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CHAPTER 1

Gardens of Central and Eastern Kyoto

At the very heart of Kyoto lies the former Imperial Palace. The emperors and courtiers who lived in the complex were subject not only to the vagaries of politics and intrigue, but to the dangers of fire and war. Each new court brought its own architectural and landscape design elements, but all were consistent with literary and artistic precepts, and most importantly, with the dictates of geomancy and ritual.

From the 6th century onward, geomancy was used to determine auspicious dates: when travelers might move or occasions should be scheduled, and even to decide the layout of a residence and, of course, its garden. The strictures included not only what physical demarcations would reshape and regulate the land, but also abstract superstitious constraints imported from China and Korea.

The divination of all these beliefs was complex and required consulting specialists, which the ritual-obsessed court did assiduously.

As the city took shape, the land was reconfigured to adhere to geomancy-determined rituals and beliefs. The system gave structure to personal lives and conferred a lasting legacy on the shape and spirit of Kyoto.

A flattopped cone of sand at Ginkaku-ji. Visitors to Kennin-ji. Inner gardens flank a corridor in Nanzen-ji. A young pine in the garden of Tenju-an. Waiting for inner stillness.

KYOTO’S OLD IMPERIAL PALACE GARDEN

The city of Kyoto underwent an immense transition in 1868 when the imperial court was moved to Edo, which was renamed Tokyo (eastern capital). Only fifteen years earlier, Commodore Perry’s black ships had opened the country to an array of Western thought and tastes that would infiltrate politics and the arts and spark deep transformations.

The old Imperial Palace and its gardens were not immune to change. The present complex was moved to Kyoto in 1788, but required considerable new construction after fire damage in 1855. Rather than an authentic reconstruction of the original buildings and gardens (better seen at Heian Shrine), the current grounds reflect an accumulation of traditional landscape concepts.

Garden views were an integral part of all but the most humble abodes, and even today, gardens provide highly desirable access to light and fresh air.

Nobles’ estates, conceived on a splendid scale, conjured grand scenery: Gardens echoed distant shorelines marked by jetting rock outlines and evoked cloud-shrouded mountain scenes depicted in ancient Chinese poetry and painting. The garden was a visual reinforcement of learned aesthetic concepts beloved by the court.

The old Imperial Palace gardens remain some of the country’s loveliest displays of landscape architecture. Their gardeners attract the best pupils of the art as well as the finest specimens of flora and rocks. Retaining its centuries-old design, the courtyard is a span of white, raked gravel that evokes the yuniwa (a sacred space) at shrines. Two flowering trees, a cherry and trifoliate orange, accent the quiet expanse. The area served as a site for religious ceremonies related to the court and was presided over by the emperor, once viewed as a divine descendant of the Sun Goddess. The limited grounds open to visitors are rich with moss, low sculpted pine and cedar, and other horticultural masterpieces.

Autumn as a backdrop for a magnificent gate shingled with cedar bark.

The shadow of a curved eave intersects the courtyard’s raked surface.

A picturesque arched bridge leads to another realm.

A slender waterfall softens the pond’s rocky edge.

Beyond the vermilion gate, the grounds of the old palace.

Roots entwine their bed of moss.

Another exquisite garden within the Imperial Park is at Sento Gosho, the villa of retired Emperor Gomizuno (1596– 1680). Constructed in 1600, the original buildings were destroyed several times by fire, but the stroll garden remains. It is an aesthetic miracle of quietude, simplicity, and beauty in the middle of the city.

Struts prop a precious, aged maple.

A moss-rimmed bridge with a simple wooden railing introduces a touch of rusticity, an essential element, even in imperial gardens.

After receiving permission from the Imperial Household Agency, visitors can take an hour-long tour, which leads across a trellis-covered bridge that is magnificent in May when it is lush with tendrils of purple and white wisteria. Recalling thousand-year-old Heian gardens, the paths wind past a slightly elevated waterfall that empties into a large pond, once used for boating. The grounds feature azalea, boxwood bushes, and hedges of wild mountain rose and camellia distributed and sculpted with Zen-like restraint.

Next to a shoreline is a resting place of perfectly rounded stones, a gift from the lord of a clan in eastern Japan. Each stone was valued for its shape and color, wrapped individually in silk and presented to the appreciative emperor.

Guests are encouraged not to dawdle along the paths. But it is nearly impossible not to linger, as the designers intended, and to marvel at the ingenuity of the plan and the exquisite scenic perspective from each view—a privilege previously granted only to members of the imperial court.

Approach to the shadow-dappled bridge.

The limber boughs of a maple.

As a symbol of passage, the rock bridge fulfills its aesthetic and spiritual purpose.

NIJO CASTLE GARDEN

When the warlord Tokugawa Ieyasu took control of Japan, he moved the capital to Edo, now named Tokyo.

But in 1603, for administrative purposes and to retain his powerful connections to the court, Tokugawa built Nijo Castle in Kyoto. Not designed for military purposes, its buildings resemble no other fortress in Japan, where frequent warfare dictated architecture and necessitated construction on strategic, elevated sites.

