Interdependence

Interdependence by Bill Tingey

To me there is a strong sense of interdependency between Japanese gardens and the houses or other buildings they serve, especially if they are traditional in style. But that is not all. There is an equally strong sense of mutual dependency between the elements of a Japanese garden too. A sense of stillness, harmony and balance prevail, amongst all elements - this is a sign of interdependency.

Although many gardens in the UK are adjacent to the buildings they serve, they do not necessarily depend on them in any physical or aesthetic sense. Of course such a statement can be challenged. Nevertheless, in the context of a comparison with Japanese gardens, it is safe to say that buildings and gardens in the UK depending on each other for their credibility, atmosphere and aesthetic qualities are uncommon.

The gardens at Bryan’s Ground are just one of the exceptions. There is a strong sense of mutual dependency between the planning, planting and the house. All are charged with a real sense of balanced interdependence.

With traditional Japanese dwellings in particular, the interplay between interior and exterior spaces is a much more common feature and in some cases a necessity - simply speaking there is a need to see and enjoy the gardens from within the house. 

Controlling exactly what can be seen from inside a building makes it possible to compose vignettes of a particular part of a garden.

Figure 1: A “soft” view of the garden from the Bosen Tea Room, Koho-an, Daitoku-ji, Kyoto.

Such control over the views outside can either be “soft” or “hard”. The Bosen Tea Room at Koho-an in Kyoto is a fitting example. Our dialogue with the garden is manipulated. The interior performs like a camera. We only see what the designer wants us to see. (Figures 1 and 2)

Figure 2: A “hard” view of the garden from the Bosen Tea Room, Koho-an, Daitoku-ji, Kyoto.

Built structures such as walls and other features also sometimes provide a “canvas” on which shadows are cast. This can strengthen the sense of oneness between what is built and what is planted. Such effects can also enhance the sense of seasonality and time.

Figure 3: Shadows dance on a wall in the temple complex of Daitoku-ji, Kyoto.

Among the temples in Kyoto there are ample opportunities for light to cast shadows on walls. The question is were pruned pines placed in front of these walls in the grounds of the Daitoku-ji temple complex on purpose? The original idea may simply have been to show off the clusters of pine needles and twisted branches. Even if it was at first unintended, once the play of light and shadows was recognised as a fleeting performance, there was no reason not to plan for it in the future. (Figure 3)

Figure 4: A juxtaposition of age and youth at Sojiji Temple, Noto Peninsula, Ishikawa Prefecture.

The decoratively framed openings of a covered walkway at the Sojiji temple on the Noto peninsula, formed a backdrop to a newly leafed acer. I found the juxtaposition of weathered wood and fresh foliage particularly inspiring. This combination had special qualities. It was as if I were seeing the hand of a very elderly person reaching out to take the hand of an infant. (Figure 4)

This was my first impression. Then I began to turn over in my mind just how beautiful the leaves would look in their autumn palette in front of this timeless and seemingly unchanging backdrop.

We have to imagine just how important each of the main elements are to one another. The weathered wood on its own is just that - old wood. The foliage on its own is nothing more than foliage. But the two together are a statement or a “picture” with a message.

I doubt that many Japanese designers of gardens would use the term interdependency as I have. I am sure, however, they would recognise the importance of the way garden features - planting, water, trees, shrubs, rocks, gravel et cetera - work in unison while alone their ability to engage us is perhaps minimal.

In Japanese the term yugen is quite often used with reference to gardens. The two characters together refer to a desired sense of beauty inherent in objects like fine thread on bobbins. In the case of yu, the ideogram is of threads seen in dim light, as might be found in the mountains. 

Figure 5: The ideogram for yugen epitomised at the International House, Kyoto.

The meaning of the second character, gen, is similar. One end of a thread passing through a hole is the only indication that there are more bobbins of thread on the other side of the board.

Thus yugen can describe the way that a rock partly hidden by some foliage is so much more appealing than if the rock was seen in isolation. One element seen without the other has only half or even less expressive energy to that when they are seen together. It’s a matter of interdependency. (Figure 5)

A designer, photographer and writer, Bill Tingey lived, studied and worked in Japan for 24 years.  His work has appeared in a number of publications in Japan and the UK.

Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

This article was originally published in the spring edition of Shakkei, the journal of the UK Japanese Garden Society

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