How to Experience Wabi-Sabi in Kyoto
An attempt at deciphering the key points of Japan’s most elusive and timeless aesthetic.
Ask a Japanese person to explain the concept of wabi-sabi and you'll be met with a pained look of apprehension, confusion, and maybe a little bit of fear. It's not an easy concept to talk about, and I've seen more than a few Japanese guides change the subject when it comes to talking about wabi-sabi in English. I'm definitely NOT an expert on the subject, but here goes:
At its simplest, wabi-sabi is an aesthetic design ideal that stresses the authentic over the artificial, the worn over the new, and the imperfect over the ideal. Wabi (侘) can refer to the imperfections of objects, the simplicity of everyday items that fulfill a function rather than a form. Sabi (寂) brings to mind wear and tear that reminds us that nothing lasts forever and that signs of age on an object can help us appreciate its value that much more. After all, both natural and man-made objects experience their own lives as they are created and fall into decay. Appreciating this natural process that confirms the authenticity of existence is what wabi-sabi is all about. In short: imperfection, authenticity, and impermanence are qualities to be valued in traditional Japanese aesthetics.
Zen Buddhists use a round symbol called enso (円相) to express their version of wabi-sabi. This perfect circle of black ink painted with a thick brush is made of infinite motion: always moving, never standing still. Sometimes, a painting will feature a gap in the circle. This open version of an enso has both an end and beginning, reminding us that all things have a start and finish. The incomplete circle points out the imperfections in existence, and how we should strive to appreciate and understand things for the brief moment in time they exist, however imperfect they may be. To a Zen priest, this life is but a brief spark in a grand timeline of many lifetimes. However, only the current lifetime is knowable, and that is what they focus on: the here and now. They strive to find their inner self to better understand the true nature of their place in the universe, imperfections and all. The enso remains an important teaching tool for Buddhist monks, and help us better understand the practical application of wabi-sabi philosophy.
Deep stuff, huh? It takes a while to wrap your head around this difficult concept, and I believe it's impossible to begin to grasp it without some hands on experience. But the moment when you sip tea from a chipped, uneven earthenware teacup, or gaze upon a weathered calligraphy scroll hanging in a darkened alcove of a temple, it all starts to click and you see the world through a new lens. That wabi-sabi enlightenment moment - if it can be called that - is elusive, but here are some suggestions for how to jumpstart this profound sense of understanding.
Imperfection: Enjoy a Cup of Tea
Perhaps the very best place to look for wabi-sabi is in a cup of tea. Not the tea itself, but the actual cup. The rugged Japanese tea cup has become awell known example of wabi-sabi as a design motif, and can teach us some important lessons about the philosophy of wabi-sabi itself.
For a tea cup to be a tea cup, it needs to hold tea. What else does it have to do? The answer is deceptively simple: Nothing. Even the shape of a tea cup is up to the personal taste of the craftsman. Should it be deep and straight, or shallow and lumpy? Do all the sides have to be smooth, or can it have some roughness to it? What about a chip on the rim? If you're not going to drink from that side, maybe it doesn't matter.
The imperfections of a wabi-sabi teacup are immediately apparent, but it still remains a perfectly good teacup capable of serving its intended purpose. This is a key point in the wabi-sabi aesthetic: function over form. Western art and design since the ancient Greeks has praised perfection and imitation, but for the Japanese that sort of style matters little. A teacup is a teacup is a teacup.
Yet it still remains a unique teacup. Hold the teacup in your hands and feel the work that the craftsman put into it, how their hands shaped the clay and made this special object of which there is no other. Close your eyes and drink from it. It's still a teacup without the visual identity that's attached it it. Realize that you can drink tea from this cup another day in the same spot if you choose to do so, but it will never be the same moment as it is right now. The cup's wear and tear is increasing every time someone drinks from it. It will never be the same tea cup, and you will never be the same person. The realization that time is passing and objects (and experiences) can be appreciated even more as they grow increasingly worn and imperfect... THAT'S wabi-sabi.
