. As Brook began to select and organize his materials, I sensed that a whole new world was about to unfold before my eyes. From the preparations underway, I gathered that Brook was about to create some kind of forest planting using nursery-grown Narrow-Leaf Ficus. What really caught my attention at first was a very large (about 40") oval white marble slab destined to be the base setting for the forest. After some preliminary selecting and pruning, Brook. proceeded to remove the trees from their containers and to deftly place and group them on the marble slab. Further drastic pruning occurred as he arranged and rearranged the trees. He considered varying angles, different positions, and different tree combinations. Rootballs were drastically reduced in size as he explored just how closely together some trees should be planted.
When he felt comfortable with the trees' shapes and positions, he turned his attention to a pile of very interesting grey rocks. Choosing one piece after another, he began placing them into a continuous undulating line. Occasionally he returned to a water-cooled cut-off saw to flatten the bottom surface of a rock. Apparently size, shape, color, and the individual patterns of a stone were all important criteria in this process of careful selection. I watched with increasing interest as a rocky coastline began to emerge, separating and defining a land mass on the one hand and an untouched expanse of white marble - 'a body of water' - on the other.
As Brook firmed up his composition, planted the trees, cemented the rocks, and added mosses, I witnessed the emergence of a miniature landscape, a microcosm, full of magical possibilities in which I, the viewer, was allowed to participate. As my mind journeyed from rock to rock, my eyes caught a little rocky cove and I wandered inland to its secret source - a tiny land bridge between islands, covered with moss and ferns. Now I could see it. Gazing at the completed piece, I marvelled at the sense of quiet harmony this penjing conveyed. And although the composition had just been completed, each of the rocks and trees appeared as if they had existed there together for a very long time. Suddenly, memories of other ancient landscapes burst forth. I recalled the magnificent seascapes of Northern Spain where Salvador Dali lived and painted. My thoughts tumbled back through childhood memories of rocky islands in remote Canadian lakes where my dad had taken me fishing when I was a young boy. I was beginning to connect. After forty years, I found myself once more gazing at a small world of wonderment. It engendered a secret and magical sense of personal participation, and I felt myself getting lost in the private pleasure of it.
Since that first encounter I've seen quite a bit of Brook's art. The splendid piece whose creation I witnessed in 1991 has grown and matured, and it now graces the cover of his first English-language book Penjing: Worlds of Wonderment published by Venus Communications. During subsequent visits to the U.S., I've watched him work, and I've created several pieces under his guidance. While involved in the creative process, the mood was always quiet, calm, and meditative - serious yet happy. Interestingly enough, under these circumstances, the work itself becomes imbued with these qualities, and the resulting piece appears harmonious and serene. I would say that this method of working and living is what the Chinese call the Dao (Tao), translated as the "way" or "path". Indeed, the principles of penjing creation stem from and conform with Chinese cosmology. The Chinese believe that the entire universe is governed by two primordial forces, yin and yang, which are complementary opposites and give rise to each other. I have heard Brook explain many insightful principles while demonstrating his choices; while searching for harmony he is continually balancing the yin and yang elements. In a composition he might consider open spaces and full areas, sparseness and density, lightness and darkness, etc., seeking a harmonious union. When this delightful and dynamic equilibrium is achieved, penjing, then, truly captures and reverberates the eternal rhythm of the universe.
One of Brook's preferred styles of penjing is known as shuihan penjing, which literally translates as "water-and-land penjing". In his home country, he has pioneered this form, and it is becoming very popular. On a recent trip to China I saw an awesome array of penjing, many of them in traditional garden settings. While I was nearly overwhelmed by their presence, I feel that I can distinguish a subtle but important quality in Brook's art. In his miniature worlds of forests and waterscapes, I sense a universal, eternal quality which transcends cultural boundaries and goes beyond what we typically classify as Eastern vs. Western concepts. His work abounds with life and vitality, mystery and wonder, all artfully blended out of traditional, natural elements. Yet there are few rules. Our Western minds often grasp for a winning formula or technique to produce mastery, but we forget that harmonious compositions cannot be mechanically produced by imposing systems of triangles or counting the numbers of trees or limbs. Lost in theory, one often cannot see the forest from the trees. Brook's work serves as a beautiful reminder that a rock is not just a rock, but a sacred presence - a dwarf tree not just a 'bonsai' or 'penjing' but a living thing with a cosmic soul and unique spirit. Indeed, it is the soul and spirit of the artist, Eastern or Western, modern or primitive, that must emerge in the art form. When an artist has travelled an alchemical journey inward, a long path of heart, then cultural limitations may be overcome. Looking with new eyes, we may catch glimpses of the universal mystery. In the world of painting, this transcendence can be felt when viewing magnificent pieces like a field of sunflowers by Van Gogh or waterlillies by Monet.
Co-existing with this sense of the universal and timeless is the paradoxical nature of our very personal and private feelings and memories. In some way, each of us has his or her own special relationship with the universe - one that began in the innocence of childhood. All too often, however, the beautiful blossoms of childhood are nipped in the bud, carelessly pruned away as we are being shaped into adults. In that transition, our appreciation of joy, beauty, and mystery may be lost. However, when opening our eyes and hearts to a great painting or sculpture or a fine bonsai or penjing, these marvellous sensibilities can be recaptured. When an artist like Brook expresses his sensibilities, they are then echoed in his penjing, and those little worlds in turn echo the subtle qi (chi) or vital force pervading cosmos. The perceptive viewer's mind completes the piece, intertwining the artist's creation with personal memories and associations while attuning his or her own energy to the universal qi. As part of this process, new art forms, perceptions, and meanings await us. As we cultivate and expand our awareness, we come to realize that everything is interrelated. Memories and sensitivities of childhood are connected across time, enhancing our current activities. The little marble I lost long ago in the layers of time was precious, and its disappearance has caused a bittersweet nostalgia. But I have since discovered other miniature worlds in which my mind can wander comfortably and creatively. Working on a bonsai or penjing, I feel the continuity of my life as I travel forward and backward in time, enriched by all my life's experiences.
© Sander Heilig 1997
Sander Heilig is a painter, medical illustrator, and restaurateur living in Athens, Georgia. He has been involved with bonsai and penjing for the past ten years and served as art director in the production of the book Penjing: Worlds of Wonderment by Qingquan 'Brook' Zhao.