Nature, of course, is vast. However, no matter how it is approached, it is impossible to solely write about nature, without turning to the influences of man. Whether for aesthetic improvement, or for less commendable reasons, man’s hand has intervened so expressively in all of the nature of our planet, that that which once enveloped our societies, is now being enveloped by it.

The Japanese have held an authority on ‘making nature’ for centuries. From its basis in Shinto, Buddhism and Taoism, to the grandiose example of Suizenji-jojuen, in Kumamoto, Japanese gardens are such a blatant example of aesthetic beauty that it would be ridiculous to start this post with anything else.

(All photos in my posts now take advantage of Shadowbox technology. Simply click on any photo to get an enlarged version of the photo, in all its glory!)

Many imports into Japan came from China, therefore it would stand to reason that the earliest examples of Japanese gardens were influenced by their Chinese prototypes. Many of the early examples of what we would now call ‘Japanese gardens’ have either been destroyed, built over, or simply the site has been lost. What we do know however, is that throughout history, it was the ruling classes that had the time and land to build and manicure vast areas and that throughout the Heian Period especially, the idea of installing a garden in your quarters was extremely fashionable. Religion undoubtedly had a part to play in the way that they were formed, especially with regard to Shinto, which believes that spirits dwell within inanimate objects. In fact, the very word for garden, 庭・niwa, is derived from the thought process that an area must be cleansed and purified for the arrival of the 神・spirits, or kami. For this purpose, Japanese gardens included stones, rocks, lakes and other paraphernalia within which these spirits could dwell.

There are many elements that can contribute to the overall look and feel of a Japanese garden, and in fact, not all of them are needed to ensure its credibility. Many of them however, will include vast swathes of pebbles with stones and rocks marked within it, often to denote islands surrounded by water. Trees will be used at the pond side, sometimes presented as miniature versions of their counterparts in the wild, again to emulate the natural world, but within the confines of a smaller space. Humpback bridges are often used as focal points for a garden, with either a real water stream, or a pebble version, flowing beneath it. And no Japanese garden is complete without many lanterns, so that it can be enjoyed both in the daytime, and at night. And the most interesting part of a Japanese garden, is in fact that it is never finished. It is a work in progress, in constant flux and change, always imperfect, which of course runs deeply within the wabisabi ethic of aesthetics.

At the other end of the spectrum however, is something that no human intervention can change. In fact, without it, much of Japan would not even stand today, however that has nothing to do with us. Standing tall and majestic, like a guardian overseeing his land, we are greeted with the enormity that is富士山・Mt Fuji, or as it is affectionately known in Japan, ‘Fuji-san’. At an awe-inspiring 3,776m (12,388ft) tall, it was always going to have religious significance, and in deed at one time was seen to be the holiest of all sites in Japan. Even today, alongside Mt Tate and Mt Haku, it is known as one of the Three Holy Mountains.

Aesthetically however, Fuji has something that is almost unexplainable. Of course, throughout history, there have been a plethora of artistic renditions of the mountain, perhaps some of the most famous being from Hiroshige Ando in his ‘Thirty-Six Views of Mt Fuji’ and a more recent take on the same with Tomikichiro Tokuriki’s 1902 ‘New Thirty-Six Views of Mt Fuji’. Aerially, many pictures have been recorded of the cone, and it has been said amongst experts that of all the volcanoes of the world, Fuji has the most perfectly formed cone of any. Of course there are many places from where Fuji cannot be seen in Japan, and for those people, some have chosen to include an emulation of the mountain within their garden. Any holiday brochure you pick up for Japan, will undoubtedly have a picture of Fuji, with the sleek bullet train rattling past in front, either on the cover, or within the first ten pages. In fact, Fuji is the most photographed element of the entire country. All that said though, all of these examples capture elements of her aesthetic appeal, but it is not until you are stood directly at the foot of her, that you can surely experience the sheer beauty of the beast.

Every year in Japan, like everywhere else on the planet, the seasons come and go. As soon as they have lain down their delights, they are off again, withdrawing and stripping away their splendour, leaving room for the next thing to come along.

The most significant example of seasonality in Japan, has to be the changing of the 桜・cherry blossom. Again, developed from China, watching flowers is a pastime that has been honed over many hundreds of years, from the Nara Period (710 – 794), and is now ingrained deeply into Japanese culture. In the beginning, it was not just cherry blossoms that were deemed appropriate for viewing, in fact, many other varieties were also considered for their aesthetics. The phrase for 花見・cherry blossom viewing is made up of two kanji, the first meaning ‘flower’, the second meaning ‘to view’, which shows how synonymous cherry blossoms have actually become with the activity.

Every year, the great numbers of cherry blossom trees are changed by the seasons, and in turn, great numbers of people fill parks and public areas to have feasts to celebrate the occasion. In Okinawa, blossoms can open as early as January, while up in Hokkaido, it can be as late as May. No matter where they are viewed though, they cannot be viewed for long, and it is this short passing of existence from a flower which is not entirely perfect in its formation, but beautiful on the eye, that digs directly into the wabisabi notion of aesthetics, and is probably why this activity has endured the test of time.

Of course, no post about Japanese aesthetics could dare to pass up a mention for that greatest of examples of aesthetic creation: 盆栽・bonsai trees. According to Wikipedia, bonsai is: ‘the art of aesthetic miniaturisation of trees’, and I don’t think I could argue with that. What it doesn’t mention, however, is the complexity of growing them and keeping them alive, or at least, in my experience, it would appear that that is the case! And I think that very thought is partly why they are so appealing. There is definitely some kind of aura around bonsai, definitely something that possesses you and makes you want to create them, want to have a go. Part of this is definitely aesthetics, the hope that you can make it look just like it has been taken from a wood, shrunken, and placed in a pot in your living room, and/or garden.

Again, much like all the examples discussed above, the notion of potting trees and flowers came from China, however it was the Japanese that have made this art their own. From something that could look quite tedious and inconsequential, they have managed to create an artform that is intelligent, beautiful, and appealing. Ingrained within that though, are the age old Buddhist principles of impermanence and patina; the trees are not forced into unnatural shapes, much like Westernised topiary demands, in fact they are encouraged to continue to be natural, to look exactly like they would do in the wild. And, much like the gardens, they are never finished until they pass away; the owner will constantly be changing and updating parts of the plant in order to get the most beautiful shape, or the most authentic looking specimen.

Although these are but a few examples of Japanese aesthetics in nature, already you begin to build a picture far different from the Westernised version of aesthetics. You see, Japanese gardens could have been recreated in an ‘organised fashion’. Like Western formal gardens, they could have been full of straight lines, where nature is forced to act unnaturally, where human convenience is imperative, rather than implied. Of course, bonsais could have been grown and manicured into square trees, triangular trees, or upside-down trees, but they aren’t. These things never happened, and in true wabisabi style, imperfection and impermanence, once again, run free.

Western culture offers nature in a controlled and halted manner, where creating something that looks simply like an extension of a building is considered artful and beautiful. With Japanese aesthetics however, ensuring that something remains as plain and simple as it did in the wild really is key, and it is in this episode therefore, that I think the differences between the two ideologies is more evident than ever.

Things have to change. Eventually, things have to pass away. And this is okay. This is nature, this is wabisabi, and that is Japanese.

(All photos in my posts now take advantage of Shadowbox technology. Simply click on any photo to get a more detailed look at the photo!)

Don’t forget to drop by soon for the Ep 4 | Man & man-made