ZEN AND THE ARTS
Many times I have
said the aim of Zen practice is awakening, also known as enlightenment. In
simple terms, awakening is becoming aware of one’s true self.
Awakening
has been reported as an instant flash of lightening. Or it may occur gradually.
Or it may take place several times over. But awakening is not merely a passing
phenomenon. It is the realization of freedom in all senses of the word. It is a
physical release, a spiritual release, an intellectual release.
In such freedom, one’s mind is clear
and one no longer was or will be. One is.
Right
now.
When one lives in the immediate
present, free of the whims of the intellect, one discovers all sorts of
meanings and values that have always been within one but have never blossomed.
This unfolding is central in one’s everyday life.
It
is even more significant if one’s daily life involves the creative arts.
I’m speaking of such individuals as
writers, painters, sculptors, potters, musicians, and photographers. Even individuals
in the performing arts such as dance, music, and theater.
D.T. Suzuki wrote: “The artist’s world
is one of free creation, and this can come only from intuitions directly and
immediately rising from the isness of things, unhampered by senses and
intellect.”
There’s that word isness. It isn’t in
any dictionary, so what is isness?
Isness is the way something is, right
now.
An artist works in isness. Because an
artist actualizes forms and sounds out of no-form and no-sound, his or her
world is isness.
And
Zen is isness. Awakening.
Artists—whatever their practice,
whether it’s music or painting or writing—depend on some mechanical intermediate
to fulfill themselves. It might be a flute, it might be a brush, it might be a
word processor. Zen needs nothing external except—as Suzuki implied—the body
that personifies the Zen person.
One’s Zen-nature expresses itself in
the world without one having any idea of doing so, and the world mirrors one’s
Zen-nature just as unwittingly.
A haiku expresses this concept:
Shadows
of the geese
On the pond. They know it not,
Nor does the water.
An artist brings forth the potential essence
of a jumble of words or a block of stone. The life of a Zen person is the
ongoing work of such conception.
I think it was Michelangelo who was
once asked how he could start out with a shapeless chunk of stone and end up
with a real-looking elephant.
“All I do is get rid of everything that
doesn’t look like an elephant,”
he answered.
It is interesting that most schools of
Buddhism—Jodo, Tendai, Shingon, Nichiren, Tibetan—concern themselves with a
person’s spiritual life.
They speak of behavior, of one’s duty
to other people, of morality, of a higher authority in the cosmos. Some even
speak of worship, or paying homage to a person, place, or thing.
Zen goes beyond duties and worshipful
attitudes. Zen—especially in Japan—figures into virtually every aspect of
life. Especially cultural life:
Painting: Sumi-e
Poetry: Haiku
Drama: No theater
Landscaping: Small-space garden
Bonsai: Dwarf trees
Ikebana: Flower arranging
Chanoyu: Tea ceremony
Music: Shakuhachi flute
Kyudo: The way of the bow
Shodo: Calligraphy
Budo: Martial arts
The art historian, Georges Duthuit wrote,
“He who deliberates and moves his brush intent on making a picture, misses to a
still greater extent the art of painting. . . . Draw bamboos for ten years,
become a bamboo, then forget all about bamboos when you are drawing. . . .”
D.T. Suzuki, in Zen and Japanese Culture, page 31, followed these lines by writing:
“To become a bamboo and to forget that
you are one with it while drawing it—this is the Zen of the bamboo . . . Zen .
. . has given expression to it in the following phrase: One in All and All in
One.”
1 Comments:
Rover Jack,
I thought this post was really fascinating. I thought it was really interesting how you described the aspects of art and zen, and how they interrelate. I can really relate personally to how each of them intertwine, and I hope to write as well as you one day.
Sarah
Post a Comment
<< Home