The history of Japanese gardens stretches back over 1400 years. They have influenced Japan's aesthetics and worldview. Kyoto.
The birthplace of Japanese gardens. They captivated one Frenchman who now studies their history. Join him on a journey through the gardens of this ancient capital.
And explore their alluring beauty. Here is my office. This is where I work on a daily basis, to deepen my research about Japanese gardens and create new materials for the students.
Shortly after I came to Japan, I discovered the word “en”. This word has several meanings: edge, border, veranda but also connection, relation, coincidence. To understand the word “en”, my teacher told me to think about the “engawa”, the Japanese veranda, the wooden floor where I am right now.
Just like the veranda is connecting the inside and the outside, the world “en” means the connection between humans, things and happenings. So I started to study the veranda and Japanese architecture but very soon I took a step outside, because I get interested in the gardens, especially relations between human and nature. This is how the study of Japanese gardens became my life work.
Today, I would like to guide you to 3 very special gardens in Kyoto. Here is the first Japanese garden I want to show you. 1300-year-old Saiho-ji temple.
Look. Whole garden is covered with moss. The gardens at Saiho-ji are famous for this beautiful green carpet of moss.
It is said that there are currently over 120 varieties of moss here, and the temple is affectionately known as 'the moss temple'. The mosses grow thick around the roots of cedars. Some prefer the drier climes of stone.
Others look like miniature conifers. A diverse variety spreads across the grounds. The garden was created 700 years ago by garden designer Muso Soseki, a high-ranking monk with a title from the imperial court.
Muso Soseki shaped one of the genres of Japanese gardens. This is the kare-sansui garden of Saiho-ji. The oldest of its kind in Japan, it's considered the archetype for this style.
Kare-sansui is a type of Japanese garden that recreates the natural world using elements such as rocks and gravel, completely eschewing the use of water. One of the rocks here is shaped like a koi carp. "Ryumonbaku" is a style of waterfall that depicts a Chinese proverb about a carp swimming up a waterfall and transforming into a dragon.
The fish represents a trainee monk who must undergo harsh and difficult training to reach enlightenment. In a way, the carp is an expression of that difficult training. An arrangement of rocks lies by the garden.
These are "zazen-seki", or meditation rocks. Monks would sit here to train. Zen Buddhism and Japanese gardens have always been inextricably linked.
Eventually the training was moved indoors. But the garden still plays a vital role. Moss requires photosynthesis and rainwater to grow, and fallen leaves can hinder this.
Sweeping leaves away to keep the environment clear for the moss is a daily task. But leaves or no leaves, this routine is also a key part of training for one's own sake. In the 1400s, Kyoto was ravaged by over a decade of civil war.
Saiho-ji temple burned to the ground, and its gardens became a wilderness. Over many years, it lay abandoned. For moss, however, it presented the perfect environment.
Surrounded by mountains, the site of Saiho-ji has a humid climate. The large cedars covering the temple grounds filter sunlight in just the right way for the moss to photosynthesize effectively. When it rains, leaves unfold to their full extent, sprinkling the grounds with water and allowing the moss to spread.
Laying dormant for so long, the gardens of Saiho-ji temple were transformed into a silent sanctuary for all kinds of different mosses. Did all of these mosses come here naturally? That's right, yes.
There was a discussion at one point about removing it all and returning the grounds to their original state. But the authorities at the time decided to leave everything as it was. They accepted the new environment and chose to maintain it.
It was a decision that reflected the Zen teaching of accepting all things. This Garden has been continually maintained and this human maintenance created beautiful landscape we can enjoy today. So in a sense, this Garden is a result of human work together with nature and time.
And I think this is why this garden really meets the needs of our present time especially now that we need to reconsider the relation between human and nature. Our second garden lies in the grounds of a temple nestled in the mountains of Kyoto's north. Shoden-ji temple was built in 1268.
This is a very interesting garden. It is called a KARESANSUI -“rock garden”. but here there is no stones only white gravel and trimmed shrubs, which is very unique.
As you can see, the mountain is also very important component. This is called borrowed scenery. This garden borrows a view of the distant Mt.
Hiei. In Japanese, this style of garden is called "shakkei". Kyoto became Japan's capital 1200 years ago.
At the time, many believed that disasters and bad luck hailed from the northeast – the direction of Mt. Hiei. By erecting a temple on the mountain, the imperial court hoped to ward off bad spirits.
For the residents of Kyoto, Mt. Hiei attained special significance. The garden of Shoden-ji was much loved by legendary rock star David Bowie.
The garden moved him deeply, and he would visit every time he visited Kyoto. What is behind the allure of a shakkei garden? Yokouchi Toshihito is an architect based in Kyoto.