The Tokugawas were warriors, but they wanted Nijo to be a monument to their refinement as well as their power. The moat and donjons, then, are mainly symbolic displays of military strength; the gardens make a show of economic and martial power. As intended, the grounds and buildings successfully combine the aesthetics and culture of the court with manifestations of power. Famed artists of the Kano School captured this fusion in the castle’s screens and doors, painted with lavish portraits of fierce animals such as eagles and tigers.

The gardens, too, have a military feel, but are framed, as in ancient courtly tradition, by the doorways of the corridors that circle the main building. Large stones and low trees—including exotic cycads brought from more tropical climes—give this garden a masculine feel and also help prevent intruders from approaching unseen.

The castle’s gleaming southeast turret, a beloved Kyoto landmark.

The remains of a turret overlook the castle granary in early spring.

A mother and grandmother take a toddler on her first cherry-blossom viewing.

A single pine tree requires a whole day’s attention by a gardener.

A rocky shore with pebble beach alludes to Japan’s coastline.

The back garden to the west has several large ponds, which are set among low, grass-covered mounds interspersed with resplendent pines and gatherings of boulders at water’s edge.

The garden to the north has more recent plantings, including large Japanese pagoda trees (enju) rarely seen in gardens. Their dominant shape and height, not easily incorporated into smaller gardens, embody the comfortable spaciousness of wealth and power.

While expressing the confidence and strength of military rulers, Nijo’s overall effect is softened in spring by bountiful plantings of cherry trees. Lighted displays of the trees in bloom are one of April’s biggest nighttime attractions. The soft loveliness, set against the muscular architecture, highlights the disparate yet harmonized sides of Kyoto’s former warlords and the castle they built.

Inner castle walls, comprised of massive horizontal stonework.

A grey heron patrols its watery domain.

A slender, young hanging cherry.

Vertical rocks form the pond’s bank.

A row of young bamboo trees screens the stonework beyond.

A stone water basin in the Seiryu-en tea garden denotes a nearby teahouse.

Entering a diaphanous pink universe.

A sprig of cherry at the pond’s edge.

HEIAN JINGU SHRINE GARDEN

Entering this shrine’s garden is like floating into a lush floral bed. In April when hanging cherry trees shelter the visitor under graceful blossom-filled limbs, Heian Jingu might be the most inviting place on earth. For a few moments, the world becomes a diaphanous realm of pinks.

The relatively new shrine and garden, modeled on the original palace, were constructed in 1892 to commemorate the eleven hundredth anniversary of the founding of Kyoto, “The Capital of Tranquility and Peace.” Reconstructed on a two-thirds scale, shrine and grounds retained the symmetrical style of Chinese courtyards with a main hall flanked by two smaller, attached halls painted brilliant vermilion and crowned with green roof tiles.

The vast front expanse of white gravel represents an ancient, sacred area (yuniwa) where visitors may approach the gods. Two trees, a cherry and a trifoliate orange, are symbolic floral representations of the geomantic principles of in and yo, dark and light, female and male.

A gate to the left of the main buildings opens onto the renowned stroll garden. Court life twelve hundred years ago emphasized learning Chinese language, literature, and poetry, as well as performing rituals, many of which were conducted in the garden. Geomancy guided the hand of the nobles who took great pride in constructing their gardens to welcome auspicious spirits and rebuff inauspicious ones. Ponds were an essential feature, as were slender streams. Their curving passage irrigated the grounds while evoking scenes of distant places and feeding the poetic muse of the inhabitants.

Too tempting not to touch.

Clad in white, a Shinto priest gently sweeps a mound of moss.

Echoes of greenery in the pond.

A sun-suffused maple.

Leaving the flat, white courtyard, the visitor descends gentle stairs to a path that passes under the billowing cherry blossoms of spring or the russet and peach-colored leaves of autumn. Soft mounds of moss mingle along the path with delicate plantings of flora. Many of these plants have medicinal or culinary uses and are represented in ancient paintings and poetry. The grey stone bridges over a stream provide a cool counterpoint to the lush landscape.

After the path winds under wisteria trellises, the view widens to reveal a landscape of large ponds fringed with thousands of irises. Throughout late May and June, they bloom resplendently in shades from soft lavender to deep violet, interspaced with pure white. One ancient variety is carefully removed and replanted each year to preserve the purity of the species. Throughout July and August, the palette changes to the bright hues of the water lilies that cover the pond. The round steppingstones that once served as the pillars of an old bridge curve, sensuous as a dragon’s tail, through the water.

To the north, the hydrangeas that bloom in late spring fill the off-path areas with blues and pinks.

A turn east reveals a Chinese-style bridge, once part of a former palace, that spans the water, allowing visitors to linger for a last look at the pond. Its smooth surface is disturbed only by the occasional emergence of resident koi and turtles, and by the graceful reflection of the carved phoenix atop the covered bridge.

