Breathing Life into the Chinese Garden                                          

A THOUGHTFUL PROCESS REVEALS AN ELEGANT NAME

by T. June Li

In Chinese tradition, the naming of a garden represents the critical touch that brings it to life. It is like the practice of inking pupils onto the eyes of a painted dragon, sparking instant movement. On the eve of completing the first phase of the Chinese Garden, The Huntington has selected a name that signifies the garden’s physical as well as poetic dimensions: Liu Fang Yuan or Garden of Flowing Fragrance.

As befits the measured, scholarly approach of the institution, staff and members of The Huntington’s governing Board of Overseers met with the Chinese Garden’s advisory committee. Together they engaged in more than a year of research, as well as discussions both serious and jovial, before choosing the name. The three members of the committee are Wan-go H.C. Weng, collector, scholar, poet, author, and film-maker; Richard Strassberg, professor of Chinese at the University of California, Los Angeles; and Yang Ye, professor of comparative literature at the University of California, Riverside. They spent countless hours looking into poetic names for the garden and discussing their relevance to The Huntington.

That deliberate process underscores The Huntington’s consistent approach to this immense project: to follow as closely as possible the authentic tradition of Chinese garden culture.  Not only were materials such as garden rocks and stone-carved designs shipped over from China, but stone craftsmen also came to create the lake and bridges for the garden, and others are here through November to assemble the pavilions.

Choosing poetic names for a garden and its individual scenic sites is part of that tradition.  The practice is reflected in an amusing chapter from a popular 18th-century novel, Cao Xueqin’s The Story of the Stone, also known as The Dream of the Red Chamber.

Jia Zheng, the wealthy owner of a large estate, had just completed the building of a new garden for a visit by his daughter, an imperial concubine. All that was lacking were poetic verses and names to enhance various scenic spots.

Jia says, “All those prospects and pavilions — even the rocks and trees and flowers — will seem somehow incomplete without that touch of poetry which only the written word can lend a scene.”

Thereupon Jia ventures forth into the garden with a group of resident scholars and his precocious young son to create poetic names for different scenic sites. Their witty banter about merits and drawbacks, as well as the relevance of literary references for each notable spot, provides valuable insight into the intimate relationship between literature and gardens.

A similarly close bond exists between literature and painting. In fact, gardens were always seen as three-dimensional paintings. Painters designed many celebrated gardens of the 16th and 17th centuries, the golden age of gardens in China. Ji Cheng, author of the earliest-known manual on garden-building, The Craft of Gardens (published between 1631 and 1634), was a painter. He wrote that the most desirable garden design combined natural scenic beauty and expressive poetic descriptions from the heart. Thus he was treating the garden as a painting on which poetic inscriptions provide deeper meaning and emotional expression to enhance the painted composition.

What’s in a Name?

In offering his advice for naming the Chinese Garden, Yang Ye couldn’t help thinking about the cultural differences between the Chinese and Western traditions. Regarding the Western tradition, the professor of comparative literature at UC Riverside is always reminded of Shakespeare. “What’s in a name?” asks Juliet. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

But according to Confucius, explains Ye, “If a name is not correct, speech will not flow smoothly. It will even imperil the harmony of all under heaven.”

Ye was one of three scholars invited by Chinese Garden Curator June Li to help select a name for the Chinese Garden. He suggested that the correctness of a name might be measured in the difference between two Chinese terms: ya and su. Ya has many different meanings and connotations and could be rendered as refined, civilized, cultivated, elegant, graceful, or educated. Su, on the other hand, could be rendered as unrefined, obvious, vulgar, or inelegant.

One of the best examples of the contrast between the two terms comes in a scene from The Story of the Stone, the classic 18th-century novel by Cao Xueqin.

As Jia Zheng, the patriarch, leads a number of resident scholars through his garden, he hears rather common, or su, suggestions for names. For a steep, miniature mountain at the entrance, for example, they offer such names as “Emerald Heights,” “Embroidery Hill,” or “Little Censer” (after the Censer Peak in Jiangxi). Dissatisfied with these names, Jia turns to his son, Baoyu, who follows the principle that “to recall old things is better than to invent new ones; and to recut an ancient text is better than to engrave a modern.” He suggests “Pathway to Mysteries” after the line in Tang poet Chang Jian’s famous poem on a mountain temple (“A path winds upwards to mysterious places”). The ya wins out.

Underlying the narrative is a reminder that the process of naming is as important as the name itself. Ye and his fellow advisers hope they have followed in Baoyu’s footsteps.

—Matt Stevens

Just as titles were given to paintings, each important garden estate was given a name by its owner to highlight the special characteristics of the garden. The name could reveal to the visitor not only what wonders lay within, but also reflect the owner’s taste or his outlook on life.