He often draws on the principle of shakkei in his own work. What's your own perspective on shakkei gardens as an architect? What's really extraordinary about them is that the building and the garden are a single unit.
And that unit reaches out to the greater landscape to create a seamless whole. That's amazing to me. And the walls as well.
They ensure we see only what we need to see of the scenery. So wonderful. Mr Mares, you're from France, which is famous for the breathtaking gardens of Versailles, and its natural scenery beyond the garden.
What's your opinion of Japan's shakkei gardens? I feel there's a similar desire to incorporate distant vistas into the garden. But there's a difference in approach.
In France it's about showcasing the depth and scope of the garden itself. Here it's about drawing a distant view closer, making it a part of the garden. That's how I feel.
The view from inside is lovely as well. Yes, now we have the double filter of the garden and the building. And it's designed so that when you are sitting on the floor, your eyeline is at the center of the opening.
How does this affect your view of the shakkei? The addition of a new, inner frame to the view emphasizes that external scenery and sharpens our focus on it. The room's interior becomes a silhouette while the bright exterior is heightened.
Yet we don't see too much sky. The view has been very carefully framed and designed with this in mind. Despite a busy life of stardom, David Bowie was a devoted reader with a keen interest in Zen Buddhism.
What kind of effect do you think shakkei gardens have on their viewers? I feel that they take us out of our everyday lives. We see a distant, unchanging landscape, and that helps us regain a sense of calm.
If we have worries or fears, they melt away in the face of the greater universe. I feel encouraged and uplifted by this view. They offer more than just beauty.
There's a definite link to their original role in Buddhism. I feel that they're a reminder that the divine resides in every wildflower, every tiny insect. It is said that David Bowie was moved to tears when he stared at this Garden.
He must have felt a strong connection with nature and forgot just for while the emptiness of society. Kennin-ji is said to be Kyoto's oldest Zen temple. This is the garden of the Abbot Hall.
In front of us, we can see the roof of the Main Hall, the most important building in this Temple. In the foreground, the white gravel creates a very bright and open space. The temple is home to many screen and sliding door paintings, including national treasure "Fujin and Raijin", which depicts the deities of wind and thunder.
Each room is open to the garden. This is a characteristic of Kenninji Temple. The garden leads to the engawa veranda, which connects seamlessly to the wide-open indoor spaces.
This room is where the head priest meets important guests. The dragon sends a clear message that this is a place for strict training. This is a room for greeting temple parishioners.
The landscape paintings create a relaxed atmosphere. The images on the sliding doors work to enhance visitors' view of the garden. One of the temple's open spaces exhibits modern art.
The sliding doors and the garden together create a space that resonates. Toba Mika used traditional dyeing techniques to create this modern work. Oh wow.
. . It's powerful and beautiful.
What does this depict? Rippling waves. It's a very calm, quiet morning, still blue just before dawn, and you've rowed out alone.
You hear a voice reading the sutras from somewhere far away. When you were making this picture, did the temple have any special requests? They wanted an image that would make people want to sit and meditate.
That sounds hard! How did you approach it? I thought the best way to show the world of Zen was to look at water.
It's the ultimate elemental cycle, after all. That's why so much of the work is centered on the water surface. The garden is titled "Chōon-tei".
It means 'Garden which sounds like the tide'. You chose to paint ripples on water. The temple's garden also has a water theme.
That's right. The recitation of Buddhist sutras is often compared to rippling waves. This garden, I feel, has a very close connection to my painting of the solitary rower listening to the sutra.
Not only do the garden and painting share the same space… but their themes are also deeply intertwined. How do you feel about having your work shown here? Most artwork is exhibited in closed spaces.
But this place is open to the outside world. My painting and the outside world come together to create one exhibition. That's very interesting to me.
Do you feel that having your work exhibited in front of a Japanese garden like this has, perhaps, changed you in any way? Until now, I had always focused on two-dimensional creations. But a garden is a work of art in itself.
And it's one that involves the climate, the soil, and the passage of time. I think all of these elements are key components in an artwork like this – they come together to add enormous depth to the whole. I think that's at the root of this garden's beauty for me.
I hope that by becoming entwined with flat artworks like my own, we can create an entirely new kind of artwork. For me, that potential is a large part of the allure of Japanese gardens. I think, in my next reincarnation… I'd love to try my hand at garden design.
This is the end of our journey through the gardens of Kyoto. Rocks and moss, past and present, nature and human work, inner gardens and borrowed scenery… This has been a very exciting and fruitful experience. Through the study of Japanese gardens, we can learn the essence of Japanese culture.
As a teacher, I want to share my knowledge and passion with young students.
