was painful to see how extremely under-appreciated the field of Japanese carpentry was in its home country in general, and temple carpentry in particular.
Nishioka struggled with misconceptions and criticisms while alive, being called to defend the cost of his projects and the time required to complete them, and to justify on social and ideological grounds what skeptics considered a dangerously backward-looking approach to culture. So the growth of his reputation and the vastly increased awareness of his work in Japanese society at large since his death brings with it a twinge of irony. But it cannot be denied that his name and the significance of his life’s work are now familiar to a much wider public than they were when he was alive and sought support. Nishioka is now legendary at home. He wrote several books during his lifetime, and all of them continue to sell well. He is the subject of an excellent and well-received documentary released in 2012, for which I was happy to contribute texts and to participate in public discussions. There is a well-run study group devoted to his work and thinking, and many of the tools and notebooks that laid on his desk or on shelves in his workshop when I visited him are now in the excellent Takenaka Carpentry Museum in Kobe. Witnessing this apotheosis, and thinking back to the 1980s, I remember vividly how bewildered I was that no one seemed to know or care that such a person existed. But I also recall that the man who sat before me so often telling stories about his youth, or who took time out to walk around the old buildings at Yakushiji, pointing out what was well or poorly done, was, more than anything, patient, kind, humble, and always quick to laugh.
That period of encounters with Nishioka changed me in ways I have only begun to fully appreciate. I probably would not have been as receptive to him personally if he had not been such a normal and unassuming human being. And I want to stress that although I declined his offer to become a carpentry apprentice, fearing, with justification, that my personality was not suited to years of unquestioning obedience, he made a place for me among those he was teaching, and found ways to teach me what I was ready to know. In the process, he gave me my life’s work. I treasure several letters and postcards he wrote to me, always in brush and ink, particularly a note of congratulations he sent me after the publication of The Genius of Japanese Carpentry. He had addressed it to “Azby Brown, Sensei,” in effect anointing me as a teacher in my own right, though I was still young and only a graduate student. That meant more to me than anything because I had not sought it, nor had I expected it. And as honors often are, it was also a less than subtle nudge and a challenge to improve upon what I had already done. I have often said that I wrote this book partly to repay the immense debt I owe Master Nishioka, as a student to a teacher. And now, more than twenty years later, I realize that this debt is never really repayable.
Figure 7 A carpenter works out interior details of the Sanzō-in Octagonal Hall.
Among the ways that Nishioka gave me what has become my life’s work was the opportunity the experience provided to learn about the process of making books, which was a very new avenue for me at the time. In particular, I realized that to do the subject justice I would need to present descriptive text, good photos, and well thought out drawings together. I shot over 1,000 photos of various aspects of the work at Yakushiji, most of them in black and white due to the cost of film and processing, made quite a few sketches of the various elements and connections, and was given an excellent set of plans. Master Nishioka also allowed me to make xerox copies of his detailed notebooks of drawings and measurements. Despite my architectural education, I still had to teach myself how to make clear exploded-view drawings of the structural assembly process with its dozens of complex joints. I remember that hot summer well, sitting on the floor in my non-air conditioned room in Tokyo, a towel wrapped around my head to keep dripping sweat from spoiling my inkwork. I saw lots of room for improvement then, and see even more now, but as time has gone on I have developed something of a knack for that kind of drawing, and have used it in each of my books since then. The desire to convey Nishioka’s work clearly turned me into a writer and an architectural illustrator of sorts, and even when my subjects have been contemporary buildings I find that the effort I expended honing my three-dimensional visualization skills back then has stood me in good stead.
Whenever we spoke, Master Nishioka managed to frame issues in terms of time and the environment, particularly calling attention to how things like wood change as the years pass. The fundamental environmental soundness of traditional Japanese carpentry practice, and the awareness and sensibility they reflected, made a lasting impression on me, and in some ways became the keystone of all my later work. That and the sense of continuity spanning ages has informed my design and other creative work as well as my writing. And after over a decade investigating modern and contemporary Japanese architecture, it was this ember of awareness that led me to return to these core themes several years ago when I renewed my research into the sustainable practices upon which traditional Japanese crafts and lifestyle were based for what became a book called Just Enough. That book very neatly bookended this one, and it feels to me like the culmination of decades of study that began here, in Nara, with Master Nishioka. I have received many requests to speak over the past couple of years about both Nishioka’s work and traditional Japanese sustainability, to share with both Japanese audiences and overseas groups what I have seen and learned. This has been extremely gratifying.
Figure 8 A close-up of one of the doors of the Great Lecture Hall, with its gilt-bronze nailhead covers. The smoothly rippled surface left by the yariganna (spear plane) can be clearly seen.
I was happy when Tuttle asked me to prepare a new edition of The Genius of Japanese Carpentry, and also a bit concerned, because book production technology has progressed extremely rapidly during the interim between the first edition and this one. The most significant change is that we have been able to include more photos than before, and more in color. This also has posed a bit of a challenge, since so many of the original photos were shot in black and white, and designing attractive layouts that include both color and black and white is a bit tricky. But I think the book’s designers have proven themselves up to the challenge. I have also taken the opportunity to include some new material, particularly photos of work that was completed at Yakushiji after the first edition was written in 1989. And I have added a number of pages inspired by the teachings for carpenters that Master Nishioka inherited from his forebears and which he had described beautifully in writing before his death. In summary, almost all of the original material remains, a handful of photos have been exchanged for better or more recent ones, and there is a bit more of Nishioka himself here than there was in 1989.
Thinking back to who I was and what I was interested in when I first came to Japan almost three decades ago, and what I have spent my time immersed in since then, about both the results I have managed to realize and the opportunities I may have let slip by, I am struck by how little of it I could have foreseen at the time. I am glad it all happened, and I still feel my debt to Tsunekazu Nishioka deeply.
The oral teachings (kuden) of the master carpenters of Horyuji
Nishioka inherited a wealth of oral and written guidelines for the master temple carpenters of Hōryūji temple that have been passed down from generation to generation, and which he received directly from his grandfather. Quite a few of these guidelines deal with technical aspects, such as the use of tools and the preparation of materials, but a number of the most significant are instructions dealing with the mental and emotional aspects of the work, such as leadership, compassion, and spiritual preparation. In these sections, we will discuss several that Nishioka considered particularly important.
社頭伽藍を口にすべからず 神仏をあがめずして
“A person who doesn’t appreciate Shintō and Buddhist thought should be quiet about the design of religious compounds.”
According
