Whenever you come to Japan, the first news will be the flowering charts. January — camellia, February — plum blossom, March — peach and pear, April — sakura, May — azalea, peony and wisteria, June — iris and hydrangea, July — lily, August — lotus, September — seven herbs of autumn, October — chrysanthemum, November — maple, December — pine and bamboo.
Year after year, in gardens and parks, plants, replacing each other, bloom in a certain order, and over the centuries of the existence of Japanese culture, this cycle has turned into a special code of Japanese aesthetics, setting the tone of the surrounding life. Shop windows and restaurant interiors attract visitors with seasonal decor.
Plants — symbols of the seasons — have been depicted on kimonos since ancient times. In the daily attire of geisha, guardians of the traditional way of life, the principle of seasonality is strictly observed to this day. Pastry shops compete with each other in the art of creating sweets in the form of plum blossom, hydrangea or camellia.
China shops display vases and bowls with the image of an iris in May and chrysanthemums in October in the most prominent places. And even toilet paper manufacturers are making a contribution to seasonomania by releasing limited collections with sakura on the eve of the arrival of spring.
The tradition of admiring flowering plants goes deeper than admiring the beauty of the landscape. Reverent attitude to the cyclical nature of time has been rooted in Japan since ancient times as part of the religious, Shinto, consciousness. The alternation of seasons has become associated in this country with the correct structure of the universe. In an effort to live in harmony with nature, the facets of the Japanese perception of beauty were honed.
Yugen — the beauty of the mystical
— The name “Rikugien” can be translated as “The Garden of the Six Foundations of Poetry,” Saito—san, a Japanese friend, told me, standing in front of a wooden vertical plaque on which three hieroglyphs were inscribed. — It was founded at the end of the XVII century by Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu, a loyal vassal of the fifth shogun of the Tokugawa dynasty, an educated and energetic man, despite being of low origin. Thanks to his outstanding abilities, he gained a powerful patron, from whom he received a gift of land for his residence. Here he decided to create an unusual creation. Yoshiyasu was reputed to be a great lover of poetry, so he based his idea on the idea of combining garden art with Japanese waka poetry. The result of seven years of work was a garden that immortalized his name.
This was the beginning of my first ever walk through the Japanese garden in Tokyo, where Saito-san and his wife invited me on a fine November day. Talking, we slowly moved deeper. “A seashore of precious algae”, “A patterned stone of words”, “A pine tree that can be asked about the events of antiquity” — my Japanese friends listed the poetic names of everything they saw around.
When we crossed the bridge of the “Moonlight Crossing the night”, the surface of a large pond, shining from the sun, opened to our eyes. Green hilly islands and bizarre boulders towered above its surface. Sachiko, Saito-san’s petite wife, joined the conversation. She came for a walk in the garden in a kimono decorated with the image of golden chrysanthemums. Obi’s elegantly tied belt was studded with embroidered multicolored leaves of the Japanese maple — momiji.
— These hills on the islands are called “Mountain-boy” and “Mountain-girl”. They symbolize the masculine and feminine principles — the basis for the continuation of life. It is difficult to understand this without special knowledge, but, according to the creator’s idea, the garden was divided into eighty-eight zones, each of which is marked by a poem by some famous poet of antiquity. These poems were supposed to evoke many deep associations in the soul of an educated person. Of course, the garden changed over time, and of the eighty-eight columns with engraved poetic lines, only thirty-two remained, so it is possible to restore the true meaning and scale of the idea only from the records of its creator. Fortunately, they have been preserved. Yoshiyasu created his garden as a habitat for the deities of poetry, designed to protect her on the way to eternal life.
Noticing my surprised look, Sachiko-san smiled sheepishly.
