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I HAVE BEEN asked so many times
over the years "Why do you bother with shohin?". The
answer is really quite simple:
When I started bonsai, some twenty
odd years ago, I had no idea how big (or small) a bonsai should
be. I had seen bonsai in Selfridges department store. There were
no so-called indoor trees at that time, so these were tiny pines
and maples. I thought that this was how big all bonsai were.
Then I saw some pictures in a
bonsai handbook from the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens but the size
wasn't indicated. I imagined these were the same size as those
I had seen in Selfridges.
I had no idea how the fine detail
and aged appearance in the pictures could be achieved on such
a tiny scale. But I thought "If they can do it - so can
I".
So off I went, not realising
that the trees I was trying to copy were three feet tall! Of
course I discovered after about a decade that it was impossible.
But during those years of trying, I got pretty close!
I still have many of those early
trees - the first three I ever grew, in fact. I learned a lot
during the years I spent developing them, before I discovered
that most bonsai were much, much larger. I not only found out
how to wire and prune on a minute scale, but by getting so close
to the subject I also learned an awful lot about how plants work.
Nowadays I grow larger trees
as well. But having acquired the skills and knowledge to grow
and maintain shohin, I'm not just going to ignore that aspect
of bonsai. And I am certainly not going to turn my back on the
individual trees that I produced in those early years.
I find that
by applying those skills and the knowledge of the species to
material of a grander scale, I am able to introduce much more
intricate detail and refinement in bonsai of all sizes.
I like detail ... precision.
When I look at my trees I can spend more than an hour contemplating
just one. When you look at anything for that long you notice
details - the poor ones as well as the good.
But bonsai is not just about
detail. There are many other considerations and these, too, become
more important when you study a tree for long periods. That's
the problem experienced by lot of bonsai people who have been
at it for a long time. They might see the same trees day after
day, year after year, but they don't actually study them enough
any more.
It's like reading. You don't
look at the letters and decide what word they spell. Your eye
flits along the line and instantly recognises the shapes of the
words. It's the same with familiar bonsai. You recognise the
tree but ignore the components.
So-called 'finished' trees should
be looked at as analytically as a piece of raw material you're
just about to style. Shohin is a great training ground for this
discipline. In order to have any hope of achieving in a shohin
the sort of images you see in larger bonsai, you have to work
much harder.
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
If you are growing from seed
or cuttings, you need to plan the progress of each branch at
least a season in advance. More sometimes.You can't rely on cut-and-grow.
You have to pinch and prune to a plan - a blueprint. If you can't
find a bud facing the right way, then tease one into place ...
or wait another year in the hope that one will appear. With larger
trees you'll have a choice of several - dozens, maybe.
Seeds and cuttings are the best
way to grow elegant, graceful trees. Working with raw material
is different. You don't have that same control over the formation
of the trunk and the main branch structure.
When you reduce raw material
you create large wounds which need to be incorporated in the
design of the tree somehow. But on shohin you can't be as drastic
or as brash as you can with larger material when it comes to
carving jins and sharis. A small plant just won't take the same
punishment. This makes you think harder, and that's a good habit
to get into.
Then there's things like the
proportion of the spaces between the branches to the mass of
the branches themselves. And the space between the lowest branches
and the ground. This is the most important.
You see the
tree, but the height of this space - which you don't actually
see - tells you the size of the tree whose image you're trying
to convey.
The width of this space, which
depends on the relative lengths of the branch and the pot, can
tell you where the tree is growing. In simple terms, a narrow
pot implies a mountainside, a wide pot implies valley. That sort
of thing.
All this is much less 'adjustable'
with shohin, and needs much more careful analysis and planning.
Shohin teaches you this when you take it on as a serious challenge
- artistically as well as horticulturally.
The proportion of the trunk,
and the pot. The placement of the branches and the spaces between
them. The rhythm, movement, the lines and perspective must all
satisfy the same aesthetic demands.
