Shin’ichi Hisamatsu defines in ** Zen and the fine arts** 7 characteristics of zen art:
- Asymmetry,
- Simplicity
- Austere Sublimity (of the sublime) or Loafty dryness
- Naturalness
- Subtle Profundity or Deep Reserve: Not everything is shown, darkness is an space from which everything can be shown without being explicit
- Freedom from Attachment: not constrained by rules.
- Tranquillity: guiding you towards silence and stillness.
Here are some fragments of his book:
1. Asymmetry
First, being asymmetric means, after all, being irregular. Being irregular means being crooked or unbalanced. For example, a circle, being round, is
symmetrical with respect to any of its diameters. However, there are figures that are also round but which are crooked, not being balanced either lengthwise or transversely; similarly, there are quadrilaterals with sides of unequal length. Such figures are, in other words, uneven, so that being unbalanced comes to mean being uneven.
In the arts of ikebana and calligraphy people speak of three styles: the formal, or “proper” style; the semi-formal, or “running” style; and the informal, or “grass” style. Asymmetry is most akin to the informal style, for what is symmetrical is roughly of the formal style. Anything unbalanced and uneven is by definition no longer formal.
This is the realization of what Zen calls “wordly
passions fallen away, empty of all holy intent.”
2. Simplicity
The second characteristic, briefly, means being sparse, not being cluttered.
Tea-room design, both exterior and interior, is one such example. Simplicity in color means that colors are unobtrusive and that diversity is avoided. The
simplest color in painting is black Chinese ink; light and shade, if present, derive from the one color of the ink. But, for all this, such ink paintings contain
much that cannot be expressed by showy coloring.
Simplicity also has something in common with naivete and abandon. For, actually, it is abandon rather than deliberateness that is in keeping with Simplicity. The ultimate Simplicity is “not a single thing,” or the One. If, as the negation of holiness results the freedom of non-holiness, then simplicity as the negation of clutter may be spoken of as being “boundless”—there is nothing limiting, as in a cloudless sky.
3. Austere Sublimity or Lofty Dryness
Being astringent—or dried—and sublime—or lofty—means, in short, being advanced in years and life, being seasoned. Roughly speaking, it means the
disappearance of the sensuous—of the skin or the flesh—and becoming bony.
An example of this is Liang K’ai’s Sakyamuni Descending the Mountain, in which the figure’s face, body and entire surroundings give the impression of having discarded the sensuous, the skin and flesh, of being advanced in years and life, of being well seasoned.
The frequently used term “becoming dried” expresses an important characteristic of beauty in Zen, a feature of Oriental beauty. This phrase seems to be commonly understood to mean the cessation or extinction of vitality, the drying up of a well. In the Zen concept of beauty, however, “becoming dried”
means the culmination of an art, a penetration to the essence by a master, which is beyond the reach of the beginner and the immature. Such is the quality of eternal life, which, far from ending, is without either birth or death; it is an inexhaustible wellspring, which is equally free from flooding, stopping and drying up.
Whether in painting or calligraphy, “becoming dried” signifies the disappearance of childishness, unskillfulness or inexperience, with only the pith or essence remaining. Here also is involved something intensely sublime or lofty, a Dried Loftiness quite different in character from that of the painting mentioned above, Amitabha Crossing the Mountain, and of similarly elaborate works. This rough loftiness accompanies the characteristic of Simplicity in Zen art. Moreover, together with this loftiness arises a power or strength, often characterized as sturdy—the sturdiness and hardiness of an aged pine. In vocal music, a comparison of the popular nagauta and tokiwazu ballads, for instance, will make remarkably clear the Dried Loftiness of No songs.
4. Naturalness
The fourth characteristic—being natural—obviously means not being artificial.
While this permits of many interpretations, what is meant here is not simply naivete or instinct. The Naturalness referred to here is equivalent to such terms as unstrained,” having “no mind” or “no intent.” In this connection I can quote an expression used in the Way of Tea: “What has the quality of sahi [of being ancient and graceful] is good; what has been forcibly given this quality is bad.”
True sabi in Zen beauty comes naturally; it is never forced or strained. But this does not mean that sabi is a natural phenomenon and has nothing to do with
intention, or that it occurs innately or in nature. On the contrary, it is the result of a full, creative intent that is devoid of anything artificial or strained— of an intention so pure and so concentrated, as in “samadhi” that nothing is forced. In the case of an asymmetrical teabowl, unless the asymmetry is unstrained and natural, the bowl would not fit the Way of Tea. Only when its irregularity and asymmetry is natural can a teabowl be more interesting than a symmetrical one; nothing is more offensive than an unnatural , strained asymmetry.
“Intentional” Naturalness results when the artist enters so thoroughly into what he is creating that no conscious effort, no distance between the two, remains. Even such an everyday experience as laughter is forced and ceases to be natural if one does not thoroughly enter into it. This sort of true Naturalness is not found either in natural objects or in children. True Naturalness is the “no mind” or “no intent” that emerges from the negation both of naive or accidental naturalness and ordinary intention.
