Sanjusangendo is, at 120 metres), Japan’s longest wooden structure, with the name literally translating to “33 intervals” to denote the number of intervals between the building’s support columns. The temple’s other major claim to fame is for the 1001 statues of Kannon (the goddess of mercy), which are housed within the temple hall. Originally built in 1164 and destroyed by fire in 1249, the current structure dates from 1266.
Unfortunately my photographs are restricted to external views given that photography is banned inside the temple hall. This is always disappointing, particularly when it seems to be motivated by a desire to increase souvenir sales and when a blind eye is turned to those taking “selfies” on phone cameras.
Nevertheless, there is a “silver lining” and by focusing on exterior shots, one has the opportunity to highlight the quiet beauty and strength of traditional wooden structures, not to mention the wonderful hues that result as wood ages. My personal favourite is the final shot, simply because it is a timeless view that may have been shared by many over the centuries.
(Please click on any of the following images for an enlarged view.)
Kyoto has an embarrassment of riches in the form of its impressive temples and shrines representing several Buddhist disciplines. Tourists, local and international, flock to enjoy the history and ambience of the better-known and grander temples, especially during the peak Autumn and Spring periods when nature’s allure is magnetic.
Other temples exist more quietly and this is where one finds Bukko-ji. I was fortunate to be staying near Bukko-ji, which I passed most days on my way to and from my apartment and one day I acted on my daily reminder that “I must visit here before I leave”. Since visiting, it remains as a most memorable visit and serves as an example of the jewels one often finds by simply wandering away from the main thoroughfares.
Bukko-ji has a long history of teaching Shin Buddhism and promoting its message to: “Become a real human under the guiding light of the original power of Amida.” Founded in 1212 by Shinran Shonin, Bukko-ji moved to its present site in central Kyoto in 1586 and today sits comfortably within a neighbourhood of apartment buildings, hotels and other businesses. We talk today of community hubs, but I wonder how many can claim to have served the role for over 400 years.
Two halls joined by a connecting bridge dominate the temple complex. To the left is the Amida Hall or Hondo (main hall), where the statue of Amida Buddha is enshrined and to the right is Daishl-do (Great Priest’s Hall), where the seated statue of Shinran Shonin is enshrined. Typical of Japanese temples, the wide eaves provide protection from the elements and allow worshippers and visitors to move freely between the halls. Indeed, I would go as far as claiming that walking on the smooth boards, polished over time by many feet, as one of life’s simple pleasures.
The selected photographs aim to emphasise two aspects of Bukko-ji and arguably similar Japanese temples. The external shots remind one of strong beauty. Built from solid native timbers, these wooden structures are built to last and stand with an unspoken invitation as safe havens. The internal shots show a quiet, serene environment that invites contemplation. Softly filtered light, expansive tatami floors, classic scenes depicted on painted wall panels, statues of revered deities and splendidly adorned altars combine to make time spent in either hall a memorable experience.
I hope the photographs give readers some insight into Bukko-ji and serve as a reminder that Kyoto has many more hidden jewels. My memories from the visit include the friendliness of administrators and other staff I met during my visit; the absolute joy of being the only visitor there and having the halls to myself; the feel of the tatami; and most of all the feeling of calm and of life slowing down, if only for a while.
May Bukko-ji still be there for another 400 years.
(Please click on any of the following images for an enlarged view.)
Once experienced never forgotten is but one way to describe Japan’s cherry blossom (Sakura) season. These delicate pink/white flowers that visit fleetingly, yet around which so much goodwill is generated stay in one’s memory.
I will not pretend to understand the phenomenon of Sakura and the celebrations (Hanami) that will be taking place in Japan as this post is written. Nevertheless, around this time of year, no matter where I am, I find my thoughts drawn to and remembering the Sakura. For Japanese people the bond to the Sakura grows season by season and perhaps the same applies to non-Japanese who have lived in Japan for some years.
As concern grows over our environment and as modern life separates us more and more from nature, I must admit to some envy at Japan’s annual celebration of the Sakura and the nation’s more general appreciation of the seasons. Whilst Japan has its own environmental challenges, I cannot help but think that such widespread appreciation of nature is a positive force for the future.
