Monday, 9 June 2014

Time and the Japanese Garden

Experiencing a Japanese garden, even one one of no particular antiquity is to also to experience deep time, the space seems to exude a quality of having been in place for millennia, whilst all about it time and history weave and dance. There is a quality of transcendence associated with the garden that lifts our spirit, taking us deeper into both the space and consequently further into ourselves. 


The stepping stone path flows as if a stream in a landscape, hinting at time beyond the present, hinting at a past before now. Okochi Sanso.
As Juhani Pallasmaa writes in 'The Eyes of the Skin' (Wiley, 2005): "We feel pleasure and protection when the body discovers its resonance in space. When experiencing a structure, we unconsciously mimic its configuration with our bones and muscles; the pleasurably animated flow of a piece of music is subconsciously transformed into bodily sensations, the composition of an abstract painting is experienced as tensions, the composition of the structure of a building are unconsciously imitated and comprehended through the skeletal system."


Of the garden at Kosho-ji, only the stone arrangements survive. The bleached skeleton of the garden  still exudes quality and transcendence.

This seems to catch the flavour of an experience of the Japanese garden, we embody the garden and the garden embodies us. Now, who is the viewer and who the viewed? For a moment we are both beyond time and beyond knowing time unfolding on itself. Something that is 'ancient' that we can relate to takes us out of our assumed relationship with time. That is the linear, historical, motion of time as an endless forward rushing sequence of moments, that once passed becomes remote and inaccessible. We move into a space that is no longer measured by the span of our own lives.


Ancient stone arrangement at Midera temple, the stones still resonate with voices from another time, another space.

Time in nature, and thus time in the garden, is no longer stretched and fragmented by linearity, rather time assumes the form of a spiral. Experiencing a garden, space predominates our consciousness. We look out over the garden and our eyes are drawn to the stones arranged as if a series of totems or focal points in the composition. Their very stillness and solidity root us in the present, hold us where we are. The passages between the stones lead us about the overall composition as if a stream running through a complex landscape. Now quickly, now slowly, held here for a time then released to move on towards the next point in space. 



In composing a Japanese garden every element is considered, every relationship between elements has purpose in the greater context of the whole. 'Empty space' (余白 yohaku) gives birth to form, gives definition, indication, sense and ultimately carries meaning. Balance and harmony comes through each part supporting another. Linear time, that is time without ending, becomes fragmentary because it carries us beyond ourselves. Time rooted in space becomes contemplatory, this is time associated with rhythm and renewal through seasonality. Time as a spiral, passing a similar place and so allowing for the potential for an interior renewal of the self. A coming back to selfhood, the one that observes and recognises him or herself in process, spiralling upward in expansion toward our destiny.
Gravel, moss and shadows. Rozan-ji

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Wednesday, 4 June 2014

Paths Through The Woods




Another path into the woods,
This time making no choice -
Just following opening spaces,
Skin red-wealed by brambles.


Words,
Just the carapace of meaning
A crust to carry sound-
Wind, rain and rock
Aflame in Buddhahood.


So.
Beneath our feet
An infinite complexity of the unseen.
How narrow our gaze
At the wonder of it all.


A thickening slate grey sky
Rubs its belly on receiving earth –
Removing slugs from the window boxes
One by one.


Reading the ‘Sandokai’
Hearing the spoken voice
Watching the sea silvered by sky.
Everything penetrating everything else
Utterly, with compassion complete.
Incessant flow cutting the valley itself.


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Tuesday, 3 June 2014

Stepping Stones in the Japanese Garden

飛石


Adachi Museum, Matsue
Stepping stones are a feature of many Japanese gardens; we often think of stepping stones being synonymous with such gardens, yet they did not really begin to appear in literature until the mid to late 16th century. Stepping stones or tobi ishi ( literally 'flying stones) begin to be found in Japanese garden with the development of the tea garden or roji (路地) which occurred around that time. There is an apocryphal story that stepping stones were first used by a hermit called Dõtei who noticed that the attendants of the Shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa (1436-1490) laid down a number of objects over a muddy path when the Shogun came to visit him at his hermitage. (Much like Sir Francis Drake is reputed to have done for Queen Elizabeth I, by spreading his cape over a muddy puddle.) Before this time paths in gardens would have been spread with gravel, or be composed of flat stone laid in a formal pavement style, or be simply bare earth.


Path leafing to a 'Shoe Leaving Stone', Koto-in
There are two principal aspects to the layout of stepping stones; the practical and the aesthetic. The stones used should be flat topped with an even surface, the size of the top section varies considerably. Often one will find quite small stones used approx 30-40cm, though this will vary according to the relative status of the garden, It is important though that the stones be large enough to accommodate a footfall comfortably. There are several schools of thought in respect of the height of the top surface above the finished ground surface. As a general rule the top will project at least 25-30mm above the ground, though during the Edo period (1603-1867) when social conventions became more rigidly codified, it was laid down in garden manuals that differing ranks of society were reflected in the height of stepping stones. The more elevated your position the higher were your stepping stones! A path that leads the viewer to a building will often lead to a much deeper larger stone known as kutsunugi ishi (literally a shoe leaving stone), from which one steps up into the building. Kutsunugi ishi can be of considerable proportions, and may even be paired when the building is set well above ground level. In a tea garden this is also known as fuji ishi, or the entry stone, which is placed by the small entrance to the tea room.The distance apart that the stones are set will vary, a rule of thumb is that is should be an easy pace from centre to centre, so the gap between the stones will be about a generous width of a man's fist.


