Small Trees, Big Truths: Discovering Bonsai in Japan

Sep 19

Mature Gingko with Bonsai Gingko at FPC

“A perfect reminder of the strange scale play in bonsai.”

I had my first real introduction to bonsai years ago, back when I was interning at Franklin Park. Their collection I thought was impressive at the time. The oldest bonsai they had was around 300 years old, a tree that had seen more history than I could wrap my head around. There was even a full-sized ginkgo planted outside the bonsai courtyard to mirror the miniature ginkgo displayed within. A perfect reminder of the strange scale play in bonsai.

Shunkaen Bonsai Museum

And yet, despite that early brush with these living sculptures, it wasn’t until much more recently (20+ years later) that bonsai really got under my skin. Planning our family trip to Japan, I stumbled across the work of master Kunio Kobayashi through the AHS (American Horticultural Society). I watched a Front Runners/NHK world - Japan special about him,and I was absolutely enthralled.

Kobayashi opened my eyes to something I hadn’t quite pieced together before: bonsai isn’t just gardening—it’s sculpture, philosophy, and storytelling all at once. These trees are pushed to their limits, even scarred intentionally, to reflect the trials and struggles of life. In his words, the scars are not disfigurements but proof of resilience, a kind of poetry written into bark and branch. It struck me that bonsai, for all its rigid rules and precise practices, is ultimately a deeply expressive art. Yes, it begins as a manipulative process, bending, wiring, cutting, but the hope is that as the artist gains skill and wisdom, the practice becomes less about control and more about collaboration. The tree, in time, guides you as much as you guide it.

Formal, cascading or multi trunk, what’s your favorite bonsai style?

Do you find the oldest in the collection the most compelling?

We made visiting Kobayashi’s Shunkaen Bonsai Museum, about a 40 minute train ride from (Ueno) Tokyo, a priority on our trip. Walking through his studio was stunning. We were welcomed by a kind foreign intern, who led us to the center of the heavily populated studio and introduced us to the oldest bonsai in the collection—a tree over 1,000 years old. Standing before it felt surreal and yet hard to really wrap my head around (it didn’t help that it was blazing hot and we were all a little dehydrated). Did I find the oldest bonsai in the collection also the most compelling? Honestly, no, I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, it was very impressive. As was the sheer amount of bonsai being cared for within the grounds, but it didn’t speak to me. I found the cascading, dramatic ones more interesting.

The overall experience left me inspired and humbled. Bonsai is patience (something I definitely need to work on), artistry, and philosophy rolled into one. It’s also a reminder that beauty is born not from perfection, but from endurance. Someday, once my kids are grown, I hope I’ll get the chance to immerse myself more fully in this practice—perhaps even as an intern myself, if Master Kobayashi is willing to take on an impatient old woman apprentice. Until then, I’ll carry the lessons of bonsai with me: scars are stories, struggles are strength, and collaboration with nature is the truest form of art.