The Ins and Outs of Tenryuji Temple

When we headed over to Tenryuji temple I was expecting another tour consisting of the inner part of some super beautiful temple and an explanation of the temples history. This was not the case however as we only took a tour of the gardens, which while quite exquisite, and I was a little saddened that we wouldn’t get to see more of the temple. Though would not have been surprised if the gardens were the most impressive part of the temple. We weren’t allowed to spend to long on the grounds as we had to head off for Tokyo at around 2:00pm, but what I did get to see was absolutely beautiful.

Like Ryoanji this temple is known for it’s garden, which is one of the oldest in the world. The main difference between the Tenryuji temple and the Ryoanji temple is while the Ryoanji temple focuses on its rock garden the Tenryuji temple focuses more on the garden as a whole instead of one specific site. The temple’s garden felt more like walking though a small park if only because of all the trees and greenery. And while the view was quite spectacular I didn’t get the chance to view the garden in its entirety due to lack of time. Of course the fact that my feet were still throbbing from our previous hikes around Kyoto didn’t help much in terms of getting around swiftly either.

Even though my time in the garden wasn’t quite what I would have liked it to be I still got a chance to witness first hand how the Japanese attempt to imitate nature. The garden as a whole definitely showcased a strong sense of shin-gyo. This is a Japanese aesthetic term used to describe where something lies between man and nature. Shin-gyo happens to be in the middle of the two but leaning slightly more towards man.

After the temple we walked through the bamboo forest, which was only about2 blocks long, and I found it quite disappointing. Personally I was expecting more of a forest and less of a smile climb up a hill and the large amounts of people crossing though didn’t help to create the atmosphere I was expecting either. The easiest way to describe it would be to say that the real forest doesn’t do the pictures justice.

But enjoy a quick sketch of the gardens at least:

Kinkaku-ji: The Golden Pavillion

I'd love to tell you about my experience at Kinkaku-ji, (this goes for my experience in Japan as a whole as well) but for me words cannot truly describe what it means to experience what I have seen. But I'll do my best. Last semester I drew a picture of this temple for a project I did for one of my art classes but it wasn't until I was preparing for this trip that I realized I would be going there. This temple is positioned like a dream on the waters edge in the outskirts of Kyoto. Pictures really don't do the gold leafing on the temple justice, its most definitely something that must be seen in person to really be appreciated. All the temples here have a presence to them and the gold on this one only seems to heighten that quality. One thing about the architecture here that stands out to me is the amount of overlapping, converging, horizontal and vertical lines. For me, this makes sketching things out rather difficult. So I've realized that to represent things accurately I should try to draw them in layers, starting with what would be farthest into the picture plane. This makes trying to keep track of how how everything is laid out easier, for me at least. There's a sort of fusion and harmony between the modern and the traditional here in Japan that I don't see present anywhere else in the world. Being more concerned with the overall aesthetic in everything than the practicality. Which makes nearly everything art. Which makes for a very visual culture. And so, it is here I find myself in Japan. Visual culture, in context.

Here's a link to find out more about Japanese architecture.

A Disparity of Beauty

When I arrived in Japan, I was fairly certain that I wasn't laboring under any false assumptions about the culture or country; I was proven wrong within a few hours, as we were being driven through Osaka to Kyoto. Nothing was as I expected it, and everything that I saw was disappointing. Through the night, all that I could make out were the neon lights of the big cities and that was, shortly, not what I had hoped or imagined these places to be like; they were somehow supposed to escape the classic features of metropolises. I couldn't see any nature or any ancient architecture, which was what my mind had been focusing on, and there was no identity to distinguish them from the cities of America other than the sparse signs in Japanese, and even then there was plenty enough English everywhere to subjugate this inkling of a foreign identity.

I didn't like what I saw, and I had the initial, impulsive thought of: What am I doing here?



However, things got better. Myoshinji was far closer to the images my mind had been forming, and in them was the beauty that I was expecting and looking for. There was that sense of sabi, of beauty in age, and the onlooker couldn't help but marvel at the sturdiness of these architectures. All of the temples and shrines that we have visited have this feeling: when we were led to the backrooms of Ryoan-ji, to the podiums of the Buddha and his disciples, there was a heady sense of the uncanny; looking into their ancient faces, I got goosebumps. It felt like the world was a moment away from animating these figures so that they may recount their tales.

But there's a stark divide between the astounding magnificence of these ancient infrastructures and the modern buildings that crowd them in. The latter are haphazard and grey, worn down, exhibiting sabi in what can only be called its ugliest incarnation. The outskirting commercial streets of Kyoto are the worst, flat and pitiful in their facades and looking for all the world like forgotten -- yet still habitually-used -- boxes. It seems as if the Japanese are so obsessively focused on the past, on the beautiful creations of their ancestors, that they have completely abandoned the modern world: it must serve its purpose, but they will not try to make it, in its own right, into a place of grandeur. Beauty is reserved for the ancients.



I don't understand this, not at all. How can there be such a gulf between these two worlds? Maybe I simply haven't seen enough of this country to understand, or to find the bridging element, but for the moment, I am perplexed by this place.