Chinese Garden (Episode 1) | A Piece of Heaven on Earth

Nothing is more intriguing to a curious child than a locked door. What lies behind? What mysteries within? Secret gardens abound, in literature and in legend around the world, fascinating children and adults alike. The history of the Chinese garden is that of a hidden treasure, a beauty behind the wall. Li Haifeng grew up listening to the legendary islands of Penglai, the mythical eastern abode of immortals. As an adult, he's turned these dreams into concrete by building his own dream garden in Xiangdong's Penglai city. The Pai Re Dai Za in Belgium has the largest Chinese-style garden in Europe. As a little boy, its owner, Eric Dung, lapped up stories about China. Now in his 50s, he's finally made the sort of Chinese garden he read about into a reality. Eric is an admirer of Emperor Wu of the Han dynasty. He's even named his Chinese garden Han Wudi's Dream. Two thousand years ago, in the time of Emperor Wu of Han, it was believed that the peaks of Kunlun in the west and Penglai in the eastern sea were the dwelling places of the immortals. There, those transcendent beings lived in beautiful gardens amid pavilions of jade and gold. China's first emperor, Qin Shi Huang, is supposed to have dispatched an expedition of 1,000 virgin boys and girls to find Penglai and to return, bringing him the secret of immortality. The expedition never returned. Emperor Wu of Han wanted to outdo even the first emperor. He too sought the elixir of life and had the wonderlands of the Lake of the Supreme Essence and Imperial Forest Park constructed to this end. He hoped to be able to communicate with the immortals in the pavilions he'd built there. The islands on the lake were meant to symbolize Penglai. He even gave the name Penglai to one of his coastal cities. Thousands of years on, and most people have given up seeking physical immortality. But the immortal dream of building a paradise on earth lives on. The plan of a lake with three peaks rising above it is classic of imperial Chinese gardens. In this form, the dreams of Emperor Wu of Han live on, and thus too does his memory. The building of the garden bridges dreams and reality, and forms other bridges too, as Eric and his Chinese craftsmen become good friends. Two pandas from China have come to live in Pairi Daiza's Chinese garden. More and more people have come to share in Eric's dream. If the Chinese garden in the west is part of an exotic fantasy, in the east it's a refuge from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Not that that makes it a shelter from all of life's problems. In the Song dynasty, an army officer charged with delivering materials for the imperial gardens was made destitute when they went astray. As he walked the streets trying to sell his sword, a local hoodlum picked a fight with him. The soldier slew the impudent miscreant. But now his plight was even worse, both destitute and an outlaw with a bounty for murder on his head. As the officer fled the capital to the badlands, more ships, even those used to carry grain for the imperial granaries, were arriving to continue work on the emperor's garden. What was it about the exotic plants and rocks that commanded such importance in the eyes of society at the time? During the northern Song dynasty, Chinese landscape painting reached its peak of perfection. Emperor Huizong of the Song wanted to turn these pictures into reality at his Genyue Garden. For century after century, emperors had sought to construct a garden landscape equal to the myth of Penglai. It was more than just a garden. It was an expression of the emperor's spiritual and temporal hegemony. The Genyue Garden marked a new peak in Chinese landscape design, a perfectly balanced environment of fastidiously arranged rocks and water. The rocks represent the mysterious Penglai here on earth. Five years after the completion of his garden, the now-retired emperor saw his capital sacked by the Jurchen from Manchuria, and his garden destroyed. The only rocks that survived, so-called relic rocks, were ones like those lost by that unfortunate officer that failed to make it into the emperor's fantasy garden. Later generations would comment that it was unbelievable that a dynasty should fall for its obsession with rocks. Artist Ye Fang creates installations presenting his own version of the Genyue Garden. The one lake and three hills pattern laid down in Han Wudi's vision of Penglai has held through the centuries. Rocks and plants, water, peaks and pavilions make up basic models for the Chinese ideal of heaven on earth. However, it's a dream that all must somehow personalize to what they find in their own hearts. Orchid grower Zhao Yinchuan and his wife take good care of their charges. When spring comes, these unprepossessing plants will sport the magnificent blooms for which they are renowned. According to later histories, Goujian, the fearsome warrior king of the state of Yue, planted an orchid on Zhu Mountain in the 5th century BCE. This is the earliest record of orchid growing in China. Over the following two and a half thousand years, orchids have spread from the mountains to imperial palaces and from ministers' gardens to ordinary family courtyards. For the Chinese, it's