Radiant maple leaves. Sensuous surface of a banana leaf. Vermilion pavilion with green roof tiles and a cherry-blossom topping. Foliage, once above, now floats below.

Ogawa Jihei (1860–1933), a prolific landscape artist who planned many of the estates in this area of town, is credited with the design. The garden, although it has been replanted and altered to suit modern tastes and horticultural advances, is one of the most beautiful examples of an ancient stroll garden. It immerses visitors in a holistic experience that melds poetry and landscape.

Boulders anchor the granite slab that leads to an isle in the pond.

Architectural elegance—the pond’s covered bridge.

A chance to reflect from a favorite rest spot.

KENNIN-JI TEMPLE GARDEN

On the south border of Gion, Kennin-ji sits at the heart of Kyoto. The city has many classic Zen gardens, but Kennin-ji’s rock and sand landscape—free from the distractions that fragrant or colorful flowers might bring—offers a respite from the noisy, bustling world just outside its grounds and an opportunity for quiet contemplation.

This Rinzai Zen sect temple recently redesigned its gardens using splendid examples of the enduring tradition of karesansui (dry gardens). Rather than delight the senses, karesansui settles the heart and clears the mind by directing thoughts inward.

Designers of Zen gardens were greatly influenced by 14th and 15th century Chinese Sung Dynasty ink brush painting. In these misty and elegant works, clouds drift among distant, craggy mountains that dwarf the cliff-hugging hermitages of the immortals, reducing the sentient world to insignificance. Strong strokes of black ink dissolve into wispy grey as the brush leaks its life-giving moisture onto the rice paper. The viewer’s small place within this universe provided a template for Zen gardeners.

Unpapered lattice doors frame a view of the main garden.

Listening to the silence.

An appreciative kimono-clad bevy of young women.

Meticulous care transforms moss into more than a simple groundcover.

Trying to capture the garden.

The temple’s karesansui garden is sparsely landscaped with swirls of raked gravel surrounding a low rock dotted with a miniscule patch of moss. Another garden in the complex features a moss-covered rise set with several upright stones representing Shakyamuni Buddha and two attendants. Slender maple boughs paint the moss with filtered light.

Yet another garden contains a perfect circle of raked gravel. With no footprint or hint of human intervention, it leads the viewer to ponder how it was made and what it might signify. Like all Zen gardens, Kennin-ji’s are designed to aid meditation by challenging viewers to look within and glean knowledge from the resonance of what lies before them.

The gardens of Kennin-ji have a pleasingly modern flavor. Even though confined by walls, they seem more expansive than older, more traditional gardens. But they still appear unbridled by the mundane—just as Zen gardens ought to be.

Elegant guests, elegant garden.

Waves, chevrons, circles—all part of the Zen gardener’s template.

The soothing sound of water flowing into the basin.

A single rock—a gardener’s gift to the tree?

Horizontal lines, wave-patterned tiles, and a profusion of cherry blossoms.

A moment too beautiful to pass unrecorded.

NANZEN-JI TEMPLE GARDEN

Resting in the shade of the Eastern Mountains, Nanzen-ji provides a pleasing contrast to the austere gardens typical of Rinzai-sect Zen temples. Four of the twelve subtemples are open to the public, as are some lovely stroll gardens.

Once the villa of Emperor Kameyama (1249–1305), the grounds were converted into a temple after his abdication in 1274. The garden around the main quarters of the hojo (abbot’s quarters) retains the spaciousness appropriate to an imperial residence.

Sadly, most of the original temples were destroyed during the tumultuous wars of the 15th century. Their renewal in 1611 by the Tokugawa warlord occurred when karesansui (dry rock and sand gardens) were reshaping the land within Zen temples. An expanse of raked gravel or sand around a cluster of rocks or clipped shrubbery reflected the Zen emphasis on austerity, emptiness, and self-control. The intentionally calming, even somber, mood allows visitors to sit in appreciation and provides an opportunity to tame a restless mind.

The subtemple Nanzen-in has been revived with both a contemplative garden on its eastern side and a stroll garden on the south. On the east, a neat sequence of diamond-shaped stones set in a trail of moss is as strikingly simple as it is pleasing. The soft, earthen path through the south garden crosses a pond and leads to an Edo period-style stroll garden. Older trees form a canopy that filters mottled light onto a groundcover of moss.

Shingled with cedar bark, Tenju-an’s roof rises above the wooded Eastern Mountains.

The new side garden flanks the approach to Nanzen-in.

The open gravel-raked courtyard of the abbot’s quarters.

Gardens blend into the foothills of the Eastern Mountains.

Even in a city filled with famous gardens, the subtemple of Konchi-in is renowned. Kobori Enshu (1579–1647), a brilliant arbiter of taste and garden design, is credited with planning and designing this gem, as well as many of Kyoto’s most famous gardens.

When the early Zen gardens were taking shape, it was common for the head abbot to collaborate with painters and gardeners. Enshu and the head priest, who was appointed by the Tokugawa government, were members of the same class and worked together to create a dynamic landscape statement.