— It is difficult for foreigners to understand us, the Japanese. Since childhood, we have been accustomed to believe that nature and poetry are inseparable. Our most ancient chronicles are written in the language of poetry, and the origin of many poetic lines is associated directly with the deities. The eighty—eight poems that formed the basis of the garden are also not an accident. The eight is a symbol of the multitude, infinity. The number eighty—eight is the extreme limit of human life, but the end is a new beginning. Like the cycle of springs, years, autumns, winters, it does not stop. It should be unlimited, along with heaven and earth. The Rikugien Garden is an attempt to create an endless universe of Japanese poetry stemming from the deification of nature. And at the same time perpetuate life itself…
At that moment, the path led us to a large maple grove, which I saw and froze in amazement. Each individual leaf, gently fluttering in the wind, seemed to have been carved by the hand of a skilled craftsman. But most of all, the shades of crimson were striking — they were so pure and bright that they seemed unreal. Contemplation of the scarlet momiji caused a feeling of contact with something otherworldly and awakened an extraordinary spiritual uplift. It was a true triumph of beauty. It was at this moment that I understood for the first time why they still keep faith in the spirits of nature here.
Beauty, capable of inspiring such deep, strong emotions associated with the experience of partly mystical experiences, is commonly referred to as the word yugen. Most often, yugen finds himself in natural phenomena. It is also found in art, especially in the mysteries of the Noh theater filled with sacred meaning.
There are many definitions of this concept, which is difficult to translate into other languages. Personally, I prefer the perception of yugen as a feeling of a secret message of beauty transmitted from another, higher dimension. To feel all the divine beauty and meaning of the world in a momiji leaf is what it means to feel yugen.
Sakura in spring and red maples in autumn are the two main events in the flowering calendar of plants. But it would be too easy to say that the first symbolizes the beginning of spring and the awakening of life, and the second is associated with the farewell chord of autumn. These natural phenomena are the main Japanese symbols of the correct flow of time, a way to once again make sure that life goes on as usual along the path of harmony.
“When the four seasons change each other, ten thousand forces of nature are in harmony,” formulated the founder of Japanese statehood, Prince Setoku-taishi, who lived in the VII century.
Mono-no avare — the beauty of the elusive
As I leave the Tokyo National Art Center, I glance at its impressive glass facade, which resembles a large wave. The spring air is filled with freshness. Sakura blossomed in Tokyo. At such a time, it is difficult to find a place to admire her where there would not be cheering crowds. My friend, Nakao-san, smiles mysteriously. Today she promised to show me such a secret place.
Moving in a westerly direction, we cross the intersection of the motorway and walk along a narrow street that has preserved the flavor of Japan of the last century. A little more, and we are already in Aoyama, one of the prestigious districts of Tokyo. One more turn, and we find ourselves… in a cemetery.
I must say that, since the custom of cremation is widespread in Japan, cemeteries are often located even in central city blocks. Urn burial sites, which are not always fenced off, are an area with neat columns of gray stone monuments. There is certainly a Buddhist temple next to the cemetery. Buddhism brought the belief in the transmigration of souls to Japan, and death is treated much more philosophically here than in other countries.
Surrounded on all sides by skyscrapers, the Aoyama Cemetery creates a sense of peace and serenity. Not only outstanding people are buried here, but also the world’s most famous Japanese dog. Grave grave of the faithful Hachiko, the famous Akita Inu dog, is located in the Aoyama Cemetery next to the grave of his master, Professor Hidesaburo Ueno of Tokyo University.
Nakao-san didn’t bring me here for nothing. There are so many cherry trees in the cemetery that you do not immediately notice the rows of monuments behind it. Boiling white and pale pink inflorescences gently sway in the wind, exuding a subtle fragrance. Closing their crowns, the trees form a tunnel of flowers, mesmerizing with their otherworldly beauty. The impression is enhanced when the petals are torn from the branches by the wind and a pink-white haze covers us.