natural to want to align oneself with the ways of nature. A life lived in harmony with its rhythms is seen as the ideal. These fine carp are musician Lin Gufeng's companions. But he's lately found that his pool is too small for bigger fish and they can't swim freely. So he's arranged more comfortable accommodation for them at the restaurant of his friend Lin Binghui. One day, the philosopher Zhuangzi and his companion Huizi were walking by a river. Zhuangzi saw the minnows darting to and fro and declared that the fish were happy in the water. Huizi asked him, ''You are not the fish, so how do you know that they're happy?'' Zhuangzi replied, ''You are not me, so how do you know that I don't understand a fish's happiness?'' The debate on solipsism aside, Zhuangzi is generally taken as the Taoist who best represents the ideals of living at one with nature, unencumbered by man-made vanities. In the late spring of 353, General Wang Xizhi invited some men of letters to the place where Goujian had planted his orchid. As they drank, the general was struck with a sudden melancholy. The transience of life overwhelmed him. Many before and since have felt the same. The garden is a solace to such questions of the soul. Its seasons and stages provide a comforting rhythm of life, death and regeneration, a new beauty displayed at every turn. Nature becomes a balm for the anxious spirit. The farther we are from nature, the stronger our wish to return. But who keeps us away from it? Reality, or ourselves? Artist Yang Yonglian, Yang's work bridges the images of modern cities with ancient landscapes. Mountains and rivers always appear in his works, the very essence of Chinese people's love of their motherland. During the Wei and Jin dynasties, the 3rd century AD, a group of free-thinking intellectuals, despairing of the tyranny and turmoil around them, chose to live in seclusion in the mountains. The Chinese utopia, like the Western one, is named after a famous literary work. In the Chinese case, it is the Taohuayuan, the peach blossom spring. Spring meaning a water source or river head. The story describes a rural idol, where people, cut off from the outside world, live in harmony with nature and with each other. Taoyuan Ming's 4th century fable has remained a powerful alluring fantasy ever since. So much so, that peach blossoms became another important theme in Chinese gardens. Around the pond, in the centre of London's Victoria and Albert Museum, Chinese artist Xu Bing created one such magical landscape in miniature. The garden is the space in which all can realise their own peach blossom spring. Taoyuan Ming's Taohuayuan These gardens combine the realms of the immortals with the human dream of the peach blossom spring. In 2013, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York staged its exhibition Chinese Gardens, Pavilions, Studios, Retreats. A critic in the New York Times described it as a paradise lost and found. On the second floor of the Met, the Aster Court is a Ming Dynasty-style courtyard. It was modelled on Suzhou's Garden of the Master of the Fishing Nets. A team of 26 Chinese craftsmen, led by Chen Congzhou, created it, the first of its kind outside of China. Chen Congzhou, Director of the Chinese Garden of the Master of the Fishing Nets Chen Congzhou, Director of the Chinese Garden of the Master Close by to the Metropolitan Museum is New York's famous Central Park. Covering an area of over 800 acres, this public garden also provides a retreat from the frenetic pace of urban life. In the 1850s, its designers foresaw the problems of pollution and overcrowding in urban living and came up with their solution to it. Downtown Manhattan's very own peach blossom spring. In the busy modern world, green spaces have never been more important. In the words of 17th century English poet Andrew Marvell, the garden creates transcending these, far other worlds and other seas, annihilating all that's made to a green thought in a green shade. In a Chinese garden, mountains and water symbolize both the universe and the body of the nation. Mountains and water are how landscapes are described in China. They evoke an immense emotional pull on the national psyche. People are just a small part of this greater tableau of life. The 24th day of the sixth lunar month is the birthday of the lotus goddess. Ye Feng invites some friends to his courtyard to celebrate the occasion. The garden is a place in which to feast our senses, sight, sound, touch and by no means least, smell and taste. From satisfaction of the senses comes deeper contemplation. Xie Zhizhang is a tea expert from Taiwan. She has invited her friends to the Garden of Cultivation in Suzhou for a three-day tasting party. The Garden of Cultivation was built during the Ming Dynasty. It's still popular with the locals today. The money classes of late Ming could enjoy lives of extreme leisurely cultivation. Books on the subject like The Treatise on Superfluous Things by Wen Zhenheng became bestsellers. The Garden of Cultivation was owned by Wen Zhenheng's brother, Wen Zhenmeng. Its charms remain undiminished to this day. When I first came to Suzhou 12 years ago, we visited many gardens and walked to the bottom. I think that was exactly what I wanted