Some say that nothing on this planet can actually be categorised as ‘man-made’. Nature made man, man makes things, thus everything is natural, everything is of the earth. It’s true, theoretically, but without man’s mind, without man’s capacity to control nature, to wield it in ways unbeknown to the Great Mother, how on earth would we be where we are now? A further group of people believe that man destroys nature with his toys, that he creates a playground of greed, self-obsession and desire, all at the mercy of nature. He rips up rainforests in favour of drug addiction, dries up lakes in favour of casinos and punches holes in the ozone in favour of a better tan. But surely that’s not all? Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but for Japan it can most definitely be said: ‘Who needs to rely on nature to create the beautiful, when you can create it yourself..?’

Of course, as has been said so many times throughout this series, the earliest examples of many things in Japan had significant influence from Chinese culture and society. Architecture of course, is no exception. Wander around Kyoto for more than three seconds and you are likely to encounter what most people would recognise to be ‘traditional Japanese architecture’.

Although the exclusive privilege of royalty to begin with, it didn’t take long for the masses to realise that living in clay huts was not a patch on the regal looking creations of the time. The Heian Period holds particular kudos for early architectural examples in Japan, and it’s not difficult to see why. Always with slanted roofs and symmetrical structure, standing proud atop a hillside, or nestled seductively in and amongst the trees of a vast Japanese garden, these glorious renditions were heavily influenced by the growing Buddhist movement in Japan and therefore embodied wabisabi without much thought. Looking back over the series, you’ll know without second glance that such materials as wood, paper and bark were perfect for Buddhist temples of the time, as the impermanent, but aesthetically magical use of these materials was like sticking a neon billboard outside, with a flashing red arrow, stating: ‘Get your wabisabi here!’ And that of course, was exactly what they were hoping to achieve.

These designs continued quite merrily until the Edo Period. I’m not sure you’ll know this, but paper you see, is not the best material at withstanding muskets. And especially not cannons. So, many buildings of this Period were built out of stone, but aesthetically, the original beauty of the Heian Period was intact. For me, there is nothing quite like Yomeimon, with its guilt, over-facing, Goliath like entrance and its beautiful symmetrical side entrances, not afterthoughts you’ll notice, but fully-fledged structures in their own right, to mark the true potential of pre-modern Japanese architecture. It holds such grace, such beauty and such distinctive features over other edifices of its type, that I do believe it to be one of the most beautiful and spectacular pieces of architecture of this period, in Japan.

And so time passed by. Shoguns became less in favour, the Emperor more so. James Clavell’s era had waxed and waned, that beautiful ideal of old-world Japan no more now than an ukiyoe hanging on a wall. You see, thoughts surrounding society were changing. And it was in the Meiji Era particularly that things really began to shift.

Around that time, the Japanese were encountering Europeans on a much larger scale than at anytime previous in their history. The world was not as big as the Japanese had thought: in fact, France was only on the other side of their world, and not on a completely different world altogether. Sure, the Japanese had created some amazing things, but now, with the amalgam of cultures beginning to curdle in the soup of Japanese existence, edifices had never been so aesthetically amazing. Castles were not really clever anymore, and temples had had their time. Social conscience was a big thing, and society had made sure that its people were aware of it. It was this desire that gave way to some of the most impressive pre-modern structures in Japan, nearly all of them being public service buildings. Take the National Diet building for example, and immediately it is obvious that architecture in Japan had changed forever. And so, it seemed, had the idea of beauty.

As the forerunner to modern times, the Meiji Era, though impressive as it was, took much of the flak for changing the distinctive elements of Japanese architecture. That was nothing however, compared to the modern architecture that Japan continues to churn out to this day. Take the JR Towers in Nagoya, or the National Gymnasium in Tokyo, or Yokohama Landmark Tower. Take Kyoto Station, or the skyline of Shinjuku. Towers made of glass, glass and, err..well, glass actually. Not particularly impermanent, you could say. Or revelling in patina, actually. Nor even a bit wonky. Although incredibly beautiful, and aesthetically pleasing to the modern eye, architectural wabisabi it seemed, had gone for good..

Of course, not everything of man-made beauty can be found in the past in Japan. And those things don’t necessarily have to be something tangible, either. Culture in the 70s was changing all over the world. A new image of that which was good and righteous was being heralded in the West, the permutations of said laissez-faire attitude appearing almost everywhere. The strictness of the past, it seemed, was behind humankind, and a new era of experiment was in the air. The wars were over, people were searching for peace, and so artistic creation had a rebirth.

Across Japan, schoolgirls were giving up their fudes and picking up more precise instruments with which to write. The straight demarcations of kanji and kana were not enough, and more rounded, less harsh counterparts were filling up school exercise books. Accompanying these radical new..err, well, radicals actually, were adornments on the page, such as stars, hearts and smiley faces and most shocking of all: letters of the Latin alphabet. This kind of handwriting became so popular that it was even given its own name: Anomalous Female Teenage Handwriting, which was banned right up until the 80s, but by that time had become better known as かわいい, and to you and me, was the birth of ‘cute’ proper into Japanese popular culture.