5 Subtle Profundity or Deep Reserve
The fifth characteristic of being both profound and subtle could be expressed as Deep Reserve, i.e., implication rather than the naked exposure of the whole. This sense of Deep Reserve is present when a man does not baldly confront us with his abilities, but keeps them within, as if they were not there.
Monochrome paintings whose content is present more by implication than elaborate delineation. Unlike the paintings by Tung Yuan (tenth century) and Li Ch’eng (late tenth century), which are also in Chinese ink, but in which everything is deliberately detailed, in the former landscape paintings, crags, valleys, trees, hills, rivers, cottages, etc. are all present, but by the power of implication.
The forms are simple enough; but here all is not disclosed, something infinite is contained. Such
works enable us to imagine the depth of content within them and to feel in finite reverberations, something that is not possible with detail painted minutely and distinctly. Here infinity, something far beyond the actual, painted forms, is expressed. In this unstated, unpainted content lies the quality of Deep Reserve, which in turn is accompanied by an inexhaustible profundity.
At the same time this Deep Reserve, or Subtle Profundity, also contains a darkness. Darkness associated with the characteristic of Subtle Profundity—or Profound Subtlety—may be called a calm darkness. This is the kind of darkness that appears in Liang K’ai’s Sakyamuni Descending the Mountain, and also in paintings by Mu-ch’i and Yii-chien. When compared with that of the Acala, the former darkness leads to deep composure and calm. Rather than evoking horror and irritation, it pacifies and stills the mind. For this reason, in contrast to an ominous gloom, we may call the darkness of Zen art a bright darkness.
This is also true of architecture. The inner sanctum of the Konpon-chudo of Enryaku-ji on Mount Hiei, displays the same kind of gloom as that of the Acala. The darkness of a tea room, on the contrary, impresses one quite differently. Elere, one is never threatened; fear or horror are never evoked.
People often complain that a tea room is too dark and murky. Certainly it is dark. However, darkness is preferred. Light is admitted only through paper screens placed for that purpose over a few small windows. If it becomes too bright, reed screens are hung outside to appropriately reduce the light. This is all for the purpose of preventing distraction, of providing a calm atmosphere, and of leading to composure of the mind. This is a natural way of expression in the Way of Tea, which has nothing other than Zen as its spiritual basis.
Should a tea room be designed so as to arouse a sense of threat, fear, or gloom, it would be contrary to the true aim of such a structure. The design of a tea room—including not only its lighting, but also the arrangement of the interior, its entrance, its building materials, its colors, and everything else—is made to transform darkness into the kind that is restful, peaceful and calm. In this respect darkness in Zen art is qualitatively different from that found in Esoteric Buddhism, true stability deriving from nonattachment, from freedom. Herein, also, occurs an endless reverberation, which comes from a never completely revealed, bottomless depth.
An infinite echo reverberating from a single thing, in these cases the solitary birds and the single boat. Though, ordinarily, a single thing is no more than a single thing, in these paintings a single thing, even one speck of dust, contains everything, and the “not a single thing” is inexhaustible.
6. Freedom from attachment
This sixth characteristic means, briefly, freedom from habit, convention, custom, formula, rule, etc.—that is, not being bound to things. This includes freedom or “being unconstrained” in thinking and action. So long as one remains attached to something, one cannot possibly be free in it and with it.
Nonattachment is a very important characteristic of the cultural expressions of Zen, and also can be observed in man’s activities. For example, the activities of a true Zen man are described as being as lively and vigorous as a jumping fish, or, in the Lin-chi lu, as “utterly detached” and “non-dependent.”
Most religions demand adherence of some kind. Ultimately, of course, this would be commitment to God for Christians and to Buddha for Buddhists.
Such is the very ultimate to which they cannot but adhere. But in the true Zen life, not only is there no adherence to such a God or Buddha, there is even a
denial of them.
To follow a Buddha or a patriarch, as such, no longer would be the Zen way of life, which represents the most complete form of freedom.
Further, nonattachment means not adhering to regulations; not only not adhering to established rules, but also not to future ones. In Japan we speak—in a good sense—of a person who is beyond conventional regulations as one whom no single coil of rope can bind. Such a person has something transcending rules. This quality is related to Asymmetry, for leaving rules—as well as perfection—to crumble and collapse is part of nonattachment.
He is considered to have done things both wonderful and unthinkable from an ordinary view; as described by a contemporary, he could “make a mountain a valley and the west the east.”
Unorthodoxy of this sort is much in evidence, for example, in the recorded cases of Zen, which are not fettered by the ordinary rules of language. By saying that language in Zen does not necessarily follow ordinary usage, I do not mean that it is an unlettered or ignorant violation of linguistic rules, but rather that it transcends ordinary word usage because of its nonadherence to the latter.