Path with garan ishi, Namikawa residence, Kyoto
Of considerable practical importance in setting a stepping stone path is to ensure that the stones are stable in the ground and will nor rock when walked over. If the stone is thick then a fair proportion of the stone will be buried underground and the soil back fill can be tamped in hard to ensure it does not move. Thin stones of less than 150mm depth are more likely to rock and are more difficult to bed in securely. If only this type of stone is available than it may be necessary to pack the stone with concrete, but it is most important to ensure that no concrete is showing above the finished ground surface. Choosing the correct stones in the first instance is very important. In Japanese rock yards, there is usually a section of the yard dedicated to stepping stones, Outside of Japan this is rarely the case, so it is a matter of searching out suitable material. It is not necessary that the stones be on the same geological origin, a variety of type of stone will add variation to the path. Where paths cross a large stone is placed, sometimes this takes the form of a garan ishi (a foundation stone for a pillar of a temple), these 'crossing point' stones are referred to as norikoe ishi. Norikoe ishi also provide the function of being a place where the viewer may momentarily pause to take in a garden view before proceeding along the path.
Katsura Rikyu, the straight line path is to the left
The actual disposition of stepping stones is very much a matter of aesthetic judgement. For the tea master Sen No Rikyu function overruled aesthetics in the setting out of a path. A later tea master Furuta Oribe, observed the matter from the opposite perspective. Stepping stones are generally not laid in a straight line from start to the end. The stones are usually laid in a slight zig-zag line that will often curve gently. At Katsura Rikyu Palace, where stepping stones are used in many parts of the garden, there is one section where a stepping stone path is laid in a straight line, its novelty is in its unusualness. Mostly the stones will fall right and left so that they naturally fall under the feet of a gentle forward stride pattern. Such a path is intended to direct the attention of the viewer towards the ground, to heighten the attention paid to the act of walking itself. It brings mindfulness to an activity we tend to take for granted. Also in the context of the garden it acts to slow down the pace of viewer, it is difficult, if not recklessly foolhardy, to rush along a stepping stone path. The path directs your attention towards being mindful. The path brings us back to ourselves, even though we are moving forwards we never leave where we are.
Stepping stone in a stream, Sanzen-in


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Monday, 2 June 2014

Energy and the Japanese Garden

Perhaps the most essential element of the Japanese garden has no taste, nor scent, it cannot be heard nor seen; nor does it have any distinctive form of its own. Yet when we study the form and the practice of the Japanese garden creation it soon becomes apparent that energy (気力, ki in Japanese, qi in Chinese) is the ‘raw material’ with which we communicate most directly with. Energy can be seen in two distinct forms; direct energy and potential energy. Direct energy can be observed in something that physically moves, in the garden we can experience this in the form of a stream or a waterfall, or over a longer period of time in the growth of a plant. Potential energy is perhaps more subtle, less obvious, as it represents the potential for movement, or the implication of movement. Something that is about to happen, something that is about to occur. This can be seen in a pattern, also in forms themselves. Potential is something that the eye/mind detects in a pattern or the manner in which form is organised, and onto which it projects future time and change.

Daichi-ji
One of the key design techniques in many Japanese arts is the use of asymmetry (不均斉, fukinsei), and this is applicable to Japanese garden creation as much as painting or ikebana (flower arrangement). Symmetry implies that there is a balance in the distribution of forces, what happens on the left side is equal to what happens on the right side. But because the two sides are equal, the potential for change is limited by the one side cancelling out the other. In the case of asymmetry there is greater potential for change as the inequality of balance leads to the mind to anticipate the flow or movement from one side towards the other. In the oriental mode of thought, yin and yang are in a ceaseless state of transformation from one into the other. In other words the process of life is transformation and change, not stasis.

Kosho-ji
In the Japanese garden all the elements that go into the construction of the garden are seen as being essentially patterns of energy, and the task of the garden creator is to bring together those energies in a harmonious manner. Hence there are no formulae to the creation of such gardens. The training of a gardener, and the mark of a great gardener lies in the sensitivity to the use and potential expressiveness of the materials themselves. What is their voice? What is their song? In other words in the ability to understand, appreciate and use the inherent energy of the elements that make up the garden. The garden creator becomes a conductor, as well as composer.

