Back in the day, a good number of people found employment as elevator operators. All elevators were run manually, involving not only the opening and closing of doors but also the speed at which the elevator moved and where and how it came to a stop. Once elevators became automated the need for elevator operators naturally diminished to the point where hardly anyone does work like that anymore. Presumably, there were once people so good at that particular job that they were identified as being "born to be an elevator operator". What became of them?

It would seem these people found other work and have filtered into the rest of society. You can still identify them today, however, by their propensity to always talk about taking it to the next level. To a born elevator operator, taking it to the next level is more than a desirable idea — it's a necessity, the whole reason for existing. Where you're at is only a starting point. There's always a need to get to somewhere else.

Actually, "take it to the next level" is a marketing phrase. It might not have originated with someone who had something to sell, but it quickly became a standard sales pitch, and for good reason. There is something within the human species that is forever discontent. No matter how good a person has it in life, there is always a feeling that things could be better. This is why human beings no longer live in caves or spend most waking hours looking for food and avoiding being eaten by something else. Back when that was indeed our lot in life we were not content with the arrangement and focused our intelligence and energy on changing the paradigm, on improving ourselves. Humans have been remarkably successful as a species on this earth and our natural compulsion toward perpetual betterment has been the primary driver. Now we don't have to worry so much about being eaten by lions as we do about protecting ourselves against predators of a different sort. Our natural sense of discontent lends itself too readily to being manipulated by the notion that conditions could be better if we would only rouse ourselves and overcome whatever is holding us back. This usually involves purchasing certain goods and services. Get out your credit card and let's take it to the next level!

I'm all for improvement, let's get that straight right away. But is there no legitimacy to the concept of good enough? After all, not all movement is forward. The next level isn't always best.

This week, in the continuing push to be ready for the new growing season, I worked on a purple cutleaf Japanese maple (Acer palmatum v. dissectum 'Atropurpureum'). The story of this tree has previously been told here. This is what this specimen looked like at the time of its donation in October of 2005:

This bonsai is large and colorful, always an attraction when out on display. Here is how the maple looked ten years after donation:

There are a few changes to note when comparing the two images above. The autumn leaf color is more intense in the second image, which is attributable to environmental conditions the tree experienced that year. The maple also has a broader, fuller appearance, particularly in its lower branch spread, despite the fact that the lowest branch on the right side was removed at some point between when the two pictures were made. Less noticeable is a very slight alteration in the way the tree is presented — its “front”, if you will — resulting from being rotated just a click clockwise from how it originally was. I made these modest changes in an attempt to improve the overall appearance of the bonsai.

Here are a couple images of more recent vintage:

The most noticeable change in the above images is the new container in which the maple is potted. The original container was a Japanese import and the current container was made by American potter Sara Rayner. This move, too, was made with improvement in mind. Also worth noting is the incredible variation in the color of the foliage, observable in all four of the photos. That dramatic seasonal color shift is part of the habit of this particular cultivar. In fact, the delicately lacy shape and shifting color of this variety’s foliage is the main attraction in growing the tree, both in the landscape or as a bonsai subject. It’s all about the leaves.

Foliage is wonderful, of course, but on a deciduous species the foliage is absent half the year. In the landscape, a naked Japanese cutleaf maple can still be beautiful for its form, particularly in the display of its branching and finely articulated twigs. The same can be true of a Japanese cutleaf maple bonsai when seen without its leaves. It can be true, but is not automatically so. I don’t think this particular deciduous bonsai specimen looks good without its leaves:

I don’t care to criticize other people’s bonsai, but the bonsai I’m responsible for are subject to my never-ending critical scrutiny. Every year when I see this maple bare of foliage my response is one of dismay. Its many structural flaws are too obvious to ignore. Let’s examine a few of them as an exercise in bonsai evaluation.

First, we look at the base of the tree:

The base of a bonsai tree is considered one of the most important aspects of its character. Ideally, the tree will flare outwards at its base and large surface roots will be visible, radiating outward from the trunk in a manner similar to the spokes of a wheel. Naturally, there are numerous possible variations ranging from close to the ideal to not at all like the ideal, and sometimes a not-ideal form can still be appealing. The base of this tree is not ideal and not tremendously appealing, either. There is flare at the base of the trunk, to be sure, but it is due mostly to the fact that the tree was produced as a graft. The graft union is completely visible, appearing as an abrupt increase in diameter at the place where the scion was introduced to the root stock. There are visible surface roots, as well, although they are somewhat bulbous and clunky and irregularly distributed.