In March/April 2014 I posted a series of images and thoughts on the cherry blossom season and with this post I have included some additional shots taken at various locations around Kyoto. Once experienced never forgotten.
(Please click on any of the following images for an enlarged view.)
Located in Kyoto’s foothills, the ideal way to visit Ginkakuji is on foot via the Philosopher’s Path. Turning right at the end of the path, the final leg is uphill between rows of souvenir shops and food outlets, well placed to cater for hungry visitors on the way in or out or both.
Ginkakuji dates back to around 1480 and is a most significant temple. Originally built as a retirement villa for Ashikaga Yoshimasu, a shogun dedicated to the arts, Ginkakuji became a centre for contemporary culture that was to become known as Higashiyama Culture. Arts that developed and flourished during this time include arts that are seen today as synonymous not just with Japanese art, but with Japan. Imagine being at the centre of a culture developing the tea ceremony, flower arrangement, poetry, Noh theatre, garden design and architecture and one gets an idea of life around Ginkakuji at that time. Of even more significance is that the culture extended beyond the enjoyment of the aristocratic circles and filtered through to impact more broadly on the whole of Japan.
Ginkakuji is visually impressive in a rather uncomplicated way in that it relies on relatively few elements to deliver a serene environment for those who have lived there and for those of us able to visit only fleetingly. In this post I wish to draw attention to three key elements.
The best-known building is the Silver Pavilion (pics 1 and 2), named after an intention to cover the building in silver to both imitate and contrast with Kinkakuji (Golden Pavilion) built by Yoshimasu’s grandfather. Despite the original plan never being carried out, the building has aged gracefully and its survival through many fires and earthquakes since is a tribute to its architects and builders.
Also dating back to the temple’s foundation, Togo-du (pics 3 to 5) is the oldest example of Shoin architecture in Japan, the architectural style still governing how most contemporary tatami rooms are designed today. Within the building was the Dojinsai tearoom where Yoshimasu would often take tea and which many scholars consider to be the predecessor of the Tea Pavilion.
The Sea of Silver Sand (pics 6 to 9 and 11 to 13) is impossible to miss upon entering the grounds and when viewed from the higher reaches of the garden. It is, of course, a lovingly cared for dry sand garden that commands the eye, drawing one’s gaze towards the Silver Pavilion and the large sand cone named “Moon Viewing Platform” reminiscent of Mount Fuji.
A key element featured here only incidentally, is Ginkakuji’s magnificent gardens – an absolute must see in autumn. One of the many features is the moss garden, glimpses of which can be seen in pics 2 and 5. From there, one follows a path that meanders around the hillside overlooking the temple buildings and where even the fencing (pic 10) is impressive. The meandering path invites one to stop frequently to enjoy the views over the temple grounds and beyond to Kyoto (pics 11 to 13), a view that I always found delightful.
Ginkakuji is one of those places that make one relax and slow down. It is serene; it is tranquil; it invites contemplation and meditation; and this is largely due to the vision of a Shogun interested in arts and culture who, despite reigning in bloody war torn times, set in place the foundation for arts that came to be defining elements of Japan.
(Please click on any of the following images for an enlarged view.)
Concrete must surely have a claim to being the most important and indispensable building material of modern times. Its ubiquity is, however, not met with universal acclaim, with opinions varying along the spectrum of beautiful to ugly in relation to its contribution to our streetscapes and urban environments.
I will leave individuals to decide where they stand on this subject and perhaps, like me; you find examples of each within your local environments.
Concrete is, however, the common factor between the photos chosen for this post, which grew from my desire to share a few photographs of a rather interesting house in Harajuku (Tokyo). The shots are by no means an attempt to document the range of concrete structures one finds in Japan – they are simply shots of buildings that appealed to me.
The Harajuku Wedge is my name for the building shown by pics 1 to 4. It was a few minutes walk from where I was living and I remember my first view being the angle shown at pic 1, where it looked more like a freestanding wall. As one moves around to behold the view shown at pic 2, the shape changes from a sliver to a wedge and clearly becomes a residence cleverly utilising a small footprint. The dominant use of concrete is further seen from the detail pics (3 and 4), where the use of other materials and plantings soften the raw harshness of the concrete. I never tired of looking at this building on my walks and for me; it serves as a good example of innovative architecture.
