Beautiful group, love the natural styling, thanks for posting. Good to have your participation, hope our paths cross some day! Particularily like the Larch, shows a lot of age and determination. They say age and character are valuable attributes in Bonsai. Perhaps also in Bonsai artists
, at least i am hoping so!
Thanks for you kind words. I like what you say about age and character in both bonsai and us artists.
Here, where I'm currently living, I have my bonsai on a veranda, on which I spend a great deal of time when the Puget Sound weather cooperates. I'm sitting here now in the evening twilight, a few early fireworks and reassuring large caliber rifle rounds going off this 4th of July, alternating between my computer, and inspiring book, some food and libations, and long stretches just looking at and sort of communing with my trees. It's an odd bond between me and my trees, and I think it may be that way for others.
They're not human .... they're not even animals like a dog or cat or horse one can bond with .... but there's a bond of some sort between us ... I have to learn their language so to speak, to know what they want and need from me. I care about their well-being immensely, and they may even care about me as the source of their well-being for all I know. I'm pretty certain they're not going to divorce me and sue for alimony, or run off with some other bonsai artist who's got stiffer wire, or sharper concave cutters, or a more tempting soil mix ... no. We appreciate each other's age and determination, "character" if you will.
I'm reminded, as often happens in recent years, of the final lines from Tennyson's
Ulysses:
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me —
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads — you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.