Raked gravel, Zuiho-in

Earth geomancy, or feng shui in Chinese(風水) (Fūsui in Japanese) is a complex system of concepts that seeks to understand the way natural phenomena operate. The interpretation of the results can be used to guide the way humans interact with their environment. In Heian period Japanese society (785-1184) geomancy was widely applied to the creation of gardens, this was particularly the case in the siting of streams. In the Sakuteiki (Book of Garden Making) which was complied around mid to late 11th century, instructions are given for introducing streams in the north-easterly quadrant of the site, flowing towards the south and then exiting via the south westerly quadrant. The intention of this was that the stream would ‘cleanse’ the site of malevolent energies. In the Sakuteiki a whole section is devoted to the subject of taboos. Many of the taboos concern the placement of stones, a way of understanding the role of taboos beyond mere repetition of superstition is to understand that the ‘incorrect’ placement of elements of the garden was deemed wrong because it would interfere with a harmonious flow of energy through the site. Gardens were seen as being capable of influencing the health and mental wellbeing, as well as the spiritual wellbeing of the owner and visitors to the garden. This concern still exists in Japan even if the understanding of such an application of the garden has been diluted by a transference of the appreciation of the garden to more aesthetic concerns.


Umekoji Koen
What can be applied broadly to the garden as a whole in energetic terms, can also be applied to individual elements that make up the garden. Thus rocks, water feature, plants, land forms and space itself, all can be interpreted as having an energetic value and potential. The manner of combining garden elements can enhance or diminish their potential effectiveness. We should perhaps not regard this as being some obscure and entirely esoteric Oriental practice, as it has become well accepted now that all things (animate and inanimate) have an electromagnetic field that can be detected. In subtle ways we as visitors to a garden are influenced by our emotional and incorporeal response to the environment and landscapes in which we move. What we ‘see’ is partially determined by what we ‘feel’, and mostly this interaction occurs outside of our conscious analytic mind. In the great Japanese gardens this sensitivity is expressed in a highly refined manner, and applied by a heightened intuitive sense developed through practice and observation.

Kaiuso Sanso



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Wednesday, 28 May 2014

Arran Songs


Being shaped
then re-shaped by the hill –
The weight of the earth
pulling at my legs.



Cutting through rock
Wild garlic smothering steep flanks–
Water knowing no bounds.


The stone arrangers had been here before

Raising heavenward sweat stained stone,
A double ring and bank –
What you saw still exists
Yet still, we come back too.


 Always saturated in sound
Always interdependent
Hearing creates the world anew
Wind and space heard too.



Spirit running
As the mountain itself walks.
No outside becoming inside,
It never had to move.


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Tuesday, 13 May 2014

Islands and the Japanese Garden


Distant islands with pines. Kinkaku-ji, Kyoto
The appearance of islands has for a very long period been an important visual feature of Japanese gardens.  One only has to take a cursory glance at a map of Japan to realize that the country itself is a myriad series of islands, large and small. Mountains, water and islands are the predominate images of the landscape of Japan. The original term for a garden in Japan was shima,島, which underlines the importance of this feature to garden creation. Indeed, it can be suggested that ponds with islands have been a key feature of gardens in Japan from their very inception. The gardens were created as locations to which to attract deities from heaven, thus islands were created in garden ponds as a sacred location.

Mt Horai with Turtle and Crane islands, Ryogen-in, Kyoto
Islands have for millennia been associated with the notion of the sacred in the Far East. The legend of the Mystic Isles, or Blessed Isles, is Chinese in origin, and with its concern with immortality, very much Taoist in tone. It has also provided the Japanese garden with two of its most favoured images, Turtle and Crane Isles. It is not only in the Far East that islands have been associated with the sacred. Such symbology can also be found widely across the world, it also appears in Hindu, Greek and Christian mythology among many other cultures. Carl Jung also associated the concept of the island with the ego, being surrounded by the sea of the unconscious.

These blessed isles, P'eng-lai, Ying-chou, Fang-hu, Yuan-ch'iao and Tai-yu, were the home of the Immortals. The islands were supported on the backs of giant turtles, and the virtuous were transported out to the heavenly isles on the backs of cranes. In an encounter with a giant, two of the original isles were lost, leaving a more manageable number for garden builders to incorporate into their schemes ever since!

Moss covered island, Saiho-ji, Kyoto
In the Sakuteiki 作庭記, 'Record of Garden Making, complied by Tachibana Toshitsuna in mid to late 11th century Japan are listed several types of island according to their reference to the natural landscape. Among the island styles suitable for gardens are:

Higata (干形 “Ebb-tide style”), which appears as if a partly submerged island, where beach stones can be seen below the water level.
Isojima (磯島, 磯嶋 'Rocky Shore Isle) which is characterised by many stones and planted with pines.
Kasumigata (霞形 'Mist style') a thin trailing island composed of gravel or sand without planting.
Katanagare (片流 'Slender stream'): A slender meandering island.

Morijima (森島, 杜嶋 'Forest isle') A flat island planted with pines.
Nojima (野嶋 'Meadow isle') A low lying island planted with wild grasses and moss with a scattering of low stones.
Suhamagata (洲浜形 'Cove beach style') A rugged island with sandy beaches and windswept pines.


Yamajima (山嶋 'Mountain isle') A steeply rising island with tall rocks set about the base and covered by dense evergreen planting.

The presence of the Isles in the garden is a reminder of the function of the garden which is to represent space in a form separate and qualitatively distinct to that of the everyday world. The garden being derived from the notion of sacred or paradisal  space as well as drawing on natural landscape features.

Rock groupings as islands, Ryoan-ji, Kyoto