Working on shohin develops your
ingenuity. Finding ways to tackle these problems and create convincing
images on a small scale sharpens up your skills and makes bigger
bonsai that much more straightforward.
Shohin isn't
an excuse for inferior bonsai by any means. Although it is an
opportunity to use material that you might otherwise disregard.
You know how you might take a
six feet tall tree and reduce it to two feet in order to make
a bonsai. This is normal practice. We all recognise this. But
given a twelve-inch piece of material, the immediate response
is to create a twelve-inch bonsai. Or even to allow it to grow
taller to fit your intended design. This is wrong. You should
really apply exactly the same approach as you would with larger
material. Reduce it to six inches, or less.
With shohin you can carry two
or three pieces at once, work on the kitchen table or even on
your lap! You can pick one up and work on it any time. Fiddle
with it, play with it, then put it back on the bench. If you
have the urge to work on a bonsai, but you only have an hour
or so to spare, then shohin are ideal. They're great for filling
in those idle moments. But they do take longer to develop. The
growth is that much slower. Shohin teaches you patience.
You can get away with using much
less inspiring material too. Because the trunks and branches
are that much thinner they can be manipulated easier and so on.
A simple, cheap garden centre plant can become a wild mountain
driftwood tree, full of drama and movement. You can have total
control on shohin, whereas with bigger and older material you
have to live with what you've got to a greater extent.
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
Maintaining shohin is an entirely
different ball-game to bigger bonsai. I believe that the images
at their peak have a limited life - as do all bonsai images,
of course. Then they need to be rebuilt, or restyled, or whatever
you want to call it.
But the smaller the tree, the
shorter the life of its peak image. I'd say that once that image
has been achieved, you have four to six years before it will
need to be almost entirely rebuilt from the main branches out.
Constant pinching and trimming
to such a small size produces such fine, compact growth that
the shoots become too fine to sustain themselves for long and
they lose vigour. Trees just can't take it horticulturally.
It's best to prune hard and regenerate
the outer shoots more often. Every three or four years perhaps.
But it is hard to destroy an image - especially one that has
been so hard to achieve. You tend to try to keep the image at
its peak for too long. And when you do decide to rebuild it the
process takes longer than with full-size bonsai.
Shohin are more demanding horticulturally,
too. The tiny micro environment is disrupted by changes in climate
much quicker and to a much greater extent. Sun, wind, cold
all have a much more severe effect on shohin.
Miss watering for a day on a
big bonsai and it probably won't even notice. Do the same to
a shohin and it may well turn its toes up for good.
Let the aphids loose for a week
and every shoot has been destroyed. A bigger bonsai can outgrow
most insect attacks.
Keeping shohin
teaches you discipline. You just can't afford to take chances.
But of course you do take chances
from time to time. Or you have the odd lapse of discipline. Then
you lose the tree.
This toughens you up emotionally.
You kick yourself for being so careless. But you get used to
the trauma of losing your precious creations.
And when, after say ten or twelve
years, you have finally achieved an image you are proud of, you
exhibit your shohin for the first time. You stand there watching
the viewing public walk straight past. They go from one heavyweight
to the next, hardly noticing your precious creations. You may
overhear the occasional "Aren't they cute?" or "isn't
it sweet?'. The kids love them!
Exhibiting shohin teaches you
humility too. And that's one of the hardest and most valuable
lessons of all.
So don't concern yourself with
the people who dismiss shohin as mere toys, or just a bit of
fun. They know no better. It's easy to dismiss something you
can't do....
But if you can grow good shohin
you know things that they don't. You've learned lessons that
they have not.
There is no particular merit
in having the cash to buy a large tree. Or having the facility
to collect larger material. That just depends on your personal
circumstances and physical strength, not your skills as a bonsai
artist.
For me, without the lessons of
shohin, my bonsai experience would be incomplete. My larger trees
wouldn't be of the same standard. My techniques, horticultural
knowledge and artistic ability would not have developed so fully.
And I wouldn't have had anywhere near so much pleasure.
That's why shohin!
© Colin Lewis 1997
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