Since the records of Zen cases abound in such examples, it is no wonder that those records cannot be read, if one was ever to try, according to the ordinary rules of language or logic. This means that there is present in the Zen records a rule-transcending meaning, which emerges where the regulations have been broken through. This is often called the “Rule of No Rule,” and also constitutes a very important element in the cultural expression of Zen. It is in this
Rule of No Rule that what is called “unrestricted freedom” establishes itself.
Although freedom or being unconstrained within the rules may ordinarily be important, this is still living according to and having one’s will dictated by the rules. For instance, being rationally free means living freely according to the rules of reason, without violating them; this is freedom within the rules of reason. The Zen freedom being described does not mean being free rationally and volitionally according to the rules, but is freedom in the sense of not being under any rules. It is this latter kind of freedom that has made its appearance in the cultural expression of Zen and appears as the characteristic of Freedom from Attachment.
7 Tranquility
The seventh characteristic is that of quiet and calm, and of being inwardly oriented. Tranquillity means, negatively, both not being disquieted and not being disquieting; certainly, the movements of a Zen man are not disturbing but are full of Tranquillity and composure. In a Nō play, for example, yokyoku is the term used for the vocal music, which is accompanied by flute, drum and other instruments. Certainly all this is—if we are to use the term—noisy; but when one listens to yokyoku, even the accompaniment does not disturb. Nō music, either vocal or instrumental, instead of being disquieting, results in composure and Tranquillity. In this respect, it differs greatly in character from nagauta and tokiwazu music. Hence, to sing and to make sounds and yet, at the same time, to bring calm and composure, constitutes one of the features of the cultural expressions of Zen.
Thus, in a painting like Liang K ai’s Sakyamuni Descending the Mountain the impression one receives from the whole scene, as well as from the figure, leads one’s mind to infinite Tranquillity. Never, as is often the case with an ordinary landscape painting, will such a painting give only a superficial experience.
Similarly, with Mu-ch’i’s Persimmons (PL pp), the painting permeates the mind with quiet. Although belonging to the general classification of still life, it possesses this special quality. In calligraphy, such works as those by Ryokan (Pis. 142 ff.) and Jiun (Pis. 137 ff.) are also of a quality that leads to infinite Tranquillity. Though manifestation in form is analogous to making noise, the very form itself of these works negates noise and induces calm. This sort of calm or composure seems also to be excellently expressed in the phrase “rest amid motion.” Further examples that clearly possess this feature are, in painting, Mu-ch’i’s Pa-Pa Bird and Sesshu’s Winter, and, in calligraphy, Hakuin’s Mu.
All these characteristics are born from the Formless Self
Todas estas siete caracterĂsticas nacen del Formless Self del Zen
De tal modo que:
- La asimetria es por su falta de forma estricta
- La simplicidad es por la absoluta simplicidad del vacĂo
- La austeridad es por su eternidad (being seasoned)
- La profundidad oscura es parte de este formless self
- La calma viene de la quietud absoluta de este formless self
Freedom is actualized only by one who is free from form. The Fundamental Subject, even when out in the world, never ad heres to form. In the sense that he is free from attachment, a true Zen monk has freedom in both thought and action.
 Only if nothing appeared to the five senses and nothing stirred in the mind would there be true freedom from disquiet. In the actualities of life, however, no such condition exists. Even when we are alone and our mind, in the ordinary sense, is calm, the existence of body and mind with form is itself disquieting. Consequently, as long as “I am,” as long as there is the ordinary self, there is disturbance. Except in the Formless Self, there is absolutely no condition of freedom from disquiet. It is this Self that is Zen; and it is this Self that is true Tranquillity.
This true serenity is nothing objective; it is not merely being tranquil or not being disturbed. It is rather being what may be called the Fundamental Subject or Absolute. Only by being the Fundamental Subject can one be free from disquiet in all conditions. For this Fundamental Subject—or Self Without Form—even in a place that is “noisy,” in the broadest sense, negates the noise and quiets it. Thus, being tranquil in every action, or being “at rest amidst motion,” as the expression goes, is true serenity. It is this kind of Tranquillity that is expressed in every work of true Zen art.
As has already been noted, since these Seven Characteristics are no more than attributes of the manner of being of the Self Without Form, they are one and inseparable. The oneness of the Self Without Form is their basis. Hence, the seven, each being an expression of this One, are each included, inseparably, in all the others.
When this Self Without Form awakens (to itself), it not only directly influences the arts—as, for instance, in the formation of the group of arts that is being considered here—but it influences everything else as well.
Al final del libro de zen and the fine arts propone que occidente despierte un nuevo arte del ser sin forma, del vacĂo y una nueva expresiĂłn de este:
“culture of form” changes to one in which the Self Without Form expresses itself, then something will emerge that has not been seen before outside the Orient.