For example, the name of a garden in Suzhou is Liu Yuan, or Garden for Lingering, and evokes a pleasurable place that offers a setting for leisure, enjoyment, and contemplation. Another famous Suzhou garden, the Zhuo Zheng Yuan, or Garden of the Artless Administrator, bears a name that implies a retreat for one who was proudly at odds with the ways of the world and scorned the artifices used by politicians and diplomats. The Huntington’s name for its Chinese Garden, Liu Fang Yuan, describes the wonderful offerings of the plants within.

The term liu fang, “flowing fragrance,” has an ancient beginning.  It was first used by Cao Zhi (192-232) in his famous Rhapsody on the Luo River Goddess.  Describing the goddess, Cao says: “She treads in the strong pungency of pepper-plant paths/Walks through clumps of scented flora, allowing their fragrance to flow.”  This exhilarating use of the term to describe the scattering of floral scents perfectly characterizes the sensory delight of botanical aromas that permeate the Chinese Garden.

At The Huntington, the fragrance of pine trees, plums, lotus, among many plants, commingle and drift subtly over the waters of the lake, spreading throughout the garden. Fang, defined in early Chinese dictionaries as “fragrance from all plants,” is sometimes used interchangeably to describe blossoms. Since native Chinese plants were the initial inspiration for building the garden, this multipurpose reference is perfectly fitting.

However, the Chinese fondness for layered meanings, wordplay, and literary references makes this name even more desirable.  The word liu , or “flowing,” has the same sound as another liu  , meaning “lingering.”  This allows for playing on the meaning of liu.  So Liu Fang Yuan can also mean Garden of Lingering Fragrance.  Fang, or “fragrance,” is also often used to connote virtue, something that The Huntington, with its research and educational mission, hopes to hold and impart.

In addition, liu fang, or “flowing fragrance,” is the name of a famous Ming painter, Li Liufang (1575-1629), known for his lyrical landscapes and refined style. The name of the garden pays homage to this admired artist and subliminally links the Chinese Garden to him and the elegant taste he represented.

Master craftsmen in Suzhou have carved the characters for Liu Fang Yuan in stone for placement above the main entrance gate to the Chinese Garden, close to the tea house complex. It is an auspicious honor that Wan-go H.C. Weng, the most senior advisory committee member, agreed to write these characters for the garden. A practitioner of calligraphy since his youth, he is a modern version of a Chinese man of letters, or wenren: a highly cultivated person well-versed in poetry, painting, and calligraphy.  He comes from an illustrious family of scholar officials — his great-great-grandfather being the imperial tutor and statesman Weng Tonghe (1830-1904).  Weng, who immigrated to the United States more than 50 years ago, is completely accustomed to living in both China and America, and understands both cultures thoroughly.

So, in many ways, the name Liu Fang Yuan connects the Chinese Garden at The Huntington to the scholarly traditions of China. It also transforms it from a project to a destination. When visitors come to Liu Fang Yuan, they will be stepping into a painting complete with poetic inscriptions.

T. June Li is curator of the Chinese Garden.

Choosing a Name

The Huntington will also be selecting names for the various structures and scenic sites within the garden, whether they be the composed views of bridges or “borrowed scenery” such as the San Gabriel Mountains peeking through the branches of a tree. Noted calligraphers will be invited to write these names, which craftsmen will then carve onto bamboo plaques or stone. Richard Strassberg, a professor of Chinese at UCLA and adviser to June Li on the naming process, noted four principal characteristics of the naming process:

THEMATIC COHERENCE

The individual “scenes” in a garden should coalesce around a particular theme. If it is a private garden, then the names often reflect the personality of the owner. If it is an imperial garden, those gardens are a microcosm of the universe and are representations in miniature of the empire. And if it is an institution such as a Buddhist or Daoist temple, very often the names relate to the religious system of that institution. The Huntington, long steeped in the botanical sciences, has chosen the theme of plants.

ARCHITECTURAL FUNCTION OF BUILDINGS

Gardens are often accompanied by a number of buildings or pavilions. Are the buildings social spaces? Private spaces? Or perhaps one building is intended for contemplation or meditation. Other buildings might be intended as viewing spots or transitional spaces. The names of each structure should reflect the function of the building. 

GUIDING PERCEPTION

Oftentimes the builder of a garden attempts to guide the senses of the visitor, whether it be sight, sound, or scent. Liu Fang Yuan, or Garden of Flowing Fragrance, reflects the intention to provide the visitor with a meaningful sensory experience.

SEQUENTIAL MARKERS

Gardens provide a kind of narrative sequence. If the visitor is at the entrance, the name might suggest a welcome or greeting. In a middle section, one might encounter a whole host of choreographed experiences — openness, confinement, surprise, or quiescence — that can be encapsulated in a corresponding line of verse. Together, the names along the paths of a garden create a kind of story or travelogue.

—M.S.