In Zen art and literature, Bodhidharma appears as a stark, almost elemental presence, marked above all by his fierce foreign visage. He is rendered with large, penetrating eyes, heavy brows, and a thick beard, his features often exaggerated to underline both his non-Chinese origins and his uncompromising temperament. The body is typically robust or stocky, wrapped in simple monk’s robes—often dark or earth-toned—signaling austerity rather than elegance. Artists frequently choose a rough, even “ugly” realism, using bold, abrupt brushstrokes that mirror the tradition’s preference for directness over refinement. In many paintings, minimal lines suffice to evoke his intense gaze and coarse beard, so that the viewer encounters not a polished saint but a raw, unvarnished embodiment of practice.

Certain iconic scenes recur across visual depictions, each crystallizing a facet of his legend. One of the most prominent shows him seated in meditation facing a wall, alluding to the long years of “wall-gazing” that came to symbolize silent, direct contemplation. Another motif presents him crossing the Yangtze River on a single reed, a miraculous image that points to a freedom from ordinary limitations. He is also sometimes shown with a single shoe or carrying a shoe over his shoulder, echoing tales of his enigmatic departure and the discovery of his “empty” tomb. In some representations, the transmission of robe and bowl to his successor Huike appears, visually encoding the continuity of the lineage. These scenes, though legendary, function as visual koans, directing attention away from historical curiosity toward the inner meaning of practice.

Literary portrayals reinforce and deepen this image of Bodhidharma as an uncompromising spiritual force. Texts present him as the patriarch who embodies “a special transmission outside the scriptures; not relying on words and letters; directly pointing to the human mind; seeing one’s nature and becoming Buddha.” Stories emphasize his severity and directness: his dismissal of merit-based piety in dialogue with an emperor, his indifference to conventional religiosity, and his role as a tester of understanding in koan literature. His speech is characteristically blunt and paradoxical, cutting through conceptual elaboration to expose the emptiness at the heart of clinging. In this way, both narrative and image converge to portray him as the archetype of the Zen master, a figure whose very roughness serves as a mirror, turning the practitioner back toward bare awareness and the question of original nature.