FLOWER ARRANGEMENT
One of the chief characteristics of the Japanese, which especially
distinguishes them from Europeans, is their intense fondness for
flowers--not the fondness which many English people affect, but an
instinctive love of the beautiful, and a poetical appreciation of
symbolism. The Japanese nature is artistic in essence, and in no more
delightful manner is the art of the people expressed than in the
cultivation of flowers. Flowers to them are a source of infinite and
unending joy, of which the chief pleasure lies in their proper placing
and arrangement. Every common Japanese workman, every fan-worker or
metal-worker, has some little flower carefully placed beside him at his
work; he loves and prunes and cares for it.
If you dine out with a friend you will be seated, not on the right-hand
side of the past-middle-age lady of the house, but near some beautiful
flower. The "honoured interior" would never have the presumption to seat
you next herself. You are her guest, and must be made happy by being
placed in the near neighbourhood of the principal and most beautiful
object in the room, which is invariably the arrangement of flowers. And
a vase of flowers in a Japanese house is at once a picture and a poem,
being always in perfect harmony with the surroundings. The art of
arranging flowers is an exact science, in the study of which seven years
of constant hard work finds a man but fairly proficient. In fact, to
create a really fine arrangement is just as difficult as to paint an
equally fine picture. Every leaf and every flower has to be drawn and
practically modelled into form, while even so simple a thing as the
bending of a twig requires much care and knowledge. To become a master
in the art of flower-arrangement a man must study for at least fourteen
years, devoting the remainder of his life to perfecting and improving
it.
[Illustration: A WISTARIA GARDEN]
There are scores of different arrangements that one must learn, and
volumes upon volumes of designs, showing all the most delicate and
subtle forms of placing which a master, in order to create perfect
balance, must have at his fingers' ends. These ancient designs are so
perfect that it is almost impossible to change them or to insert any
original work into them. Here and there, indeed, some great master will
make a slight variation in the arrangement of a particular flower, and
in a very short time that variation is trumpeted throughout the country
and known in all art sections. To a Westerner this seems incredible. He
affirms that if he jumbles a bunch of flowers together in a vase he can
create a different effect every time. Very probably, and he can also
strew roses and cut flowers all over his dining-table if he likes;
but he will still be creating nothing more than a jumble. If he were to
think out the arrangement of his table from an artistic point of view as
a bit of decoration, he would find it impossible to produce such a
wealth of inartistic variety. "But," argues the uninitiated Westerner,
"these roses strewn carelessly over our tables, and bunches of flowers
stuck loosely into vases, are far more natural than the single stiff
bough of blossom of Japanese decoration. Flowers grow in Nature
carelessly and wildly, and therefore they must be arranged to look like
that." Now, it is always difficult to answer these people, for the
dining-table of the West begins by being utterly hopeless in decoration
and in colour. One cannot possibly compare this meaningless attire, this
independent mass of colour forming no pattern, and probably placed upon
the table by a servant without care or thought, and with an utter
disregard to form and order,--one cannot compare such decoration with
the beautiful, scientifically-thought-out flower arrangements of Japan.
All that one can say is that one is art and the other is not. Nature
grabbed at in this crude Western fashion and stuck into a vase is no
longer Nature.
Consummate naturalness is brought about only by consummate art, and is
not the result of accident. If a bough of blossom growing in the midst
of other trees is taken from Nature and placed in a vase, however
beautiful it might originally have been, it must necessarily appear
awkward and out of place. One of the chief characteristics of Japanese
flower arrangement is its resemblance to the flowers in a state of
nature. A bough or a tree in a Japanese room looks exactly like a real
bit of Nature lifted bodily out of the sunshine and its own particular
surroundings, and placed there. Nature appears to be almost commonplace
as compared with the work of a great Japanese master in the art of
flower arrangement, and almost less natural. A master, after having
received a clear impression of the way a certain bough appears in the
midst of its background of Nature, is capable of taking that single
bough and of twisting it into broad beautiful lines, one picking up with
the other in such a way as to convey the same impression to you as it
did when growing in its own sunny garden.