Next let us examine the top of the tree, the upper portion of the crown:

The top of this specimen is comprised of a single leader. That is to say, the trunk line continues uninterrupted from the base of the tree right up to its apex, with secondary branching emanating from it and radiating outward to form the tree’s crown. This is a very common structural arrangement for bonsai trees both deciduous and evergreen. Observation of the natural example, however, tells us that very few mature trees are structured that way. A crown formed by single leader is a common feature in young trees, changing as they age. The crowns of older trees are almost always formed by multiple leaders, and the handful of exceptions are usually coniferous species. Beyond that, in this case the single leader shows virtually no taper and very little movement. This element is inconsistent with everything below it, where the the trunk exhibits at least some discernible amount of both taper and movement.

Just as making an omelet requires breaking eggs, shaping a bonsai requires removal of parts of the tree. Hopefully you don’t get any eggshell in your omelet and hopefully the wounds made by pruning your bonsai will eventually cover over with callous and not be very noticeable. What do the old wounds on this specimen look like?

Our Japanese cutleaf maple came to us with the wounds pictured above, and they were not freshly made. That was twenty years ago. Those wounds have not changed much in all that time, although on a positive note, that means they are at least stable. The good news is that the old wounds pose no health threat to the tree, and the bad news is that the old wounds aren’t going anywhere. They are a fact of this tree’s existence and when the tree is bare the old wounds are exposed for all the world to see. To make matters worse, one of the wounds, the one in the middle of the three shown above, is front and center when the tree is presented the way it usually is:

So, has this poor tree no redeeming features? Sure it does. I think the structure of the branching is not too bad:

Nicely developed branching is certainly worth something. Branches, however, are secondary when compared to the tree’s trunk, with its possibility for a powerful flaring base, compelling movement and convincing taper. Those features are considered central to the success of a bonsai’s design. If you don’t have those things, and if your trunk features several nasty old pruning scars thrown into the bargain, what are you to do?

If you feel compelled to fix things, there are potential solutions to these shortcomings. Ugly scars from old pruning cuts can be carved out, for example, although that look does not suit the character of every bonsai. I’ve never felt that would be a good way to go with a subject like Japanese cutleaf maple, which is typically prized as a more delicate sort of tree. A bonsai with a disagreeable structure, as I find the upper portion of this tree to possess, can be addressed through a radical cutting back and regrowing. I’ve done that on any number of specimens in the Arboretum’s collection and the results have been generally satisfying. It could be done with this particular maple, too.

Here is our subject tree as it looks today:

Here is a cartoon version, produced by tracing the tree’s structure directly from the photo for the sake of accuracy:

If I wanted to improve the upper portion of this tree’s structure, I would cut the entire top off at a point right about where the front and center scar is and then wait for the tree to push out new shoots. Deciduous trees will pretty reliably respond in such a manner. The tree is trying to replace what has been lost for the sake of maintaining its vitality, and the new shoots then offer the bonsai grower an opportunity to build something better. If I handled this maple that way, I’d be hoping to someday get something like this:

The tree as pictured in the drawing above is designed on naturalistic principles. It has an apex formed by the combined effect of multiple ascending lines, as opposed to the single leader effect employed by most bonsai designers. I would like our Japanese cutleaf maple so much more if it were structured this way! Such an outcome is achievable, too — if given enough time and if all went well with the procedure. Those are two big “ifs”.

There’s no way of knowing exactly how the tree might respond to such an invasive approach. It might send out new shoots, but they might not be in the right places. The tree might not sprout back at the wound site, dying back to some extent instead and sending out shoots in other places. Even supposing favorable sprouting from the place where the cutback is made, building a new top out of the new shoots will take years, if not decades, to bring to a satisfying degree of resolution. Frankly, I don’t have that kind of time.

Here’s another possible solution to the stylistic problems posed by this specimen: Don’t look at them.

For half the year, most of what I don’t like about this tree can’t be seen. The base is always visible, but I can live with the base of this tree even if I don’t think it’s so good. The base is big, it has flare, it has presence, and whether it’s seen as beautiful or ugly is ultimately in the eye of the beholder. I can accept it as it is. The other objectionable aspects of this specimen, those I find more difficult to accept, all disappear when the leaves come out. Foliage effect is the absolute primary reason for growing any Japanese cutleaf maple, whether in the landscape or as a bonsai. The leaves are the best feature of the plant, the very reason for its existence as a cultivated variety. For about six months out of the year this specimen shines. The rest of the time it’s out of sight, put up for winter storage. No one sees the maple then but me, and I look the other way.

I must beg forgiveness for having no desire to take this bonsai to the next level. I won’t be getting on the elevator. There are limits to everything, and sometimes deriving pleasure from things as they are is good enough.

The Next Level