Read Aloud the Text Content

This audio was created by Woord's Text to Speech service by content creators from all around the world.

Text Content or SSML code:

Wabi Sabi in the Japanese Arts As a fundamental building block for Japanese art, wabi sabi has influenced many of the Japanese art forms as they have evolved over the ages. With the essential Zen philosophy staking out the foundations, the monks and other artists worked to create a very diverse range of artistic expressions including gardens, poetry, ceramics, and flower arranging, to name but a few. Many of these arts gravitated around the Zen cosmic view and so could not help but share many of the aims and characteristics of wabi sabi. In this section we wil look at the way the arts have been influenced by wabi sabi, and how the sentiment of wabi sabi is still found within their fabric. Garden Design Japan’s first gardens were inspired mainly by Shinto beliefs and were initially no more than open gravel spaces where it was thought that kami, or spirits, would be encouraged to visit. To these simple beginnings were added rocks and trees where the kami were thought to reside, but it was not until the Kamakura period that the Zen ideals started to make an impression on the art of garden design. It was in this period that the ishitateso, “the monks who place stones,” were given the task of designing temple gardens using large rocks as their primary mode of expression. The reverence for the Chinese landscape pictures that came from the mainland during the Song dynasty found a voice in the garden designs of the Zen monks, who used the themes of ethereal mountains and rivers to build their microcosmic gardens, known as karesansui. Armed with a frugal selection of raw materials the monks sought to build worlds within worlds as their gardens became miniaturized versions of the cosmic order and their rocks took on the stature of mountains. As with other wabi sabi designs, they deliberately left the gates open for the flow of imagination to enter. Their designs imbued the gardens with a sense of the surreal and beckoned viewers to forget themselves and become immersed in the seas of gravel and the forests of moss. By loosening the rigid sense of perception, the actual scales of the garden became irrelevant and the viewers were able to then perceive the huge landscapes deep within themselves. This expanse is a key aspect of Zen, and the nothingness that it symbolizes is not the same as the nothing we understand in the West. It is the indefinable infinite that both surrounds and lies within us. The solitary rock surrounded on all shores by a sea of gravel was synonymous with our own existential position, not only with regard to our fellowman but also the eternity that envelops our very being. Rather than aim at superficial beauty in their work, the Zen monks responsible for many of the timeless designs were more interested in mirroring universal truths. They were beckoning others to release themselves from the tyranny of reason and to discover the truth that runs beyond the realms of our day-to-day perceptions. Just as our eyes only perceive the dry gravel streams, so our minds are missing the great river that courses through the fleeting world. The most famous of all Japanese gardens, Ryoanji, was constructed in 1450 under the guidance of the artist Soami, and it displays a completely different philosophical axis to the garden designs of Europe, such as those of Versailles. The French gardens were large and physically impressive, but in keeping with wabi sabi, Ryoanji was intimate and subtle. It posed a metaphysical conundrum and sought not adulation but the stimulation of those who beheld it. Many wonderful theories have been put forward about the placement and significance of the fifteen stones in the garden of Ryoanji, but words tend to tie us to intellectual thoughts, and this was not the reason for building such gardens. It is only by really looking at the garden with a clear mind of muga (no self) that the depth of the garden becomes apparent. As with many other wabi sabi expressions, there is a strong sense of challenge to the observers. They are not being invited to just sit and enjoy something that looks appealing, but to become actively involved in understanding more about the garden as a metaphor for the universe. The Japanese have a love of vague words that is only equaled by their passion for giving things names. Within the field of garden design there are now over one hundred different Japanese words used just to describe the different rocks that can be incorporated into a design, but there are those who feel that this tendency to overclassify actually blurs the main aim of the garden. Until very recently there has been a tradition of teaching gardening that has given no quarter to the verbal communication of ideas. Over a period of ten or so years a trainee gardener would work with a master and absorb his master’s knowledge without recourse to learning rules or theories. The osmosis of this knowledge, passing seamlessly from one to another, shows the spiritual nature ascribed to the work of the gardener and emphasizes the efforts required to become a worthy landscape artist. Tea Gardens As an integral element of the tea ceremony, tea gardens (roji or chaniwa), were designed to complement the ambience and set the scene for the whole ceremony. Like so many aspects of the ceremony, a great deal of the design work was inspired by Rikyu, who felt that the walk through the tea garden on the way to the ceremony should be akin to a peaceful stroll through a desolate mountain trail. With its close relationship to the tea ceremony, the tea garden became one of the richest expressions of wabi sabi. By working hand in hand with nature there was a sublime synergy between the artistry of the tea master and that of the earth as it breathed life into the bamboos, trees, and shrubs. Usually small and intimate, a tea garden would have many elements of wabi sabi-style design, including irregular stepping-stones, used to reach the tearoom from the machiaishitsu (the place where the visitors meet before entering the tearoom); austerely sculptured pine trees; verdant moss on stones vibrant with subdued hues; and decaying bamboo fences. These gardens, constructed with infinite care, used the stepping-stones to guide the visitors as they made their way to the tearoom. They were designed to instill a focused and refined state of mind so that upon entering through the low door ofthe tearoom the participants were ready to communicate not so much with each other but with the spirit of tea. In order to find the spirit of wabi sabi in gardens, it is again the perceiver who will need to make the effort to unearth the wealth of stimulation awaiting discovery. The gardener sets the scene and provides the potential, thus leading the proverbial horse to water, but having done this, he must retire and rely on the sensitivity of the visitor to use the garden as a springboard to grasping the eternal truths etched throughout. Wabi Sabi in Poetry In Japan, as in many other cultures, the art of poetry has long been used as a means for the transmission of delicate and deep feelings that normal language cannot hope to adequately convey. Poetry can express undefined feelings and unvoiced thoughts. The Japanese poet will use the bare minimum of expression to provoke the greatest emotional response, and this yojo (literally “extra emotion” or “suggestion”) is an ever-present theme in wabi sabi. It was said by Japan’s most famous poet, Basho, that “a poem that suggests 70–80 percent of its subject may be good, but a poem that only suggests 50–60 percent of the subject will always retain its intrigue.” In normal conversation and literature the Japanese adore the vague and obscure, but in poetry we find the most exquisite expression of their love of the ambiguous. The Japanese script, which is based on the Chinese pictographs called Kanji, carries a strong emotive force in its own right. However, with the flow of brushed black ink on a silk screen, the impact of the dynamic characters combined with the wealth of meanings they imply can be breathtaking. It is a synthesis of poetry and graphic art that ensures its status as one of the most esteemed art forms in Japan. While poems in the West tend to be longer and more expressive, the Japanese short poems, tanka, and especially the haiku, are very brief and only give the defining attributes of a scene rather than describing it in full. By withholding verbose descriptions the poem entices the reader to actively participate in the fulfillment of its meaning and, as with the Zen gardens, to become an active participant in the creative process. There is also a conscious decision to do away with anything that might taint the poem with the personal sentiments of the poet. In Japan, poems should not be tethered to the entanglement of a person’s ego. Humility, modesty, and a keen eye for small details in the natural environment are key attributes. As Basho said, “If you want to learn about the pine, then go to the pine, if you want to learn about the bamboo, then go to the bamboo. When you have become one with them, then your poetry will come by itself.” The sentiment of sabi has traveled hand in hand with the Zen movement, and in poetry, more than any other medium, the sense of desolation and loneliness became especially poignant. The following poem, by the twelfth-century poet Jakuren, shows the way an artful poet can give full voice to the depth of his sentiments.