The Genius of Japanese Carpentry. Azby Brown

      THE GENIUS OF JAPANESE CARPENTRY

      Twenty-four years have elapsed since the first edition of this book was released in 1989. Working on a new edition of a book that meant so much to me after an interval of more than two decades has been a rare opportunity for revisiting an extremely formative period of my adult life, for reevaluating my earlier ideas and ideals in light of what I have learned and experienced since that time, for reconnecting with people, with Nara and Yakushiji, and for correcting a (thankfully small) handful of mistakes. It has meant reliving the years I was in contact with Master Nishioka and the countless hours I spent in his workshops and on his building sites, as well as the months taken up with producing the first edition of this book, my first book ever, and reconsidering the many decisions I made about how to best tell the story. More than anything, however, it has meant reflecting on the many changes that have occurred at Yakushiji, in the world of Japanese temple carpentry, in Japanese society, and in myself.

      The biggest single change is that Tsunekazu Nishioka died in 1992, just a few years after this book was first published. The buildings in the Sanzō-in subcompound of Yakushiji were almost fully complete by then, and one of Nishioka’s last official acts as master carpenter of the Yakushiji complex was to officiate at the ceremony commemorating the placement of the first column of the reconstructed surrounding corridor of the main temple complex. Nishioka made a special trip from the hospital where he was being treated for cancer in order to participate. Years earlier, I had already had an inkling that Nishioka was in a race with death, and perhaps that was reflected in some of what I wrote then. He was already in his mid-eighties when we first met, and was planning work which he expected would require two or three decades more to complete. I remember one day, in particular, when our discussion turned to time, and he pointed out how brief a human lifespan was compared to the thousand or more years of a living tree or of a well-built temple, and how that sense of perspective guided his work. On his desk was a familiar pad of gridded paper on which he was calculating dimensions for the reconstruction of the Great Lecture Hall (Daikodo), a very large building whose commencement still lay years in the future. Nishioka expected it would take nearly a decade alone to find suitable timber. Not quite sure that I was understanding correctly, I asked him, “So you’re preparing everything so the work can be carried out even if you’re not here?” Whereupon he grinned and said simply, “Of course.”

      And it has been. Under the guidance of Nishioka’s chief apprentice, Mitsuo Ogawa, the Great Lecture Hall, the largest building at Yakushiji, was completed in 2003. It is spectacular and overwhelming in its size, grace, and beauty, and I truly regret not having been present during its construction. And there the project has basically stopped. At the time of this writing, the 1,300-year-old East Pagoda is undergoing its 100-year maintenance, being carefully disassembled and checked for signs of damage. This work is scheduled to take until 2018. Half of the surrounding corridor has been completed, and there are no immediate plans to complete the rest. Nishioka drew plans for a new bell tower and sutra repository, but no preparations appear to have been made for that work, nor for the remaining monks’ living quarters. So, in fact, those who visit Yakushiji today will probably see all that will ever be built there. The reconstruction project seems to have ended a decade or so sooner than Master Nishioka had intended.

      Figure 5 A corner of the Picture Hall under construction, viewed from inside.

      The Picture Hall (E-den), the construction of which this book describes in detail, was designed to have religious murals on its expansive interior wall surfaces, transforming the building into a space for contemplation, reflection, and religious education. The painting of these murals was entrusted to Ikuo Hirayama, one of the most highly regarded painters in the contemporary “Nihonga,” or “Japanese painting” style. This style of painting uses traditional organic and mineral pigments, and while some of its practitioners hew closely to antique styles of imagery, others, like Hirayama, became known for a looser, more personal style. Hirayama, who accepted no fee for this work, made dozens of pilgrimages to Buddhist sites along the Silk Road, and inspired by what he saw and experienced there, he envisioned a series of wall panels based on mystical mountains taken from Buddhist lore, with ceiling panels of lapis lazuli flecked with gold-leaf lotus petals and images of the sun and moon. He completed this monumental series in 2001. It was his life’s work, and he wrote very feelingly that he intended the works to be a spiritual experience for viewers. Hirayama died in 2009. It is a bit painful to note that the E-den was used as intended for only a few years, as an open space that could accommodate groups of worshipers as well as solitary seekers who could immerse themselves in the visually evocative surroundings. But full-height glass walls were soon erected along the line of inner columns, and a climate control system installed to further protect the paintings, forcing viewers to file through and view them from several meters away. I am certain that if Nishioka were alive, he would have vigorously opposed these measures, and I expect that Hirayama would have as well, as would have the late Abbot Kōin Takada, whose enthusiasm gave birth to the Yakushiji reconstruction project and to the Sanzō-in as well, and who personally asked Hirayama to undertake the murals. These three men were each greats in their spheres, and each struck me as a person of deep understanding and vision. Where what they have accomplished together at Yakushiji is exquisite, it is because each enabled the others to realize their highest ideals. Vision like this rarely survives its possessor.

      Figure 6 Detail of the beams and rafters of the Sanzō-in cloister, or surrounding corridor.

      Of the many changes I have observed since 1989, one of the most gratifying, though puzzling, is the growth of Nishioka’s reputation since his death. When I was studying with him, I rarely encountered people who were aware of him and his work, and those that were tended to be specialists in temple construction or historical

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