— Sakura in Japan is a symbol of fragile beauty and the transience of life, — says Nakao-san. — Heroes of the past often mentioned sakura in their suicide poems by jisei. My favorite: “When I take shelter for the night in the shade of cherry trees on the way, will they be glad to see me?” The warrior who wrote this poem tied a scroll with it to a quiver of arrows before the last battle. A person lives his life as fleetingly as cherry blossoms fall. Maybe that’s why the Japanese believe that the souls of the dead move into their petals. The joy of hanami — admiring flowers — is mixed with sadness at the inevitability of past and future losses. That’s why the hanami in the cemetery is special.
Awareness of the transience of beauty makes her perception much sharper. In Japan, this bundle is inseparable. Sensitivity to the ephemeral has given rise to another property of beauty in Japanese perception — mono no aware, which is most often translated as “the hidden charm of things”, but in this concept there is also a tinge of sadness and compassion from contemplating beauty that is doomed to perish.
Wabi-sabi — the beauty of the imperfect
Looking at the windows of the Raku Ceramics Museum in Kyoto, I notice thin fishing lines strung around the exhibits.
— What are they for? I ask the intelligent caretaker.
— Some ceramic samples have the status of Treasures of national importance. The fishing lines around are a fastening system that helps to protect them in case of an earthquake. In case of damage, the damage will be difficult to repair. Look at this bowl,” the keeper leads me to a display case with a bowl of unusual brownish-black color.
Looking closer, I notice flashes of a thick ochre shade emerging through the main one. The uneven edge line does not spoil the impression. I want to touch the rough-looking surface.
— This is one of the masterpieces made by the hand of Master Tejiro himself, the founder of the Raku ceramics style. Its cost is estimated in six figures. But they look like just unassuming shards. Foreigners often wonder why we Japanese attach so much meaning to tea utensils. But for us, a bowl like this embodies the ideal of beauty — the perfect imperfection of lines and color. The asymmetrical contour and uneven wall thickness give rise to the feeling that the bowl is a gift from nature itself. The bowls of Raku strictly follow the canon and at the same time are very free in spirit. All our dishes are created without a potter’s wheel. The master sculpts each item manually. And maybe that’s why they are extremely pleasant to pick up. There is a tradition in the tea act of giving bowls names. This one is called Koto, which could be translated as “Service,” the caretaker delicately walked away, leaving me alone with the amazing bowl.
Located in the traditional Aburakoji quarter, a few steps from the Imperial Palace and the famous Nishijin Textile center, the small Raku Tea Ceramics Museum is one of the treasures of the former capital of Japan. The Raku workshop itself is located here, where for fifteen generations the secrets of making tea utensils have been kept, which had a great influence on the development of the entire Japanese culture.
The appearance of Raku cups is associated with the name of the legendary master of the tea ceremony, Seng no Rikyu, who lived in the XVI century. It was he who revealed to the world the talent of the ceramicist Tejiro, who created his first bowls at the request of the tea patriarch. The Japanese believe that the imperfection of such ceramics encourages a person to think about the search for harmony, ways of unity with nature and thus becomes an important element on the path of spiritual growth.
And the right bowls, like nothing else, help people open their hearts to each other. Raku bowls reveal the essence of the key concepts of Japanese aesthetics — wabi-sabi: authenticity, naturalness, the charm of imperfection, emphasis on natural materials and paints. This system of aesthetic worldview was finally strengthened in the national consciousness due to the influence of tea houses, in which the ceremonies of the masters of the Seng no Rikyu circle were held.
Wabi and sabi are most often mentioned together and perceived as a single whole, and yet each of these concepts has its own characteristics. In the original, philosophical sense, wabi implies a self-denying external modesty, restraint of form with depth and richness of inner content. Whereas in the semantic field of the word “sabi” there are such meanings as “loneliness”, “condensation of the spirit”, “entry into nirvana”. Sometimes sabi is defined as “the beauty of antiquity.”
