The Art of Zen Buddhism

Now and again I find myself watching a gardening programme. Half-watching, mostly, as I'm not a gardener, and I don't have a garden. Unless it's Monty Don: the David Attenborough of the gardening world. I'm not joking - this is a seriously dedicated and knowledgeable guy. I didn't take too much notice of him, at first, but he seemed to crop up everywhere, until eventually he grew on me. Some of the social projects he has been involved in deserve maximum respect. He comes across as an ok kind of guy. The real thing.
Last night, Monty was in Kyoto, looking at representations of Zen Buddhism in the garden. I know nothing about any of it, but I watched out of curiosity. The best bit was inside some kind of shed, where a stone nestled upon a gravel bed, with rings shaped into the gravel as if emanating from the centre of the stone - like a drop of water falling into water. Or maybe a stone falling into water. Apparently, and this may only have been Monty's interpretation, this piece of still life was meant to capture the idea that even the tiniest action brought about some kind of reaction.
This got me thinking. The idea is connected to movement: action and reaction. The piece of art was still life, in the sense that it just seemed to be a still life of itself, and not connected to movement. I know it's a matter of interpretation, but I found myself wondering why didn't they use water, with drops of water falling into it? Or stones falling into it. I've a feeling it would have been quite a soothing experience if water had been used - more musical, perhaps, and spiritually more quiet than the still life, if not more quiet physically. Reaction, to the action of sound and movement. Close your eyes and you can still picture it and hear it.
Nothing wrong about exploration, or discovery. Nothing at all. But when it falls as flat as that? Hmmm...