The Nagano Cube (pic 5) may lack the visual impact of the Harajuku Wedge, but it begs the question of whether it represents an emerging style in a country where space is always in short supply. Cubes tend to be divisive in architectural terms and are another of those “love or hate” design options. Nevertheless, the style maximises space; would appear to be energy efficient judging from the array of solar panels on the roof; and seemed to blend reasonably well with its neighbours.
A different look altogether is what I called Asakusa Chic (pic 6) where the use of industrial materials, including concrete, have been used to create a residence that integrated nicely with its residential/industrial neighbourhood. I wish I could have seen inside, as I distinctly remember wondering if this may have been the Tokyo equivalent of warehouse conversions. My final Tokyo inclusion is a Ryotei (high class restaurant often involving entertainment by Geisha) in Mukojima (pic 7), an area of Tokyo where older style buildings can be found due to the area being less heavily bombed during World War 2. Whilst the building presents as rather conventional, its style is nevertheless distinctly Japanese and consistent with the generally discreet external appearance of such establishments.
Downtown Osaka (pic 8) was shot from my apartment window and perhaps most clearly shows the ubiquity of concrete, as well as the boxy, space efficient styling. Despite this, I still find the view interesting and to borrow a friend’s observation, the colourful billboards and street advertising found in Asian countries brings life to otherwise bland scenes. The second Osaka image (pic 9) is a building in the Dotonbori area, where the more fluid shapes within the external steel staircase adds an (almost) art deco feel to an otherwise plain concrete structure.
To conclude this little sojourn into the world of concrete, pic 11 was shot at Kyoto’s Garden of Fine Arts. In reality the name is somewhat misleading in that the garden has no plant life, nor does one find works of fine art. Instead one enters an imaginative space where popular works of art have been reproduced within an open-air gallery of concrete, steel and glass, which perhaps will become the subject of a future post.
Is there a moral to this post? Well, to be honest, it started as a simple desire to share shots of a building that caught my eye and held my interest, but morphed into something a little more. As a material, concrete can rightly be described as dull, boring, bland, plain and any other number of similarly uncomplimentary terms. It has, however, become our building block and when used imaginatively has the potential to add interest and beauty to our lives. It reminds me of an old saying that: “a good tradesman never blames his tools”.
(Please click on any of the following images for an enlarged view.)
A short walk from Harajuku Station, one passes through a magnificent Torii gate (pics 1 and 2) marking the entrance to the Meiji Jingu Shrine – Tokyo’s most significant Shinto shrine. Flanked by impressive Cypress Pines, one then enjoys a pleasant walk crossing a small stream via an arched pedestrian bridge (pic 3) and passing through two more large torii on the way to the main shrine complex (pic 4) cocooned within a forested area of 175 acres.
By this time the concrete, steel and glass environs of the Tokyo metropolis is out of mind and mostly out of sight. One’s attention is drawn to the classic form and the elemental materials used in the construction of the main shrine building (pic 5), arguably enhanced by the appearance through the misty rain of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Office building in nearby Shinjuku. This is a leviathan of a building, yet the old and new form symmetry so often found in Japan.
Meiji Jingu was established in 1920 to deify the spirits of Emperor Meiji and his consort, Empress Shoken. During the Meiji era of 1868 to 1912, the modern Japan was born, with a focus on building international relationships and improving the prosperity and peace of the nation. Whilst it is somewhat natural to think of this period in terms of modernization and westernization, it is worth remembering that Empress Shoken is recognised as the model of the modern Japanese woman.
Sadly the original shrine building was destroyed by allied bombings in 1945, with rebuilding completed in 1958, largely through public donations, with such support demonstrating the importance of Meiji Jingu to the Japanese people.
For non-Japanese it can be difficult to gain an appreciation of shrines, especially compared to Japanese temples where the buildings and grounds are often more inviting, though it must be said that shrines are often found within temple complexes. In my experience, shrines are best appreciated during ceremonies or periods such as in early January when people flock to Meiji Jingu to worship and buy good-luck charms for the year ahead. As in all cultures, ceremony and the associated emotions speak their own language.
