Zen Garden Design. Shunmyo Masuno
exquisite combination of water, greenery, and rocks, which foreigners visiting Japan so admire, are gardens evolving from this format.
I believe we can recognize two characteristics as the basis of this construction we know as gardens. First is a spiritual heaven in the form of paradise (Amitabha’s Pure Land), and the other is a miniaturization of the country as a garden. A fundamental quality of Jōdo-style gardens is the abundantly green chain of islands within the ocean in the shape of the Japanese archipelago. However, in the Kamakura period (1185–1333), which followed the Heian period, a garden that competed with this Jōdo-style garden suddenly appeared. This is the sekitei, or rock garden. The background of the appearance of the sekitei stems from a shift of political power away from the aristocracy that gave way to the rise of the samurai warrior class and, in terms of religion, the emergence of Zen Buddhism.
For samurai, the comprehension of the potential of going to battle and facing death every day inevitability resulted in deep introspection about their own personal existence. Hence, the resplendence of Pure Land Buddhism’s sculptures and gardens was not suitable. The Buddhist practice that samurai followed was Zen Buddhism. Zen partly places emphasis on looking hard introspectively at the essence of things and staying aloof from dazzling ornamentation and worldly possessions. In place of that, nothing was regarded as more important for religious training than zazen Zen meditation.
Bodhidharma, the Indian founder of Zen Buddhism, sat in self-reflection facing a rock deep within a cave for nine years and finally attained the state of enlightenment. From there the manifestation of a rock as the symbol of Zen Buddhism emerged. This idea passed through China and was transmitted to Japan. Zen priests began to create gardens focused on rocks in Zen temples, and in time fine gardens like the rock garden at Ryōanji came into being. Presently, the person continuing that tradition is none other than Shunmyo Masuno.
Reflecting on Masuno’s gardens, firstly what is important is that he is a Zen priest. Formerly, Zen Buddhist priests sat in meditation facing rock gardens in silent contemplation and introspection. In present-day Zen Buddhism, I think that sitting in zazen facing a garden is rare. Paying a visit to the gardens of Zuisenji in Kamakura and Kokeisan Eihouji in Tajimi, created by Muso Soseki (1275–1351), who became known with the establishment of Zen Buddhist rock gardens, we find that sitting in meditation in a cave facing a wall, as well as sitting in silent contemplation facing a huge boulder persists. However, despite the ascetic act of facing a rock dying out, Masuno still undertakes that type of training. Even after having had that kind of experience, to live in the present as a Zen priest, escaping from various worldly desires, is next to impossible. Therefore, of the 108 worldly desires in Buddhism, certainly a few have been abandoned.
Even now some rock gardens are designed by gardeners, but there is a great difference in style between those gardens and Masuno’s. Compared with many rock gardens following the style of traditional rock gardens, if we look at Masuno’s gardens the form of each rock and the arrangement of the rocks possesses a modern sensibility. Because they include this modern sense, the gardens fit well with contemporary buildings, and both natural rocks and quarried rocks split with a chisel can be utilized. Previously, Isamu Noguchi’s goal for his modern sculpture was based on his own particular sculpting method of splitting or cutting only one part of a natural rock. Masuno’s gardens also belong to that lineage.
In Zen, the final obstacle is transcending self-consciousness, and as an ever-developing Zen priest, Masuno’s next theme certainly will be found within that realm.
THE NATURE OF REALITY
“Particularly in the confined space of everyday life, I believe there is meaning in making gardens.… And within contemporary urban areas, I endeavor to make spaces that restore each person’s humanity. To regain stillness in one’s kokoro [literally “spirit, heart, and mind”], to calmly return to oneself, only gardens—nature—can offer the space to feel such grace. Especially for working people of today, who spend 24 hours a day inside buildings with a regulated room temperature, where it’s difficult to sense the changes in time and season, such a space is essential.”1
Zen Buddhist priest Shunmyo Masuno starts his day before the sun rises, quietly sweeping the grounds of the Kenkohji temple in Yokohama, Japan, where he serves as head priest. Wearing waraji, or straw sandals, and dressed in his samue, monk’s work clothing of loose pants and a matching top that crosses in the front and ties on the side, Masuno looks like any other Buddhist monk going about his morning chores. The deep indigo color of his clothing blends into the darkness of the wooded temple grounds, and the soft sound of his breathing aligns with the rhythm of his sweeping movements, punctuated now and again by the trills and tweets of early morning birdsong.
The word samue literally means clothing for samu, which is the Buddhist term for the physical work done in a Zen temple as part of a spiritual practice. More than simply helping with the upkeep of the temple, such as preparing meals, polishing wood floors, or sweeping the garden, samu is the mindful practice of finding Buddha-nature in all aspects of everyday life. The meditative act of samu, despite involving physical activity, is not so different from another type of Zen training that Masuno performs every day, the seated form of meditation known as zazen.
For both samu and zazen, the goal is to free the mind of worldly cares and work toward spiritual awakening, or satori. Both forms of meditation lead the practitioner to “celebrate, with a stillness of mind, a life directed toward the concrete thing-events of everyday life and nature.”2 These forms of meditation start with the adjustment of the body. Correct posture, whether sitting in zazen or standing at a counter chopping vegetables, allows for the mind to be calmed and the focus to turn toward breathing. Observing each breath as it is first brought in and then exhaled, “has the effect of infusing one’s mind-body with fresh life-energy and expelling a negative toxic energy out of the practitioner’s system.”3 Correct posture and breathing then allow for a conscious mental shift to a meditative state. Whether through the unmoving posture of zazen or the active posture of samu, which relies on muscle-memory gained through repetitive training, the practitioner uses posture and breathing to immobilize the conscious mind.
At a private residence in Kamakura, shoji screens slide open to reveal the sight and sound of water dripping from a bamboo spout into the tsukubai water basin in the Chōshintei garden.
Like all Zen practitioners, Shunmyo Masuno incorporates samu and zazen as part of his daily training, or shugyō, the ascetic practice which also can be understood as “self-cultivation.” Unlike most other Zen practitioners, however, Masuno is also a master garden designer, and he considers his design practice to be an integral part of his shugyō. In this case, Masuno’s self-cultivation comes through his practice of understanding the intrinsic nature of each element of each project—not only understanding the characteristics of each rock, tree, and plant, but also the specific site and the client’s particular needs and desires. While there is a long history of Zen priests engaging in aesthetic pursuits, including designing gardens at temples and teahouses, and Masuno himself notes the influence of Musō Soseki,4 Ikkyū Sōjun,5 and Murata Jukō,6 in particular, today Zen priest garden designers are nearly non-existent. Yet, for Shunmyo Masuno, a life without both roles is unimaginable.
Overlooking the city of Shenzhen, China, on the 48th floor of a high-rise office tower, the En to En no Niwa features a dramatic combination of geometric and naturalistic elements with island-like rough rocks set within a rectangular pool of water and a tiered elliptical stone platform.
In a quiet corner of the extensive Ryūuntei garden, which surrounds four