to do. I fell in love with this place at first sight. Life in the garden slows to the pace of nature. Nothing is rushed. Nothing delayed. Everything takes place at its own proper pace. The theme of the tea party is sense of autumn. Its leading role is taken by oolong tea from Taiwan. All enjoy the combination of autumnal scenery, the fragrance of tea, fruit and flowers. The garden can be a scene of gregarious exchange as well as quiet contemplation. Xie Zhejiang's guests enjoy the tea and the garden setting enhances their pleasure. It may all be but transient moment, but it is the quality found in that moment that makes a lasting effect. Ms. Xie believes one must be fully alert to it if one is to prevent it slipping through one's fingers. The garden isn't just a place on the earth. It's a place in one's heart and mind. The joys without are transfigured to a calm within. In the mid-18th century, scholar Shen Fu and his wife Yun Niang lived near the Pavilion of Surging Waves, the oldest of the famous gardens of Suzhou. They didn't have a garden of their own, but still enjoyed visiting the pavilion. For Yun Niang, the ideal was to have a small courtyard where Shen could paint while she did needlework and grew vegetables. In living a simple life, the lovers enjoyed their time together just like the immortals of Penglai. As the lotus flowers came into bud, Yun Niang would put tea in them overnight. The following day, she brewed the tea with fresh spring water. This became known as fragrant lotus tea. They were not rich. Later, when they could no longer visit the garden, they made their pleasure by growing lotus flowers in a bowl. For them, form didn't matter. It was spirit, not material riches, that gave meaning to life. Their story ends sadly with Yun Niang's early death. They never got to create their own garden, but Shen recorded their life together in his book, Six Chapters of a Floating Life. I happened to smell a scent of dried plums. I went into the garden, knocked on the door, and saw a dried plum with a very nice shape. After a while, an old lady took out a piece of wood and the shadow of the plum was reflected in the water. It was all dried plums. Peng Xi finds inspiration in Shen and Yun Niang's story. It captures the idea of a garden being a state of mind as much as any external form. Peng's studio combines industrial style design, Suzhou garden rock features, and Japanese Zen garden influences. It's not a garden, but has some features of all of these. They have no visitors today. It's probably going to snow. Peng and his wife sip tea together in their cottage. With the tea ready and the flowers in bloom, they wait for the first snow. There is a garden in each person's heart. It will flourish as long as there is suitable soil. Lee likes to joke that even though he's not well educated, this doesn't stop him from seeking the wonderland of Penglai in his heart. The complex of the three immortal mountains has shrines dedicated to the founders of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism, and many different cultural relics are on display here. Many treasures fill this garden of the gods. Lee Haifeng's Penglai garden is worthy of an emperor's dream. It reflects a nation rediscovering the depths of its past riches and creating new treasures for future generations. Seeing his works exhibited in a foreign country, artist Lee Xiaochao suddenly remembers his grandma's backyard, a place he hasn't visited for years. What impresses me the most is that the backyard of my grandma's house is very big. There are a lot of flowers and plants in the garden. Of course, now it looks like it's been planted for many years. It's full of plants and plants, such as grapevines, sugarcane, and some other flowers. It looks very cheap, but when you look at it, it looks like it's been planted for a long time. When I look at it now, it looks very beautiful. Now his grandma's old home is gone. After searching around, Lee finds that this is not the only thing that time is swallowing up. However, traces remain here and there. There is a hole in the wall, a corner, and a pattern. They are all traces of the Han Dynasty. You can feel the history in your hands. It's like giving you a message. Lee's heart is touched by the small traces of history he finds. These villages are built on what used to be the imperial forest park of the Han Dynasty. It was once a bloody hunting ground and the garden of the emperor's desire. Now it's home to ordinary villagers. Gardens, real and imaginary, have appeared and vanished over the centuries. But people's dreams never die. Our dreams live on through history. A new generation carefully shapes its own dreams of the gardens they will one day build. Behind those gates of enchantment lies the curiosity transformed to heart's ease. Wherever mankind has sought to go on our planet, he has sought to leave his mark. We live in a state of hope and expectation that is shaped by the magnificence of what we see around us. China's Great Wall protects the garden of the nation. Lesser walls protect the individual dreams within. But what comes from the soil must return to the soil. The miracle of a garden is its eternal power of regeneration. That is what makes a real immortal wonderland.