“To create bowls of Cancer for me is akin to prayer. Fortunately, the feeling of prayer is still present in authentic Japanese ceramics,” the current head of the workshop, Raku Kichijemon XV, said in an interview. And these words of the revered master in the country highlight another important facet of the perception of beauty in Japan.
Gendai no wa is a modern interpretation of traditional beauty in design
The entrance to the art space near the Nezu Gallery of Fine Arts in the Minami-Aoyama area is hidden behind a huge branching plane tree, so I don’t immediately notice it. Going up to the second floor, I find myself in a large bright hall, where Sayuri Suminokura, the wife of the famous architect and interior designer Yukio Hashimoto, is waiting for me. An exhibition of models of their joint design bureau is held here.
Hotels, boutiques, restaurants, clubs, wedding halls, museums and private residences — miniature models represent the full range of Yukio Hashimoto’s activities since 1996. While Sayuri-san shows me the most notable projects, I remember which ones I happened to visit with Hashimoto-san.
We talked and were friends for almost 20 years. Yukio Hashimoto died in 2022, at the peak of his popularity and in the prime of his talent. In my eyes, the work of his bureau is an example of the embodiment of the “genday no wa” style, which we often discussed with the designer. This concept can be translated as a “modern interpretation of harmony”, where the hieroglyph “wa” means not just harmony, but the traditional principles of Japanese beauty.
In Yukio Hashimoto’s objects, I have always paid attention to the inventive zoning technique and the virtuoso skill of working with chiaroscuro. It is sometimes difficult to tell about the spaces of the interiors he created — whether they are large or small and where their internal boundaries lie.
The designer achieved this effect with the help of mobile partitions made of a variety of materials: paper-covered wooden gratings, textiles, plastic, glass, even perforated iron. Opening and closing, they changed the appearance of the premises in the blink of an eye.
It looked very modern, but at the same time it was reminiscent of a traditional Japanese house, and especially of the tea ceremony rooms with their indispensable shoji partitions, letting in diffused light and creating a sense of mystery.
As it turned out, my impression was not accidental.
— In my student years, I was struck by a visit to the Tayan tea room, associated with the name of the master of the tea ceremony Seng no Rikyu, – Yukio Hashimoto told me in an interview. — It is kept today at the Mekian Temple in Yamazaki, a suburb of Kyoto. This is a completely miniature space, the size of only two tatami mats. But I saw a whole microcosm in her! Then I felt how avant-garde the ideas of this great man are. It wasn’t the feeling of antiquity that impressed me. On the contrary, it seemed to me that this tea room was imbued with the spirit of something extraordinarily new and advanced. It was incredible.: I saw the interior of space in front of me, standing as if above time, outside its framework. And it was wonderful.
Later in our conversations, Yukio Hashimoto repeatedly repeated that classic interiors in traditional Japanese style have always been a source of inspiration for him, primarily due to their mobility and ability to transform. He noted it as the most remarkable feature of Japanese architecture and, boldly experimenting with materials, constantly applied it in his projects.
Working in the direction of “gendai no wa”, Yukio Hashimoto was one of the active conductors of the spirit of traditional beauty in our days. The poetics of fragment, stroke, hint, and silence were always felt in his interiors, where, if desired, one could easily notice its other components: mono-no avare, yugen and wabi-sabi.
ORIENTATION ON THE TERRAIN
Japan
The area is 377,944 km2
The population is about 123 million people.
The distance from Moscow to Narita is about 7,500 km
Photo: SHUTTERSTOCK / FOTODOM; SHUTTERSTOCK / FOTODOM; ETHAN DOYLE WHITE; ITCHIKU KUBOTA ART MUSEUM; MARISA HERRERA; METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART; SHUTTERSTOCK / FOTODOM; BASILE MORIN; HASHIMOTO YUKIO DESIGN STUDIO; TOKYO NATIONAL MUSEUM IMAGE ARCHIVES
The material was published in the magazine “Around the World” No. 2, March 2024
The author of the text:Tatyana Naumova
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