Greetings from Kyoto

The magic of the japanese zen garden

Stefano Mirti

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Photo: Stefano Mirti

We live in world that’s getting connected in its most recondite spaces. With our cell-phones we can be reached everywhere, we’re in the depth of the Cambodian jungle, and we suddenly come across an Internet-café.

Wires used to shape our life. Now, wires are getting more and more invisible, although ever present. It used
to be a real cable, but from Marconi on, cables started to disappear. Now it is a matter of satellites, different kind of waves, WI-FI, and many other terms we don’t even know.

It’s a nice feeling; it’s a useful condition. Still, sometimes, there are places that remind us that once there was a different existence where a “wireless” device could be imagined, conceived, designed and built in a completely different way.

In a complete “wireless” mode, our mind can wonder

We are in Kyoto, in the most famous Zen garden Ryoanji. There isn’t much to say on Zen gardens. Many books have been written about them, several artists invested quite a lot of energy on this topic (If we had to mention one, we would probably choose the fantastic series of pictures shot by David Hockney on a winterish day in this very place where we are now).

The fascinating thing is trying to imagine the concept behind this garden. We know nothing about Zen, meditation, Eastern philosophy. This makes our game twice as fun.

As Westerners, what we see is an abstract garden, made out of pebbles and stones. Surrounded by an earth wall covered in mould. Being an architect, the elements that catch the eye are the tricks. Why this garden is so fascinating? Why does everyone come here and not to the next one? We can guess some answers.

One of the special features of this garden is the enclosing wall. The space has a clear boundary. Our eye can move freely, but it can’t go beyond the wall. Behind the wall, there are high trees, providing a second boundary (as well as adding a wide shadow to the overall). Next, is the roof.

We are sitting on the open veranda; above us is the wooden roof. Apart from protecting us from the rain (not so bad, since now is the rainy season), it provides a second element to our perceptive understanding.
The black silhouette of the roof defines the upper part of our field of vision. We are watching the garden as if we were at the movies. The pillars are the left and right edge. The floor and the roof are the upper and lower boundaries of the frame. Like watching a movie.

A wireless movie. No moving images, everything stands still, even if our minds move quite fast.

Stare.
It is the way to educate your eye, and more.
Stare, pry, listen and eavesdrop.
Die knowing something.
You are not here long.

We’d like to be the author of these five lines, but we have to admit that Walker Evans wrote them, (one of our most beloved XXth century heroes). We think. About silly things, about deep things.

Once we read this story about the two monks talking in front of a flag. The first said: «look, the flag moves». The second said: «in my opinion it’s not the flag that’s moving but the wind that moves» The master (there’s always a master in these stories), passing by and over hearing them talking said: «it is not the flag and it is not the wind. It is the mind that moves».

But, apart from flags, monks, wind and masters, there is another thing worth mentioning. The pattern made by humidity on the earth wall. It’s a natural pattern; it’s constantly (although very slowly) changing. The darker part of the humid earth defines some kind of Jackson Pollock pattern. Made out of different moulds. That being in front of a Zen garden built 500 years ago, isn’t a minor detail.

You are the designer, you know the materials you are working with, and you exploit them. If the earth wall gets humid (something generally disliked in the building field), it’s not a problem. You just transform it into a nice feature (a natural pattern, in tight tension with the white pebbles in the garden).

A rotten wall, transformed into generative art (with random music played by the birds nesting in the nearby trees). Not even John Cage or Brian Eno or would be capable of such a thing!

Very simple, very technological, very intelligent. Then we go round the corner, where we find a second garden. A smaller one, made out of a moss carpet + some old trees. The overall soft carpet defines the endless universe where our mind can wonder. The irregularities are given by the roots of the trees. Although less known than the previous one, it’s even more fascinating.

In a complete “wireless” mode, our mind can wonder. Thinking about those designers working 500 years ago. The way they conceived the gardens, the relationship between the place and the people. The simplicity of their technology. The raw force of their result. A garden where you can’t walk. Only sit and watch it. Nothing to touch, nothing to smell. Only close your eyes and get lost.

Can we imagine something better in terms of wireless? A mind trigger, close your eyes and you’re automatically linked to the hidden galaxy of your inner being.

Jean Cocteau once said: «Our body is a universe teeming with galaxies of its own». In places like this, our body/mind gets a vague understanding of the concept.

P.S. By the way if you are in Japan and you’ve got a normal GSM mobile, you can not be reached, Japan continues to be an autonomous island.