Excerpts from an ethnography assignment at the Bonsai Museum
When I walk into the conservatory at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, I hear a woman say: "Something smells so good in here." Her daughter replies: "Yeah, it's the plants," gesturing at all the plants. The woman responds: "No... something smells really good." Her daughter repeats: "It's the plants." The woman says, "I don't know, maybe it's the plants."
The Bonsai Museum doesn't smell like anything. The trees are too small to have odor?
I notice that everyone sure likes the biggest bonsai tree
This makes no sense to me because I thought we were all here to see tiny trees
In the Bonsai Museum it is important, I observe, to wear a $90 water-resistant vest from Patagonia and a small but full backpack
A woman takes a picture, in profile, of her husband staring grimly at one of the bonsai trees
Another informal rule of the Bonsai Museum is that you must have your phone out the entire time, so that everyone can know that you were in the Bonsai Museum
A woman with short hair marches into the room with a rolling backpack and a selfie stick, takes a selfie with a bonsai tree, and immediately leaves
I spill my entire coffee mug on the floor of the Bonsai Museum. I flee the Bonsai Museum to find paper towels. I am certain that I will at this point be discovered as a spy and be sent away by security, and that I will have to start this ethnography assignment over in the Shakespeare garden which would be a total nightmare. I return to the Bonsai Museum and my coffee is still on the floor and no one has noticed
I stand next to the big bonsai, the Acer palmatum, and pretend to look very intensely at it. A sign says that it was 105 years old in 2000. I notice that every single person who comes up to this tree points at it and says:
"It's 105 years old!"
"Oh, it was 105 years old in 2000."
"It's 124 years old?"
Some people get the math wrong
Everyone is smiling. Why?
If you're a bonsai tree without a pop of color—such as orange leaves or a pink flower—I feel sorry for you because no one cares or wants to look at you
There is a normal-sized ant climbing on one of the bonsai trees. I wonder if this ant likes how big he is on the tree—if it makes him feel powerful?
Nearby a man holds his hand up in front of one of the trees so his wife can take an iPhone picture of how huge his hand is compared to this tree
A bald gardener in a green polo and khaki pants comes in and starts watering the trees. A middle-aged man sidles up to him, apparently seeking information. I can't hear what he's saying but I imagine it's, "So these boys get pretty thirsty?"
A young woman in a trench coat and a tight ponytail walks very, very slowly through the trees. She is not on her phone and she is living in the moment. She is living in the moment so much that she sees me and seems to know what I'm up to (writing down what she's doing and wearing). She sits down next to me and appears to be reading over my shoulder. I crane my body over my notebook like I'm taking a test in 5th grade
More people start sitting down next to me. I feel like I have been exposed. I decide to get on my phone in order to fit in better, but then I write a tweet and get distracted by my phone
I spend the rest of the time thinking about how not one person I know came to surprise-visit me in the Bonsai Museum, even though I explicitly tweeted that I am here
I don't see anyone touch a bonsai tree, not once. There are signs that say DO NOT TOUCH in front of every bonsai tree, but still, I assumed that someone would
After I leave the Bonsai Museum, I briefly sit outside next to the pond underneath a flower getting pollinated by a bee
I text my friend a video of the bee. I can't believe it—the thrusting. "Look at this bee LITERALLY fucking a flower," I write.
She replies, "Well I think he is technically fucking it"
I go home
Love,
Ellie