Authenticity: Visit a Temple Garden
Japanese gardens are an excellent way to get in touch with the more natural side of wabi-sabi. Nature offers something a little different compared to when the aesthetic is applied to manmade objects. Just as there a variety of styles of traditional gardens, there are a multitude of ways to observe wabi-sabi in these settings.
The collection of gardens at Kenninji Zen temple is fantastic. The main dry rock garden curves around the corner of the inner hall with such grace and an understated elegance that immediately overwhelms the viewer, and then continues to work its magic on subtler levels. Examine the finely raked patterns in the white gravel, all evenly spaced and flowing gently like waves in the sea. Islands are present in this ocean as well, with several stones surrounded by moss standing in isolation throughout the landscape. The hedges and boulders that make up the background are all perfectly clipped and aligned in rows and groups that please the eye.
Everything is perfect.
Or is it?
Look closer. Some of the pattern in the gravel has been disturbed by last night's rainfall, or perhaps a cat wandered through the garden and flattened some waves. Is that a weed growing in a distressingly noticeable spot right in the center of the landscape? The rocks cracked, with bird droppings marring the surface. The surface of the garden wall is chipping away. It looks like the moss is starting to grow a little further away from the rock island than it's supposed to, creating an unsightly trail of mini moss clumps in the sand. Come to think of it, the rocks that make up the background are all out of proportion and the bushes are kind of lopsided. Wait a sec, you’ve been fooled. This garden is FAR from perfect. And that's where wabi-sabi comes in.
One major point of wabi-sabi is authenticity. Things can't appear too perfect or too well maintained, lest they come off as artificial and too well cared for. A hint of natural decay reminds us of the fleeting nature of time and our own existence in this world. Once we accept this, we can better appreciate each moment as we pass through it.
A famous story to illustrate this point: Sen no Rikyu (1522-1591) is considered to be the genius who perfected the formal tea ceremony. Early on in his training, his teacher asked him to tidy up the garden before a tea service one spring afternoon. Rikyu clipped each hedge, weeded the moss patch, washed the stones, and swept the dry rock garden with an eye for perfection that left every surface spotless. But he also understood what gave a garden its attractive look and took an extra step. At the end of his cleaning, he shook the cherry blossom tree, haphazardly scattering a fresh carpet of cherry blossom petals onto the stone and moss courtyard. His master emerged from the tea house and marveled at Rikyu's work. The juxtaposition of the finely manicured garden with a covering of fallen blossoms brought it all full circle. Nothing exists in a perfect state, everything must be accepted as it truly is, flaws and all.
A part of a temple gardener's job is deciding what weed to pull and what to leave alone. Only in this careful balance of the maintained and the wild can we sense the true power of authenticity that wabi-sabi attempts to communicate to help us appreciate things in their most purest, raw form.
Impermanence: Observe Historic Architecture
Like the perfect circle of a Zen enso, everything is in motion. All objects are either being born or dying, from everyday items to humans themselves. This is a key part of Zen philosophy, but it also plays a big role in wabi-sabi aesthetics as well. A sense of impermanence flows throughout wabi-sabi, forcing us to reflect upon the transitory and fleeting nature of objects and life in this world. A great way to observe this is by contemplating Kyoto's traditional architecture.
Let's go back to tea for a minute. Not just tea, but the buildings and rooms that the tea ceremony takes place in. The history and culture behind tea houses is rich and nuanced, but even without a background in tea architecture, the average onlooker can still find wabi-sabi in Kyoto's classic tea houses.
I think a lot of visitors are surprised when they first see some tea rooms in temples and villas. They often expect bright, airy places that exude a feeling of relaxation. Tea rooms are usually the complete opposite. Look at the famous room at Koto-in built by Sen no Rikyu in the Daitokuji Zen temple complex. No windows, minimal decoration, dark and shadowy, and very simple architecture. Walls have faded, wood is tarnished, and stains have appeared from the natural materials seeping through the painted surfaces. But in this decay, a student of wabi-sabi would find sublime beauty.
