What would make a person want to take a bonsai that looks like this:

And make it look like this instead:

The tree as it was in the first image looked much more like a bonsai is supposed to look. Most people looking at that tree, or a picture of it, would recognize it as a bonsai tree, whereas the tree in the second image might not immediately register as a bonsai tree. It is recognizable as a tree, however, and as a miniature. The size of the foliage in comparison to the size of the branches and trunk indicate the size of the tree must be small. Although it is mostly cropped out of the picture frame, it’s apparent enough that the tree in the second image is in a container and not planted in the ground. The wire visible on its branches is evidence that someone has been working with the tree. A miniaturized tree, cultivated in a container and given a particular shape by a human being, is the basic definition of a bonsai. Yet there must be more to it. Otherwise, how could the tree in the first image be more like what a bonsai is supposed to look like?

The answer can be found in this part of the above definition: "Given a particular shape by a human being." Bonsai do not shape themselves. Human beings decide what shape a bonsai might have, and human beings decide what shape a bonsai should have.

Here is a picture of a classical Japanese bonsai presented in a traditional formal display:

The tree in the above image is a Japanese black pine (Pinus thunbergii). It appears to be large, old and in excellent health, a quality specimen that has been expertly trained and cultivated for a long time. A great many bonsai growers all around the world would love to have such tree because it is the epitome of what they aspire to create.

This bonsai is also a Japanese black pine:

The tree in the above image was done in emulation of trees like the classical Japanese black pine shown in the previous image. This is not to suggest those who produced the tree were trying to make a duplicate of that exact classical example, but they were aiming for a bonsai that had something of the same appearance. They wanted to capture the essence of a classical bonsai from Japan. Those responsible for the bonsai in the above image were working against some serious handicaps. The black pine they were developing was a very young tree and the technical ability they brought to the task was not nearly as advanced as that of the people responsible for the appearance of the classical example.

Comparing the two bonsai side by side shows a vast gap between them in terms of overall quality:

This bonsai happens to be the same specimen as the lesser tree in the above comparison:

Because fourteen years passed between the earlier image and the one shown above, and because the black pine in question had come to be grown under more experienced care, the bonsai shown above looks a little more like the inspirational classical example. It might be a little closer to the classical example, but the two are still far, far apart:

If the lesser black pine bonsai of the two pictured above was given enough time and expert training, could it eventually catch up with the superior one? Perhaps. But the pine we are considering — the inferior one, the one that's part of the Arboretum collection — has substantial, built-in structural flaws. This arrangement of trunk and branching, which is a prime element of any bonsai’s design, is crude and not aesthetically pleasing:

Pines can't be hard pruned. That is to say, a grower can't just cut off any woody part that's undesirable on a pine and wait for the tree to produce new parts, as may be done with some other types of trees. If we were dealing with a maple of the same design, for example, we might hard prune it back to this and see what grew out of the stump:

To handle a pine bonsai in such manner would kill the tree.

The great character inherent in truly old bonsai can cover up shortcomings in design. When I was in Japan and attending the famous Kokufu bonsai exhibition at the Tokyo Art Museum, I had the opportunity to study great old Japanese bonsai up close. I was surprised at the number of trees I saw that had what I was taught to recognize as design flaws. They were great trees, but they were by no means perfect. Maybe the Arboretum's black pine bonsai could someday reach that level of age and refinement, and then its clunky trunk and branch structure might be overlooked out of respect for so many years of development. I did not have much faith in that outcome.

This brings us back to the question of what bonsai are supposed to look like. The original design for the Arboretum's black pine was in emulation of the classical Japanese example, but the result of the effort to make it look like that was not very good. Recognizing this, one possible solution could have been to cut losses and dispose of the tree. It could have been auctioned to raise funds for the bonsai program, and then someone who thought better of the tree could own and enjoy it. I didn't choose to do this because by that time the pine had actually begun to acquire a little age, and I had been growing the bonsai for about seventeen years and become personally invested in it.

Instead, I looked at the pine and wondered what else it might be, now that I was admitting it didn't have what it takes to be a good classical style bonsai. The answer was simple — this pine could be a little tree. It could be shaped to look like a tree in nature, maybe like a tree found in the mountains around here, growing up in the high elevations where life is not so easy. The same features that make this particular black pine unlikely to amount to much as a classical style tree are not nearly as detrimental if the tree is given a naturalistic identity. This pine tree's trunk is not graceful and its branches are stiff — well, that's how it is, that's this tree's nature. A grower needs to recognize a tree's nature and accept it. If it can't be accepted, then maybe that tree isn't the right one to work with. Many a bonsai has come to an ugly end because the person growing it was determined to make the poor tree conform to a preconceived design idea.

It happens there is a craggy old table mountain pine (Pinus pungens) growing right next to a scenic overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway, not far from Mount Mitchell. This tree always catches my eye when I drive by it:

There used to be another table mountain pine tree right next to that one, possibly a sibling because they looked to be of similar age, but that other tree died some time back. It's still standing, or was the last time I saw it:

These two trees have proven to be good instructors. When people talk about old, gnarly pine trees, those that typically come first to mind are the bristlecone pines (Pinus longaeva) out west. Those are some of the oldest trees on the planet and they look incredible, or it appears to me they do in photographs. I've only seen them in pictures. We tend to think of photographs as being accurate representations, however, seeing an image of something is not at all the same as experiencing it in person. In doing naturalistic bonsai, my choice is to draw inspiration mostly from trees I've seen with my own eyes. These table mountain pines, and others I've come across on the highest peaks of the Southern Appalachians, are my model for what old pines look like. That which I've learned by studying them is what I'm trying to convey when shaping a pine bonsai to look like this:

When looking at the living table mountain pine up on the Parkway, mostly all that can be seen is the lower section of the trunk with a mass of foliage above it:

Stop, get out of the car, walk up to the tree and look into its interior and this is what you see:

With some effort, a person can observe how the tree is constructed. The density of branching and foliage diminishes available light in the interior of the tree's crown, making study difficult. That is no problem with the dead pine next door. The foliage and all the lesser branching are gone, leaving the core structure of the tree plainly visible:

The wild character of the tree's woody skeleton can be seen in the photograph. Viewing the dead tree in person allows for more close observation and study from various angles, and it is a lesson in how this type of tree, in this type of environment, puts itself together. I Iearn from trees in nature.

To summarize, I made this tree:

Into this tree:

Because I stopped studying this example:

And started paying attention to this example instead:

For Example