The accompanying photographs were taken around the main shrine building at different times on dry and rainy days. Those who have visited Japan will be familiar with the Ema Plaques (pic 10); small wooden tablets that can be purchased at most shrines and left hanging with one’s prayers or wishes. I have also taken the opportunity to share a few more shots of a Shinto Wedding party (pics 12 to 14) taken on an unfortunately wet day. However, the weather did not detract from their spirits and as can be seen from pics 15 and 16, all one needs is a good umbrella.
In conclusion, there is a question I cannot resist posing. Meiji Jingu is one of several large forested parks one finds around Tokyo that provide welcome respite and serve as green lungs within the metropolis. One wonders if today’s city planners around the world would be generous enough and brave enough to deny developers’ pressures to create similar green lungs.
(Please click on any of the following images for an enlarged view.)
As 2014 draws to an end, it is natural to become somewhat reflective and for my final blog for this year, I thought I would select my favourite shot from each month’s posts.
This was more difficult than I had thought. Each photo is a memory and some months had several favourites. However, changing the rules on New Year’s Eve does not bode well for 2015 resolutions, so I stuck to the task and made my selections.
There is no theme. They are simply my selections for a variety of reasons and no further commentary will be made, except to say they are shown in chronological order (January to December) should anyone wish to visit the original posts.
I would like to thank everyone who has supported my blog this year and I hope the photos and stories have brought you as much pleasure as they have brought me.
I wish you all a safe and happy New Year and my best wishes for the year ahead.
(Please click on any of the following images for an enlarged view.)
Being located in Kyoto’s Higashiyama district and close to Gion, the Kennin-ji Temple is easily accessible if visiting Kyoto. Unfortunately, much of the temple was closed for renovation and refurbishment during my visit, thus I am able to present merely a glimpse of the temple’s range and splendour.
The temple is historically significant as not only one of the Kyoto Gozan (five most important Zen temples of Kyoto), but as Kyoto’s oldest Zen temple founded in 1202. The founding monk (Eisai) is credited with introducing Zen to Japan and is buried within the temple grounds.
Pic 1, somewhat playfully titled “Contemplation”, hints at the temple’s meditative qualities. I say playfully titled because the shot took me at least thirty minutes to capture due to other visitors wandering into and lingering within the frame. Perhaps next year I will start a “ban selfies” movement :). Sadly the light deteriorated over this period, but one must acknowledge that all visitors have equal rights no matter how frustrating it can be when all one wants is a fraction of a second of clear space. Okay, I finally have that off my chest.
The most dominant feature of the main hall is also the newest, namely the Twin Dragons (pics 1 to 4) that look down from above. The work was installed in 2002 to commemorate Kennin-ji’s 800-year anniversary after taking the artist almost two years to complete. Created offsite, the work’s scale is imposing and is equivalent to the size of 108 tatami mats.
Other fine examples of Japanese art may be seen in the study rooms (pics 8 to 11) where various themes and traditional stories are represented in visual form.
Finally, I would have liked to show images from across Kennin-ji’s gardens, but I had access only to Chouontei – the garden of the sound of the tide. As one can observe from pic 12, Chouontei is indeed a relaxing place to spend some quiet reflective time outdoors.
(Please click on any of the following images for an enlarged view.)
Have you ever seen a photograph of a place that made you want to see it with your own eyes? I think most people have had this experience and seeing photographs of the Kintaikyo Bridge was all it took to put the bridge on my list of places to visit.
Kintai-kyo translates to “brocade sash”, with the bridge’s unique five span structure giving it a rippling appearance and ensuring its place among Japan’s most significant bridges. Originally built in 1639, the bridge was restricted to use by successive feudal lords and their vassals until 1868, since which time it has been used by the general public.
The site was initially chosen for its strategic value as a means to connect the township of Iwakuni with a castle built around the same period by Hiroie Kikkawa – the first feudal lord of the Iwakuni Domain. By building the castle on a mountain bound by a U-bend along the Nishiki River, the river effectively became a moat.
The current bridge is the fourth structure, with previous bridges destroyed by heavy flooding and typhoons. However, recent history attests to the current bridge’s resilience and ability to withstand extreme conditions. In 2005, Typhoon 14 generated the heaviest recorded rainfall in Japanese history, thus causing flooding and river flow volumes greater than the bridge’s design capability. Nevertheless, despite losing two piers, the bridge’s superstructure remained intact.