[Illustration: FLOWER-PLACING]
"But why are there so few flowers in this Japanese method of flower
decoration?" complains the Westerner. "Why only one branch of blossom in
a pot?--why only one?" Because you can see that one and enjoy it,
provided that you have the capacity to see at all, which the majority of
people have not. One beautiful bough or one beautiful picture should be
ample food for enjoyment to last an artist for one whole day. If there
were twenty beautiful boughs, or twenty beautiful pictures, you would
look from one to the other and would necessarily become confused. You
would leave that room feeling thoroughly unhappy, and with the same sort
of headache that one gets after spending an afternoon in a
picture-gallery. To enjoy one of these pictures or flowers, and to
concentrate one's thoughts upon it alone, you would have to frame it
between your hands, cutting it off and isolating it from the rest.
This the Japanese do for you. They know that you cannot appreciate more
than one beautiful object at a time, and they see that that one object
is perfectly placed in relation to its surroundings, so as to give rest
and enjoyment to the eye. Almost every one in Japan, either young or
old, is capable of appreciating a fine arrangement of flowers, and
nearly every Japanese woman can practise the art.
So many minute descriptions have already been written of the methods of
the masters of flower decoration that there is little else to say on
that point. However, since decoration by flowers has so much to do with
the art of the country, and is so closely connected with the character
of the people, I feel that I must give a slight description of some of
the marvellous creations in purple irises, lilies, and pines that the
greatest master in Tokio once arranged for me at my hotel. He arrived
early one morning, and in great good-humour, evidently feeling that, I
being an artist, his work would be appreciated and understood. He
carried with him his flowers, tenderly wrapped in a damp cloth under one
arm, and his vases under another. One of his most promising pupils, a
girl of nineteen, accompanied him, acting almost as a servant and
evidently worshipping him as her master. He began at once to show us a
decoration of lilies and reeds. With the utmost rapidity he took out a
bunch of slim reeds, pulled them to different lengths, the large ones
at the back, the small ones in front, and caressed the whole into a
wooden prong looking like a clothes-peg, and arranged it in a kind of
vase made out of a circular section of bamboo. An immense amount of care
was taken with the handling of these reeds, the master drawing back now
and then in a stooping position with his hands on his knees and his eyes
bolting out to view his handiwork critically. Next he took some lilies
with their leaves, and arranged them in a metal stand composed of a
number of divisions looking like cartridge-cases cut off. Every leaf was
twisted and bent and cut to improve its form. The half-open lilies were
made to look as though they were growing, and were a great favourite
with this master because of the scope for beautiful curves and lines
that they allowed. Time after time he would take out a leaf or a flower,
putting another in its place, thereby showing that he had absolute
command over his subject, and a fixed picture in his mind that he was
determined to produce at any cost. The ultimate result of the decoration
was perfect naturalness. I never saw lilies growing on the hillside look
more natural than they did here; yet each had been twisted and bent into
a set design laid down by the artist. Both reeds and lilies were placed
in a wooden tray partially lacquered, the unlacquered portion
representing old worm-eaten wood; pebbles were placed in the bottom of
the tray, and the whole was flooded with water. Then he began his
decoration of irises. He took a bundle of iris leaves, cut and trimmed
them, washing and drying each leaf separately, and sticking them
together in groups of twos and threes. With his finger and thumb he
gently pressed each one down the centre, rendering it as pliable as
wire. The leaves were cut to a point at the base and placed in a metal
stand with consecutive circles. Then an iris bud, with the purple just
bursting, was placed in position and caressed into bloom. The whole was
syringed with water and carefully placed in a corner of the room.
[Illustration: WISTARIA]
I have described these few flower arrangements in detail in order to
show the exactitude of the work and the immense amount of care taken by
professors in flower arrangement. On this particular occasion I had
invited some friends to enjoy the professor's masterpieces with me, and
he had just completed a most exquisite production, by far the best and
finest he had achieved that day. It was an arrangement of pine with one
great jutting bough, perfectly balanced--in fact, a veritable work of
art. The professor was a true artist; he loved his work, and it was all
the world to him.
For once he was content, and had just leant back to view his work
through half-closed eyes when in a flash an Oxford straw hat was clapped
down right on top of it. It was the husband of one of my friends just
returned from a walk, full of spirits and boisterously happy. It was a
cruel thing to do; but he did not realise the horror of his act. He saw
a bough sticking right out of a pot, and it seemed to him a suitable
place to hang his hat on: so he hung it there--that was all. The little
assistant gave one frightened look at her master, and began to pack up
the utensils at once; the professor drew himself up in a very dignified
way, bowed profoundly, and left the hotel. I never saw him again, and I
knew that I never should--for he went away crushed.
THE GEISHA