and phase two, is an enormous undertaking. This kind of garden project is not formed with just one point of view. Most essential in Masuno’s garden design is the division of land. Namely, depending on the spatial composition of the site, first the framework is formed. Here is a chisenkaiyushiki-teien (pond stroll garden), and attached to it are a chaya (tea pavilion) and chashitsu (teahouse). Furthermore, there is a Zen garden, and as an extension of the main hall [of the shrine], there also are the Kantakeyama mountain, a chinju no mori (sacred grove), and the Namba no Koike pond. A major theme is how to create a relationship between each of these things that has its own individual meaning. Moreover, on top of these relationships, each of their parts also comes into existence. The relationships of these parts and the overall relationship of many elements—these are composed depending on Masuno’s studied intention.
For example, the relationship of the ryūmonbaku [literally, “dragon’s gate waterfall”] and the stone bridge depends on the combination of rock arrangements and water, giving the viewer a profound impression and sense of grandeur. Also the contrast of the natural rock of the ryūmonbaku and the rectilinearly hewn stone bridge produces a feeling of tension in these surroundings.
Also more pure than anything is the scenery from the Warakutei tea pavilion (chaya). Compared to the teahouse (chashitsu), that pleasure of the tea pavilion, the abounding sense of entertainment in the variation of the pond garden, is expressed. Even so, Masuno’s architectural skill truly is to be admired. To say what is good, it is the superb relationship between the garden and the architecture. This is because it is architecture made by the designer with the garden as the theme. It is easy if we say the relationship to the garden is superb, but that atmosphere exists because the architecture does not forcibly assert itself, yet it isn’t restrained. The relationship of the architecture and the pond as viewed from the garden is something truly beautiful. Also, when the garden is viewed from the interior horizontal opening, that horizontality comes together with the garden and rushes inside the room.
I also want to verify [these relationships in] other projects, but I’ll keep it to this. What one can feel from Masuno’s projects regards “relationality” and “object-ness.” However, so there is no misunderstanding here, in many cases depending on their complementarity, things are completed. What is important here is which thinking comes first. In all Japanese culture, relationality comes first.
Nighttime lighting softly illuminates the rock arrangements and raked gravel of the Chōsetsuko courtyard garden at the Ginrinsō Ryōkan.
Two Pairs of Straw Sandals:
Zen Priest Garden Designer
Shunmyo Masuno
Shunmyo Masuno saws off the branches of bamboo stalks to use in the construction of a garden fence.
“The garden is a special spiritual place where the mind dwells.”1 For Shunmyo Masuno, this is the ultimate meaning of the Zen garden, coming from years of training, both as a Zen Buddhist priest and as a garden designer. These two roles are inseparable in his life, as he describes with the Japanese expression “wearing two pairs of straw sandals” (nisoku no waraji wo haku).2 Garden making is a form of mental and physical training for Masuno, an act of self-cultivation akin to the training of a martial artist. Such acts of self-cultivation are required in the practice of Zen Buddhism.
The oldest son of the head priest at Kenkohji temple in Yokohama, Masuno was almost assured a future as a Zen priest, for the first-born son typically follows in his father’s footsteps. Growing up on the extensive wooded grounds of the temple, Masuno was always near nature, unlike many of his peers, who grew up in urban neighborhoods. When he was eleven years old, he traveled with his family to the ancient capital of Kyoto, where they visited a number of important Zen temple complexes that house significant gardens, including Daisenin (constructed in 1513 CE) and Ryōanji (from 1488 CE). These Zen gardens fascinated him, and he wondered why Kenkohji temple, which was full of trees and other greenery, had no such organized garden space.
By the time he was in junior high school, Masuno was tracing photographs of famous Zen gardens, and in high school he was sketching his own designs. This was the point when he met his future mentor, garden designer Saito Katsuo. Saito had been retained by Kenkohji to shape the temple garden, and Masuno asked for the opportunity to assist him. Although Masuno had no formal training in garden design at that time, Saito must have sensed his enthusiasm and strong work ethic and allowed the young man first to observe his work and later to be his apprentice.
The view from the Saikenji temple entrance leads south through the Baikatei approach garden to the stately sanmon (main gate).
Saito himself had found his way to garden making informally, starting with his father’s work as a gardener. Born in 1893, Saito had only an elementary education, but he liked to study and had a strong intellect. His education came from visiting the traditional gardens in Kyoto and studying them firsthand and then by designing and making gardens himself. Saito lived until 1987, still designing gardens into his nineties, many with the assistance of Masuno.
The lessons that Masuno learned from Saito are numerous, and many were transformative for him. Saito taught him that when the workers are on break having tea, Masuno should come up with thirty different designs for a group of rocks or plants. He instilled in Masuno the need to genuinely and fully understand the site—“if you don’t know the site, you can’t design the garden.”3 Saito emphasized that the way to understand and remember the site is by making sketches and notes, not by taking photographs. For the important elements in a garden, the designer must go to see them in situ, to measure and sketch them where they are found—and then these elements must be placed in the garden directly by the designer. These are the lessons Masuno considers every time he designs a garden.
With the strong foundation he received from Saito’s teaching, Masuno entered the Department of Agriculture at Tamagawa University to study the natural environment. After graduating in 1975, he continued his apprenticeship with Saito, and then in 1979 Masuno began intensive Zen training at Sōjiji temple in Yokohama. In 1982 he founded Japan Landscape Consultants Limited and three years later was appointed assistant priest under his father at Kenkohji temple. In this way, he continues moving ahead with his “two pairs of straw sandals,” sometimes stepping forward with one pair and sometimes the other, but always wearing both.
As Masuno continued his duties as assistant priest and his work as a garden designer, he augmented his understanding of the Japanese sense of aesthetics and values by learning the art of the tea ceremony (chadō or sadō, literally “the way of tea”) along with other traditional arts. He studied the writings of Zen scholars such as thirteenth-century Zen monk and garden designer Musō Soseki and Zen priest Ikkyū Sōjun from the fifteenth century. Both Musō and Ikkyū thought and wrote profoundly about Japanese aesthetics and Zen Buddhism. Ikkyū taught Zen to Murata Jukō, who was integral in the formation of the wabi-cha style of tea ceremony4 by incorporating Zen ideals into the art. Masuno explains, “Murata developed the heart of the host to humbly receive guests as an expression of oneself in Zen. This strong emotional tie of Zen and tea has survived through the centuries.”5
As he continued his training, Masuno developed his own design process steeped in Sōtō Zen principles. In Sōtō Zen, enlightenment (satori) is achieved through disciplined training, including zazen meditation, but also through the completion of everyday tasks. It is the repetition and refinement of these acts
