Cutting Stones

Cutting the Bottom of the Suiseki Stone
Some 20 years ago, I was working with my brother in San Francisco. Having long been interested in bonsai, we joined a local bonsai society. During one of the meetings, Felix Rivera gave a suiseki demonstration; and I was hooked. That year I made over 150 daiza, hardly any of which I still have. Most of Felix's suiseki stones had their bottom's cut off. My first stones had cut bottoms, which had a marked impact on the approach that I brought to making suiseki daiza. Several years later on my first trip to Japan, I discovered that the Japanese suiseki that I preferred were not cut, nor were they manipulating in any other way. Following this trip, my cutting-stone days were over. This issue became a bone of contention between Felix and me, and has remained so ever since. A few years ago when I was in Oakland, I presented a few of my suiseki to Felix's group. The group's response was interesting—although they were quite taken by my daiza, they could not understand my aversion to cutting stones. This issue has remained on my mind, however to date I have not addressed it. On aesthetic grounds, what might be said in the controversy between cutting and not cutting the suiseki-stone?

Stone as Prime Matter or Natural Sculpture
Most critical in this debate is what one takes to be the basic nature of the stone for suiseki. In favor of "cutting-stones," it could be argued that the stone consists of the basic material from which the suiseki is created. Here, in the Aristotelian sense, the stone is the prime matter (the physical medium) awaiting to be given its form (the piece) from of the craftsman. In this case the suiseki stone is analogous to the block of marble from which Michelangelo created his great works of sculpture, by means of subtraction, i.e., removing all stone, save that which constitutes the work of art. In this case, the marble that eventually became Michelangelo's David is in itself of modest importance.

By contrast, the "no-cut-stones" advocates could argue that the enterprise of suiseki begins with stone-stock, which could be regarded as objects of natural sculpture. The grounds here would rest in a certain "reverence for nature," and the symbolic reflection of this residing in the stone. Since the earliest days of our humanity, be this 50,000 or 250,000 years ago, man's first religious inclinations were directed toward naturalistic pantheism. This is understandable: we are not only products of the nature that surrounds us, but our individual and species survival depends upon it. Japan's early indigenous Shinto religion found its practice on this respect for "divine" nature. Many of the religions which have sprung up the past 2500 years are based upon principals derived from the basic tenants of pantheism. It seems safe to say that many of our divinities, both old and more recent are nature based. Thus, it is no surprise that we hold "virgin-nature" in high esteem; and for this we make the distinction between nature, which provides the materials for our survival (trees for houses, marble for sculptural art); and "nature in the buff" to be admired and appreciated for its inherent beauty. This is what I mean using the metaphor, "seeking the kami in the stone." On the basis of the precepts of Shinto, I suspect that it was in no small part due to their commitment to the natural wholeness of the stones. Thus, in addition to their other aesthetic properties, their being uncut was significant.

Pros and Cons for Cutting a Suiseki Stone
One potential argument supporting the position of cutting suiseki stones may come from the tradition of stone setting in Japanese gardens. For nearly a thousand years stone setting has been one of the essentials of Japanese gardens. An important rule regarding stone setting is that the stone must be securely set in the ground, which normally would be to the depth of its greatest girth such that the stone appears to be "growing" from the ground in which it sits. The suiseki-stone-cutters could argue that this is precisely one of the intended effects of cutting the stone. It is rather ironic that they find it necessary to cut the bottom of the stone at the optimal point for allowing the resulting suiseki to simulate the stone setting rule applied to Japanese gardens to achieve the appearance of "naturalness."

Other reasons for cutting stones could be that doing so, improves the quality, the clarity and sharpness of the stone and its subject matter, e.g., as a mountain range. In some schools of suiseki, this practice is essential. Also, cutting improves the proportions of the stone (length, depth and height). Finally, the stone might have a number of special features, but it is unusable absent being cut. These arguments however, fail to be convincing. They are predicated on the notion that there exists some "trans-stone" phenomenon, such as the "work of art," that takes precedence over the inherent nature of the stone itself. This is precisely the "Michelangelo-argument"—the sculpture David takes precedence over the marble from which it was created.