Fads in Japan have a nasty tendency of being just that: a flash in the pan event that comes and goes, something so out-dated by the time you hear about it that you never even realised it was in. The authorities of the time were hoping to God that ‘cuteness’ was the same, however for anybody who has been anywhere near Japan recently, they will know that that was most definitely not the case. Aesthetics it seemed, had a new medium..

The inclusion of cuteness sometimes perplexes, intrigues or repulses the layman. Pokémon on the side of Nippon Airway’s airliners, Miffy on Asahi ATM banks, the use of anime and particularly teenage girls to advertise almost anything possible, and the fact that each of the 47 prefectures of Japan has its own cute mascot; all of these are examples of cuteness where in other cultures it simply could not thrive. Even official government documentation has been seen to carry ‘cute’ emblems. But there’s no denying that this phenomenon has thrown open the doors to a whole new outlook on aesthetics, and on what a nation considers to be beautiful. So has the old style gone? Is there really room for old and new, or does one thing truly supersede the other?

Until relatively recently, for fashion of course, the answer had been simple. Truly aesthetic, truly beautiful, and truly bizarre at times, Japanese fashion has been a rollercoaster ride that has demarked the look of a nation for centuries. An entire series could be devoted simply to this subject (don’t tempt me..), but for now, let’s go right back to the 8th Century, where, you guessed it, China had had a lot to do with Japanese dress.

Although the 着物・kimono, or 呉服・gofuku, had been around way before, it was really in the Heian Period where society encountered the birth of the stylised fashion that we have come to accept as Japanese kimono today. At that time, an apron was worn over the kimono as a kimono on its own was seen simply as underwear. Then, the apron was dropped and an obi belt came into vogue. During the Edo Period, the sleeves elongated considerably, and the belt became more ornate. How I dare to sum up the evolution of the kimono in one simple paragraph grates even against my conscience, therefore in order to redeem myself somewhat, let me sum up by saying that these majestic creations were not just garments to keep out the cold, oh no, but the highest statement of aesthetics a Japanese man or woman could muster. Made by incredible tailors, these things were worn, not to be worn, but to be seen, to be viewed, to be watched and to be coveted. They were exquisite in their refinery and even, dare I say it, eclipsed their Chinese origins without comparison.

Evolution, however, has a nasty habit of changing things. You see, the problem with the word ‘change’ is that to me, that evokes the feeling of something being adapted and modified over a lengthy period of time. Like the car from the wheel, or civilisation from the caveman, something considered, most likely resulting in an outcry, before eventually, after Time has waved her magic wand, people’s quarrels abate and the ‘something new’ is ushered in. In Japan though, ‘change’ in that context simply has no place.

Fashion is no exception and the kimono was out on its ear practically by the dawn of the next century. No hard feelings, no remorse, no regret, no looking back; simply resigned to the tea ceremony, or a wedding: the kimono was done.

By the 19th century, the idea of ‘fashion’ had pervaded most reaches of the globe. Although the Japanese version became more assimilated with fashion as a whole, even now, there is room for individuality. Street fashion, of course, is all the rage, however in the UK this simply means that when somebody gets bored of a dress, she cuts off one of the arms and sticks on some sequins – brilliant. In Japan, though, even that is not far enough. Genres such as Lolita, Cosplay, Kogal, Ganguro etc. have given way to sub-genres, sub- sub-genres and even sub- sub- sub-genres of street fashion that have ripped up aesthetics and spat it out with such diversity and individuality that judging whether something is aesthetically pleasing, or not, anymore is simply anybody’s guess.

I could quite happily go on. Food, technology, science, philosophy, art, lifestyle, and even war… There are simply far too many categories of man-made aesthetics to convey in one post, and the thought had crossed my mind to split this episode out into two, but I realise that you’re very busy people, so I won’t hold you back any longer.

Apart from, that is, to say just one last thing: of all the categories of aesthetics that I have touched upon thus far, of course that which has been directly influenced by man has seen the greatest degree of radicalisation, revolution and rebirth. The buildings in which people reside, the clothes in which people encase themselves, even the thought processes by which people live: these are just three conduits of man-made aesthetics that show quite frankly that Japan moves with such pace, vigour and energy, that anything considered beautiful yesterday, most likely does not today. The next time you step off the plane at Narita, and hurtle swiftly into Tokyo, look up at the skyline, or directly at its people. Are the buildings still made out glass? Are the people still wearing trainers? And has cute been disbanded in a puff of smoke? Perhaps not quite yet, but it’s only a matter of time..

Check back next time for the final episode of this series, where I bring all my ramblings together to (hopefully) present a succinct and sensational summary of that wondrous beast that is: Japanese Aesthetics.