Brooklyn Bonsai
Jake Reiben (Brooklyn Friends School)
The day my mother stepped out on what little we have of a deck in the midst of Brooklyn to find that
the one bonsai tree her son purchased but months ago had now multiplied into twenty others was the day I
had to answer a hard question: why I had such an obsession with dwarf trees. In what was a reserved
manner for a Catholic Italian, my mother fled my deck and its suffocating plants, burst into my room and
demanded an answer. At this point, Japan and its culture came to my mind. I asked myself: “Would students
in Japan be persecuted for their interest in bonsai?” I then recalled that my Japanese-American friend had
laughed at me when I had told her I had a bonsai tree collection. In her opinion, the art of bonsai was
reserved only for elderly Japanese men. My friend’s opinion aside, my mother had asked a good question,
for I had never been able to create a coherent explanation as to why I had become fascinated with the
ancient Japanese art of bonsai. I decided to embark on a quest to prove to my mom that I had not gone off
the deep end, but also to clarify for myself why the Japanese art of bonsai seduced me.

Probing the depths of my mind while staring at the trees in which I had invested so much time and
money helped me create an answer. I began with putting the sensation I felt while working on bonsai trees
into words. This feeling reminded me of the same sensation a rock climber experiences as he safely and
quickly ascends a mountain while avoiding the distraction of irrelevant thoughts. Similarly, in the case of
re-potting a bonsai tree, the vulnerable bare rooted state of the tree demands that I must concentrate and act
decisively to pot the tree securely. Although the mountain climber analogy was a bit of a stretch, I had
figured out that I enjoyed the Zen-like state I achieved while working on my bonsai trees. Nonetheless, I
still felt that my answer was incomplete; I had yet to convey how the principles of the Japanese art of
bonsai applied to my everyday life.

So great is the patience and dedication required to grow and style bonsai that it made me a more
accepting person. In bonsai, a tree must slowly be sculpted and styled as not to cause its demise. After
killing several trees from making hasty decisions, I learned that I had to slow down and respect them. With
this acquired patience, I began to pace myself and properly do my homework, for the practice of bonsai had
drilled into me that impulsive actions often resulted in the death of my artistic creations. Furthermore,
bonsai helped me embrace the idea that individuals must adapt to sudden changes. This is due to the fact
that branches often die in bonsai, yet the tree does not become utterly worthless. Deadwood or “jin” can be
sculpted to create a dramatic contrast between the living and dead parts of the tree. I became inspired by
this expansive approach as what could have been an unfortunate turn of events can be transformed into a
deeper aesthetic experience.

After much deliberation I had finally achieved an answer to my mother’s question. Working with
nature in the depths of metropolitan Brooklyn, usually bare of but a patch of grass, was truly reviving. Rock
climbing was the only other way that fed my addiction to experience a Zen-like state. My mother and I both
know that it is difficult to find a mountain in Brooklyn. Thanks to this Japanese art, I have become more
patient and accepting of change; I know there are always options.

60