Throughout its history, floods have posed a greater threat than earthquakes, several of which have been survived without damage. For example, most recently, the October 2000 Geryo Earthquake (6.4 on the Richter scale) was reported to have caused the bridge to sway massively, as well as causing extensive damage to other structures in the region. Kintaikyo Bridge, however, emerged free of deformation, which was attributed to the shock absorbent capabilities of its more than 20,000 members.
Today the bridge is understandably a major tourist attraction and my main regret is that my visit did not coincide with any of the festivals involving the bridge. One can imagine how regal the bridge would present during festivals and how its history would come alive in the presence of participants in traditional costumes. I guess this means Kintaikyo Bridge is still on my list of places to visit.
The accompanying photographs are self-explanatory and show various views of the bridge. Like many Japanese structures, it presents some physical challenge to negotiate the five arches, though the children returning from school (pics 8 and 9) seem to delight in their twice-daily exercise.
(Please click on any of the following images for an enlarged view.)
For a small island, there is much to see on Miyajima and unfortunately I was barely able to scratch the surface. As with many places in Japan, one leaves knowing there is still much to see on future visits. For this final post on Miyajima, I would like to focus on two of the island’s many interesting sites, namely the Reikado Hall and the Daisho-in Temple.
Kieza-no Reikado Hall is home to an eternal flame that has burned continuously since the lighting of the holy fire in the year 806 by Kobo Daishi, the founder of the Shingon sect. It is said that Kobo Daishi, during his visit to Miyajima, performed “Gumonji” for 100 days – a meditative practice involving a fire ceremony. Since that time, the flame has continued burning and in 1964 was used as the pilot light for the Peace Flame of Hiroshima’s Peace Park. Such a link could not have been foreseen when the flame was first lit, yet one hopes that one day the Peace Flame will be extinguished to mark the destruction of all nuclear weapons.
Reikado Hall (pic 1) is a relatively small building near the summit of Mount Misen, where the eternal flame is an irresistible attraction despite the smoke filled interior not being the most pleasant of environments. Pics 2 and 3 give some idea of the smoke-filled interior and show a large pot of water being heated above the flame. It is believed that drinking the heated water has curative power and perhaps the couple in pic 3 will enjoy the benefits. The Hall is also renowned as a “lover’s sanctuary” with the flame being akin to the eternal fire of love. There is a legend that those dedicating votive tablets (pic 4) at least three times will be granted their wish.
At the base of Mount Misen, one finds Daisho-in, an impressive complex and one of the most important temples of Shingon Buddhism. Unfortunately my visit was too short to properly view and appreciate the variety of buildings and artifacts within the complex, thereby limiting my ability to share. However, I enjoyed my all too brief visit and as I hope the selected images will show, I left Daisho-in with a feeling of light-heartedness.
The temple grounds are sloping, even a tad hilly, yet they manage to evoke a feeling of relaxation. Kannon-do Hall, seen in the background of pic 6 is probably the dominant building and pic 6 is also a good example of how buildings, Buddhist deities and gardens are integrated within an inviting environment.
A recurring theme around Daisho-in and indeed elsewhere on Miyajima is the use of multiple statues, such as the Rakan statues (pics 7 and 8) lining the steps to the temple. Altogether, there are 500 statues, each with a different facial expression. However, I couldn’t help but be taken by the personality added by crowning each with woolen beanies, which reminded me of football team colours.
Other multiples were found in the form of the 1000 Fudo images (pic 9) donated by worshippers to commemorate the succession of the current (77th) head priest and the seven happy deities in their lovely garden setting at pics 11 and 12.
In conclusion I would like to comment briefly on pics 10 and 13, which depict representations of Jizo – one of the most beloved of Japanese divinities. Although Jizo have many guises, they are invariably presented as friendly, comforting figures as in pic 10, or even as cute manifestations in more contemporary form as in pic 13.
As I said in the introduction, Miyajima has much to offer for such a small island and I hope this and the two preceding posts has provided a glimpse of the island’s significance.
(Please click on any of the following images for an enlarged view.)
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