Nothing Moves but the Mind
(非風非幡 仁者心動)
Every tree possesses its own 'Wood-nature (木性)', revealing itself through misty fluidity or rock-like 'tenacity'. Through my lens, I look beyond outward forms to explore the tree’s essence—its sublime and sacred nature.
I observe trees twisting to reach sunlight or endure relentless winds. Rather than the conventional integrity of the pine, I bow before the value and the sheer will to survive in those that might seem "humble." Amidst harsh gales, a tree barely supporting its frame seems to cry out: "I will not yield. I shall survive."
Like Egon Schiele seeing human vitality in trees, I perceive formidable strength within the knots of severed limbs and contorted forms. This distortion is the wholeness of a living being transcending mere pain.
Rooted in the 'place of transcendence'—the original home from which they came as tiny seeds outside the square—these trees traverse the boundary between the present and eternity. Their forms, surging and breaking through the frame to cross its boundaries, reveal a taut tension between finite existence and infinite order.
The square aspires to the Absolute. Within it, the shaking begins the moment a form crosses the boundary. Yet, in the end, it is neither the wind nor the tree that moves; it is only the mind.