The age and ageing process of this room has become just as much a part of its charm as the original design. Nothing lasts forever, and here we are seeing decomposition in action. In a few more hundred years, the paint will peel off and wood will rot away, so wabi-sabi challenges us to appreciate the structure - whatever state it might be in - in the here and now.
I'm convinced that the tea masters who built these tea houses out of delicate natural material were thinking about the future. Knowing that their work would last longer than their lifetimes, but not forever, only adds to the beauty of the tea ceremony when held in such a setting.
When glimpsing the inside of a tea room, look carefully at the unfinished wooden beams often used near the tokonoma alcove on the wall. These rough pieces of wood just ooze imperfection, and are meant to keep us grounded by reminding us of our place in the natural, flawed world.
Also, look carefully at the surfaces of walls. Some might be covered with paper and painted, but many will be made from a rough adobe-like mud. You might even still see bits of straw set in the wall, or the harsh lines from wiry brushes as the wall was smoothed into place to dry. For me, these rough, rustic walls are the very pinnacle of wabi-sabi architecture: imperfect, authentic, and always crumbling into impermanence.
There’s a particular set of tea rooms in a small subtemple of the Daitokuji Zen complex that I enjoy. The rough walls are faded and crumbling. Touching them leaves a fine layer of grit on your fingers. Light sections on the walls mark where decorations once hung. Even the wooden pillars are worn away at certain spots from centuries of hands placed on their surfaces to appreciate the material. A tea ceremony held here relies heavily on the history of the room, as well as the perfect sense of timelessness in the moment through the realization of worldly impermanence.
There are some wonderful restored temples and historical sites in Kyoto, but the true gems are ones that have been preserved. Yet even preservation is done with a nod towards the fact that it can't go on forever. One of my favorite preserved buildings is the lower memorial hall at Kodaiji Temple in Higashiyama. The ceiling paintings are still vibrant and the carvings remain bursting with depth and color, but time is taking its toll. You can't help but appreciate the decay that will one day consume the entire building, making your time spent gazing at the ceiling that much more special. Kodaiji is also home to several original tea houses from the late 1500s, as well as a magnificent golden memorial hall that manages to capture some rather melancholy wabi-sabi in the way that its once marvelous gold decorations are now fading. These might not be traditional wabi-sabi designs, but they certainly embody the idea of transient existence that helps us see things in a new perspective.
Searching for wabi-sabi in Japanese architecture is all about appreciating decay, even embracing it. Try to spot - and feel - the differences between preservation and restoration. There is something special in a weathered, faded room that you just can't feel in even the most elegant modern reconstruction. Maybe it's the history flowing through the faded walls, or maybe it's simply the wabi-sabi?
Look for Wabi-Sabi All Around You in Your Life
Wabi-sabi began as a design principle, but now it's found new life in the west as a philosophy and lifestyle. A google search will show you vegan hippies living "wabi-sabi" lives in rustic homes made of natural materials with no running water. This may not follow the classic ideas of wabi-sabi, but everyone is open to interpret it in their own way.
Yet these key concepts of imperfection, authenticity, and impermanence can be applied to your everyday life, distilled to an interesting lens through which to view the world. Accepting decay and limited existence isn't defeatist, it's practical in the sense that it allows you to focus on the here and now in new ways. Embracing imperfection in yourself on a personal level can be liberating when you shed all the importance that modern life attaches to image and social expectation. Focus on what you can appreciate now in this moment, without getting caught up in things that will only crumble later on down the road.
To a true adherent to wabi-sabi, a teacup is a teacup is a teacup, and life is life is life. Accept it - flaws and all - and simply appreciate the moments as they come.
You are you are you.
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