Originally in Japan, the grounds for suiseki were analogous to those governing bonsai—to bring large nature indoors by miniaturizing it; the easiest means by which to do this was by placing the stone on a daiza and the tree in a pot. Over the course of the past millennium of Japanese history, the pragmatics have become formalized within Japanese ideology and aesthetics. My answer to the "Japanese garden stone-setting argument" would be that in this sense suiseki diverges from the tradition of Japanese gardening. For me, among suiseki's properties of substantial relevance, is that the suiseki must "express" its natural-bottomness.

This is my strongest argument against cutting the suiseki stones. A cluster of properties come into play here, not the least of which is revealed in the contrast of suiseki to its cultural-sibling, bonsai. One pronounced feature in the aesthetics of bonsai is that these miniature tress are experientially two-dimensional, i.e., they are perceived as "flat" visual phenomena; they are distinctly frontal; they are always exhibited at a distance; and they are never intended (psychologically, logically or pragmatically) to be touched. While this contrast with suiseki is not uncontroversial, it is fairly important. In contrast, suiseki are tactile, three-dimensional phenomena—they always retain their being "six-sided" objects, conceived, defined and intended to be touched ("rubbed," if you will; see the piece "Rubbing Suiseki Stones"); and this is especially so, even in those instances in which they are exhibited and cannot be touched. Even in the visual experience of suiseki it is crucial to project their tactility onto their nature as they are being experienced visually. This is an essential aspect of my saying that suiseki must "express" their natural bottoms.

As a corollary, psychologically, it is obvious that a stone has been cut, even when the cut-bottom is not directly perceivable; aesthetically, this constitutes a significant difference in experiencing the suiseki. This suggests what for me is central to how art is best experienced: through one's peripheral vision (i.e., experiencing art without directly perceiving it.) This peripheral experience is very powerful over the long term; it is the manner applied to much of the art, much of the time with which one lives. In this sense, one will invariably "feel" the cut bottom of a stone, even and especially when it is not exposed. There are two important consequences here: 1) the obvious overall, physical difference between cut and natural-bottom stones; and 2) that cut stones telegraph the fact that they are so; these constitute a duel liability.

One central activity for all suiseki is stone collecting. The criterion driving the pursuit of collecting is grounded upon the eventual suiseki to be created— whether with a cut stone or not. This distinction determines the mind-set brought to collecting. One literally "sees" the rocks in the river bed differently if the stones are intended to be cut or left natural. The very mind-set distinction is transferred directly to how one approaches the experiential encounter with the finished suiseki. Thus, we arrive at a significant epistemological difference here in the visual schemata brought to the experience of these two phenomena —the cut-stone and natural suiseki. This "mind-set" difference is as complex as it is subtle.

For the committed non-cutter, what is allowed, relative to "working" the stone? After being collected, the stone may be cleaned, not exceeding what is accomplished through the cycles of the dishwasher. The stone cannot be ground or sanded in any manner; that the Japanese allow their suiseki to be sandblasted is unfortunate; it makes not a wit of difference how subtly and inconspicuously it is done. The stone can be left outside in the weather; and then after a decade or two when very little has changed; it can be placed on its daiza, or whatever. In those cases where the nature of the stone is appropriate, it may be rubbed with the oil (baby or mineral); the myth here is that, with doing so daily for several decades, the stone will acquire a spectacular patina. (See "Rubbing the Suiseki Stone") Whether historically accurate or not, this surely is a great story.

I hope that these thoughts have gone some way to capturing the nature of the suiseki stone (i.e., its ontological status). On the other side of the philosophic coin, how is our experience and meaning of suiseki effected by these considerations? These questions are of consequence relative to the theoretic dimension of suiseki; and I hope that this discussion has moved the issue forward.

March 24, 2008