Zen in the Japanese arts

The second painting that I chose was painted by the famous Zen master and samurai, Miyamoto Musashi, who was also an accomplished painter known under the name of Niten.
Much of what was said for the previous painting could be said here. The first stroke brings out the form out of emptiness. Obviously, the first stroke is the one that outlines Bodhidharma’s body. All other strokes are built around the first one. Again, there is no complexity, no obeying the fixed rule, no rank both in Bodhidharma and in Niten. It is obvious that the author was free from attachments in terms of habits, customs, regulations or orthodoxies. It is obvious that the author did no care for perfect strokes and did not have any pretensions. Same as in the previous painting, we could see the austere sublimity of the seasoned artist, his naturalness, spontaneity and profoundness. But, at the same time, there is nothing naïve or accidental. Again, there is no bottom of the depth, which is the sure sign that the painting is the expression of the Buddha-mind.
Zen Poetry has its own development and specific features, different than other Zen art forms but, it is a product of a Zen Buddhists so, it comes from the same source – the Buddha-mind. To point at the manifestation of the Buddha-mind, I shall discuss two short poems by Basho:
Breaking the silence
Of an ancient pond,
A frog jumped into water –
A deep resonance.
It seems appropriate to choose Basho’s most famous poem because it is a representation of the master’s mature style. In the introduction of Basho’s book The Narrow Road to the Deep North, Nobuyiki Yuasa narrated a story about the composition of the poem. It is worth repeating it here in order to illustrate the Buddha-mind. The story is that the master was sitting in meditation near the pond when a frog jumped into the water making a sound that broke the silence. Naturally, the event was worth a haiku. The second part of the poem was already composed: “A frog jumped into water – a deep resonance.” Only the first part remained. One of Basho’s disciples, sitting alongside, suggested: “Amidst the flowers/ Of the yellow rose.” It was an elegant beginning, preserving the standard of a proper haiku. But, Basho, after some thought, chose: “Breaking the silence / Of an ancient pond.” Yuasa contrasted the two openings in order to illustrate the profoundness of the master’s choice: Indeed, Basho’s verses were without any pretenses, without the limitations of the form, and a lot more direct. Only after the comparison it becomes obvious how much truth they contain and how deep they reach in their simplicity and honesty. As Yuasa noticed, “Crude personification and ingenious self-dramatization have completely disappeared from his poems” (33-34).
Speaking of this poem, I would like to make a particular mention to Will Peterson’s short but profound comment. The topic of his discussion was the famous stone garden in Ryoan-ji and only briefly he mentioned the Basho’s haiku. All he said was that, “The sound of the frog plopping into the still pond creates the silence in Basho’s well-known haiku. The sound gives form to the silence – the emptiness” (107). I would like to offer my understanding of this comment. First of all, what Petersen is suggesting is that the silence that was disturbed by the frog’s plopping was Basho’s symbol for the emptiness. The realization of the emptiness is, in fact, the realization of one’s own Buddha-nature. But, how does one realize emptiness? How could the emptiness be known? If I understand well, that is exactly what Petersen is answering. Without the sound, the silence could not have been realized. That is, without the form, the emptiness could not have been realized. Without the frog jumping in the well, the sound would not have been produced and the awareness of the emptiness would not have been produced. And, without the silence (the emptiness), the sound of the frog’s plopping into the pond would not have been distinguished. In that way, form produced emptiness and emptiness produced form. This conclusion seems to be in accord with the most famous statement made in the whole Mahahana Buddhism, expressed in one sentence in the “Heart Sutra” and quoted by Petersen – “Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.” If I understand Petersen correctly, he is suggesting that Basho’s poem expressed nothing less than the poetic explanation of that most profound philosophical statement. If that is correct, than I would conclude that not only Zen art was influenced by the Buddhist philosophy, but the profound Buddhist philosophy was explained and affirmed through the art better than through the analytical discourses.