During the final months of World War II, most urban areas in Japan were heavily bombed by the United States Air Force. Kyoto, however, remained largely untouched, making it a potential target for a nuclear attack. Despite this, Secretary of War Henry Stimson successfully convinced President Truman to remove Kyoto from the list of nuclear targets, sparing the city from destruction. While scholars debate Stimson’s motives—offering moralist, orthodox, and revisionist interpretations—the result was the preservation of Kyoto, Japan’s cultural capital.
Today, Kyoto is a magnet for tourists, who flock to its temples and cultural landmarks in awe of its beauty. Despite the issue of over-tourism, Kyoto provides moments of peace through its iconic dry gardens, or karesansui. Rooted in Zen traditions, these meticulously designed spaces offer visitors a glimpse into Japanese aesthetics and spirituality. The experience of exploring Kyoto's dry gardens is not just about appreciating their beauty; it’s a journey of self-reflection.
As a photographer based in Japan, I have visited Kyoto countless times for various publications. However, I had never been tasked with capturing the essence of these Zen gardens, often overlooked by the hordes of tourists on Honshu's well-trodden path. So, when The New York Times entrusted me with photographing Kyoto’s dry gardens and their caretakers for a travel editorial, I felt deeply honored to showcase these timeless spaces to a broader audience.
Kyoto's dry gardens date back to the Muromachi period, when Zen Buddhism played a significant role in shaping Japanese culture. These gardens, embodying Zen principles, emphasize harmony and impermanence with their minimalist designs. Using only essential elements like rocks and gravel, they invite visitors to enter a space of contemplation and ancient wisdom.
At the heart of these gardens is the Zen belief that simplicity can lead to enlightenment. Their serene, unadorned beauty captures the transient nature of life, encouraging visitors to find peace in the present moment. Walking through the gravel and stone paths allows one to let go of worldly concerns and appreciate the profound beauty of simplicity.
While Kyoto's dry gardens stand out for their historical and aesthetic significance, their meaning and symbology seeps beyond the surface of their appearance. The garden at Ryoan-ji Temple, with its arrangement of fifteen stones set in white gravel, fascinates visitors and inspires introspection. Similarly, Daisen-in Temple’s "Sea of Suffering" garden reflects the human condition and the path to enlightenment. Regardless of their gestalt nature, each element of Kyoto’s dry gardens holds symbolic meaning. Rocks represent mountains, islands, or spiritual beings, while raked gravel symbolizes water or waves, reflecting the cyclical nature of life. Together, they form a harmonious scene that invites deep contemplation on life’s mysteries.
Amid Kyoto’s bustling cityscape, its dry gardens remain oases of peace and reflection. These spaces blend beauty with spirituality, simplicity and wisdom. Here, visitors are invited to explore the deeper aspects of existence, not just take selfies.
Read the full piece in The New York Times here.
