The blossoming of spring along the Eastern Mountains.
The straw sandal shod feet of Kukai, the 9th century monk who founded the Shingon sect of Buddhism in Japan.
Young musicians aboard the magnificent Naginata Float during the Gion Festival.
A literary tradition of poetry writing outings was one of the pleasures of the 10th century Heian court, as depicted in this painting of nobles seated along a meandering stream.
Tiger motif walls.
Painting of courtiers on horseback.
Stone image of a demonic figure supporting a great weight.
ZEN
BUDDHISM AND THE TEA CEREMONY
Zen was the last Buddhist sect to enter Japan, and by the 14th century one that had a profound influence on the arts: calligraphy, Noh drama, architecture and especially the tea ceremony.
Zen is based on meditation, a practice in which one looks into the source of the mind, leading to an inner equilibrium between the secular and the sacred and, hopefully, enlightenment. Some claim that Zen is more a discipline or philosophy than a religion, but 1,500 years of Zen writings reveal it to be one of the world’s great spiritual traditions. Unlike conventional religion, with a transcendent deity outside of the self, Zen believes that the essence of mind is innately enlightened, and that seeing into one’s Buddha nature is possible through meditation. It was largely as an aid to meditation and good health that Eisai, the Japanese monk who introduced Zen to Japan, brought tea seeds back with him from China and promoted the drinking of tea. Use of the beverage spread quickly among the priesthood and the ruling classes.
A Buddhist/mendicant monk awaits alms from passersby.
The wall of a Buddhist monastery hung with straw hats and sandals.
Neatly placed footwear rests in a temple entrance of pleasingly symmetrical lines of wood, stone and tile.
Two dragons, one clutching the sacred jewel in its five claws, soar through the vaporous mists on the high ceiling of a Buddhist temple, Kennin-ji.
Monks standing in repose before being received into a temple.
After being taken up by the aristocracy, the drink became a privilege of a rising wealthy class. In the late 16th century, the tea master, Sen-no-Rikyu, started to refine the art of making tea into a ceremony, stipulating that all who entered his teahouse were equals to share in the pleasure of a simple bowl of whisked powdered green tea. This was a revolutionary idea, since Japanese society was rigidly class-bound. Thereafter, the tea-room became a meeting ground for priests, artisans, merchants and aristocrats, a singularly powerful cultural statement.
Perhaps this is one reason that Toyotomi Hideyoshi, a common foot soldier who rose to the rank of warlord, was attracted to the tea of Sen-no-Rikyu. The warlord became a patron of this famous tea master, recognizing Rikyu’s influence on society and his undisputed ability to create new aesthetic standards. Artists were inspired to create utensils that embodied these aesthetics, and tea enthusiasts vied in collecting new pieces. During one military excursion in the 16th century, Hideyoshi invaded Korea and brought back Korean potters to reproduce the simple rice bowls that are still highly sought after. Imparting the softness of human touch, the bowls rested lightly in two hands, their thick walls warming but not scalding. Senno-Rikyu recognized beauty in bowls shaped by an expert eye and glazed in soft tones—the pinnacle of graceful simplicity. The Japanese eye has become trained to recognize rustic beauty (wabi), elegant simplicity (sabi), understated tastefulness (shibui) and vague mysteriousness (yugen), a deep response to the passing of beauty (aware) or refined sophistication (miyabi), as a few examples of the many expressions still in the aesthetic lexicon that concern tea utensils.
Consequently, most teahouses have rustic settings. Some even have thatched roofs and all have simple unadorned clay walls, a hearth or hanging kettle, an alcove for a hanging scroll, a simple flower arrangement and tatami mats. For Japanese to slip through the low door, sit quietly while listening to the low hiss of the kettle sounding like the wind through the pine trees, is a return to the heart of their culture, a respite from the demands of modern life and its interruptions. It is a journey back to their cultural identity.
Preparation for a winter tea ceremony begins with setting the iron kettle into a sunken hearth.
A tea master carefully ladles hot water into a soft-fired Raku tea bowl.
A guest closes the shoji paper window set within a black-lacquered cusped frame in this tea ceremony room. Ornamentation is kept to a minimum, with a hanging scroll in the alcove and a single seasonal bud.
With an outstretched palm, a guest receives the whisked green tea from a kimono-clad hostess.
The shadows of autumn reflect on a single bowl of powdered green tea resting on tatami flooring.
Red felt carpeting offers a bit of warmth to winter visitors in this temple. The sweet is first consumed, followed by a sip of slightly bitter powdered green tea.
KYOTO’S AMAZING ARCHITECTURAL HERITAGE
Japan’s indigenous kami, or gods, live not inside shrines but within the towering cypress trees, sacred springs and waterfalls that surround the buildings. There, in nature, devotees can stand in the spiritual presence of the gods while seeking favor and guidance. The simplicity of a Shinto shrine never competes with its natural setting.
Under Shintoism, Japanese have stood in awe of the power and beauty of nature and the religion’s simple shrines embody this reverence. The torii that identifies a shrine entrance is often constructed by four pieces of timber. These gates invite those closest to the gods, their feathery messengers the birds, to sit on the cross-beams, ready to wing supplicants’ prayers heavenward.
Temples are an entirely different affair. When Buddhism arrived in Japan in the 6th century, Japan, still without an alphabet, relied on written Chinese