Zambra Bonsai

[Lirim Collard]

Awhisper of trickling water echoed from a fountain somewhere unseen. A gentle breeze rolled in, carrying with it the summer's soft light and the subtle scent of dust. Miniature cedars and assorted bonsai stood proudly in various Asian-style pots.

This bonsai garden, nestled within the tranquil plaza and further enveloped by the larger structure of the building, stood as a serene, Russian-doll-like oasis of calm. It marked a stark contrast to the bustling layers of city life outside. The fusion of the delicate forms of the bonsai, embodying the essence of Asian aesthetics and philosophy, stood in harmonious balance with the bold and grandiose elements of the Spanish plaza.

Surrounded by these living little forms of beauty born from limitation, the words resonated more deeply. I reflected for a moment on how the environment had meticulously shaped my identity, much like the bonsais in their pots. The trees, with their twisted trunks and sparse, strategically pruned leaves, stood as a testament to the complex dance between freedom and restriction, growth and containment. As the whisper of the wind rustled through the leaves, I pondered the delicate balance of nurturing one's roots while yearning for the sky, realizing that sometimes, the very constraints that seem to bind us are what create our unique beauty and strength.

The maestro, realizing my interest, walked me through his garden, pointing out the age of various plants. As we talked, he showed me that his bonsai were reflections of life. They were lessons in creativity, in finding harmony, not through control but through understanding and adapting to the natural rhythm of existence.

"Creativity isn't about rigidly adhering to rules or conventional methods," he noted. "It's about nurturing ideas, allowing them to grow and find their own form. Just as with these bonsai trees, respecting their natural essence will resonate with beauty and fulfillment. In guiding projects with a gentle hand, allow them to unfold in their own time and way. Approach them like life, less about controlling and more about harmonizing with the natural flow of things. That's the dance between form and freedom."

Then the real work starts. The tree must be shaped, both to keep it small and to force it to grow in the desired direction. Bonsai gardeners use a special set of tools that remind me of the dentist. These cutters are supposed to leave hollow wounds that heal quickly.

First Nation and Native Americans once bent trees to create guideposts. The marker trees pointed the way toward fresh water, medicinal plants or the safest route out of the wilderness. These early trail markers were made from saplings bent and staked with wild vines or rawhides. Nature would eventually take over, causing the tree to grow past the bend tall into the sky.

Nothing is more complicated, varied, attentive to detail, than the Japanese art of landscape gardening. Thus there is the form called dry landscape, composed entirely of rocks, in which the arrangement of stones gives expression to mountains and rivers that are not present, and even suggests the waves of the great ocean breaking in upon cliffs. Compressed to the ultimate, the Japanese garden becomes the bonsai dwarf garden, or the bonseki, its dry version.

But how to choose which limb to amputate and which one to save, if only to mutilate it beyond recognition? My friend Tim tells me of a harrowing moment at bonsai school. He and his teacher Yannick Kiggen examine a tree. A large knot, mostly filled with deadwood, mars one side. Should it be removed?

Alejandro Zambra is a Chilean poet whose first novella was entitled Bonsai. I missed that one but I did read his second, The Private Lives of Trees. Both books use a circular narrative structure to lead the reader down a rabbit hole (or through a tree knot).

The final stage in cultivating a bonsai tree is to choose the proper vessel to contain the plant. After all, the Japanese word bonsai means tray planting. The vessel must be worthy of its burden and vice versa. Or, in the words of Zambra reviewer Elizabeth Wadell

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