I will never tire of visiting Kyoto, however many times I am fortunate enough to go there.  Among many attractions, I particularly enjoy temple gardens and what I see as dialogues there between humans and nature.  People may see Japanese gardens as relatively rough compared with those of, say, Europe, with their carefully ordered hedges and flowers.  In Japan we find gardens that look relatively natural while being carefully controlled by man.  They are not wild.  Yet they are also characterized by the ways in which nature is allowed to shape them over time – moss on earth, lichens on stone, patina on wood.  In Kyoto this balance is seen most abundantly along the outskirts, the Eastern, Northern, and Western hills where temples and their gardens line the slopes.  One sees nature shaped by man, with the results in turn shaped by nature. 

Over a history of some 1300 years, of course, there has been ample variation on this theme.  One style is the dry landscape garden, karesansui in Japanese.  Particularly distinctive are the gardens composed primarily of rocks, gravel, and sand (sometimes inaccurately referred to as, “Zen gardens”, though they have often been constructed as aids to meditation at Zen temples), meticulously composed to represent certain natural features (mountains, seas, rivers).  I consider them works of art – specific, suggestive representations of nature, like ink paintings extended to three dimensions.  While Japanese gardens have been dated back to the 700s, the so-called Zen gardens first appeared in Kyoto from the 14^th and 15^th Centuries.  The spare, enigmatic garden at Ryoan-ji, most likely from the Muromachi era (1333 – 1568) is the most well-known example. 

During a recent visit to Kyoto I photographed several temple gardens.  Some were repeat visits.  It has been said that these rock based gardens are unphotographable, meaning that their essence can’t be captured by a camera and they must be seen in person.  I have had this same feeling.  The humble photo from Ryoan-ji that I have posted here, the only one not from this latest trip, shows only about half of the garden.  But in spite of this problem, or perhaps because of it, I keep going again and again to find out what I might be able to capture and learn.