Revisiting Kiyomizu-dera

Kiyomizu-dera on the blooming hills of Kyoto - if you look closely, you can see the incense floating up from the burners on the huge wooden platform in front of the temple.

 

I had this clear memory from a previous visit to Kyoto in 1998: huge wooden poles holding up a platform, soft veils of incense from brass burners curling up to the crisp spring air, a sound of rippling water echoing from the hills covered with Japanese maples just opening their leaf buds.

 

Somehow, this memory has no crowds in it, just crisp, clean air, a bit of incense, and the sound of water. And still, the crowds must have been there. Kiyomizu-dera, the place of my memory fragment, has been visited by pilgrims and tourists for centuries, founded as it was in year 798 as a major Buddhist temple. I'm not sure... do I imagine it, or is it really so much busier now than just 15 years ago?

 

A UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1994, Kiyomizu-dera is impressing, but the crowds attracted by the nomination take its toll on the experience. Guilty as I am after several recent visits to these cultural "superstar sites", I've silently started to think that one should never nominate anything one loves - the inescapable troops arriving afterwards will almost certainly kill much of the original atmosphere. Of course, I enjoyed seeing this majestic (I know I overuse the word...) temple again. But for a still and quiet atmosphere, it is better to visit one of the many nameless (only for us tourists) small temples found midst almost all ordinary neighborhoods. Clap your hands twice, bow twice, clap you hands twice again. And listen.

 

View towards the three-storied Koyasu Pagoda - visiting it is said to bring about an easy and safe childbirth. But look at the cherries!

One of the 13 meter high wooden pillars holding up the platform in front of the main temple. All of this was built without any nails, just by joining the timber together... The present buildings are from 1633, and still holding strong.

 

 Cherries and magnolias mingling on the hills by the temple.

I hope I get this right... but these little stone sculptures are called Jizō, and they are little Buddhist deities supposed to alleviate the suffering of the living and the dead. They are worshipped and decked with clothing, toys and other objects in hope for divine intervention in the lives of those who still are here on earth, or those who have already entered the feared halls of hell.

 

It is lovely to see how Japanese women and men wear their traditional clothing when visiting the temples. The week we visited was the busiest sakura-gazing week in Japan, and thousands had travelled to Kyoto to see them blossoming. We had just as much fun admiring their beautiful garments as the cherry blossoms.

 

Travelers at the Otowa waterfall at the base of the main temple - Kiyomizu-dera means literally "pure water temple", and the waters are believed to have strong powers. Here, the waters divide into three separate streams, and visitors use cups on long poles to drink from them. Each stream is said to have a different benefit: the first causes longevity, the second gives success at school, and the third gives fortunate love life. No mixed drinks here, though - drinking from all three is considered very greedy.

 

 

Gatekeepers of the Lion City

What a lovely collar - I'm sure it adds to the protective power of this noble animal. This is the female lion, as they always hold a cub under their front paw (and for good feng shui, are placed on the left side gate when looking towards the house).

There's no shortage of lions around in Singapore, even if no such animals probably have ever lived outside the zoo on the island. It is probably impossible to walk 100 meter without spotting a lion - they come in all thinkable sizes, materials and colours and can be found on gateposts, front yards and parks or pretty much anywhere where you can install a sculpture or a decorative figure. Of course, lion symbolizes courage, strength and excellence so it has have been extremely common both in heraldry and in religious and profane imagery overall the world for thousands of years (it was adopted even in the coat of arms of my home country Finland in a time no-one on those northern latitudes had never seen the animal neither alive nor dead). But why lions, when tigers - another eastern symbol for power and strength - were more than desirably abundant on these tropical areas in the olden days?
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Lion guardians at the gateposts of the Tanjong Katong area. In west, they have been called Foo/Fu dogs or sometimes Foo/Fu lions - the Chinese never refer to them as dogs. One of my favorites is the green glazed one on the lower left, a female lion with a cub under its left front paw - the male lion rests its right paw on a globe depicting the world.

As the story goes, an Indonesian prince called Sang Nila Utama landed with his ship on the island sometime in the 13th century. The first thing he saw here was what he thought a lion running at a great speed. A great omen, thought the prince, and decided to name the place Singapura, a Malay name deriving from sanskrit words singa meaning lion and ore meaning city. (I just wonder what the city would have been called if his eyesight would have been better?)

But well-suited for a Lion City as these gatekeepers are, they actually don't have anything to do with the name of the city. Instead, they are part of a nearly two thousand old Chinese tradition of placing guardian lions called "Shishis" by the entrance because of the powerful protective benefits they are believed to carry (in west, these figures are often called foo or fu dogs, even if the Chinese never refer to them as dogs). From the imperial palaces, temples and tombs of the Han dynasty, they have followed Chinese emigrants to pretty much all continents, and can today be found protecting buildings of all kinds from restaurants in San Francisco to houses of the wealthy and poor in Singapore and beyond. And tigers - despite missing out on naming the island and then having hunted to extinction, some lovely examples can luckily still be spotted in the old temples here.

Tigers are much harder to spot in Singapore, but not completely extinct - here the Tiger Lord at the Goh Chor Tua Pek Kong Temple on Balestier Road. He (or it?) is believed to help people who seek redress from injustices.

Supertree Grove at the Gardens by the Bay

The magical mushroom tour continues... this time to the Supertree Grove at the Gardens by the Bay in Singapore. Yes, that really was my first impression of these amazing, greenery-clad concrete and steel towers that resemble giant trees. Fueled by the sun and the park's own bio waste, they light up in the night and function as air-conditioning system for the two large greenhouses in the park. There is so much ambition and technology in just this one part of the huge park that it almost takes my breath away. (And don't ask me how they function; if you need to know, check it out here.)

As you can see in my photos, the scale of this installation is huge. There is nothing timid or tentative about these tree-resembling vertical gardens that reach up to 50 meters height. A suspended skywalk, a slightly terrifying experience for a acrophobic person like me, connects the trees and gives a great overview of the gardens below. Magnificently bold as they are, these solar-powered trees (but then, what trees are not?) give a somewhat other-worldly feeling to the park, like artifacts from another planet where greenery has to be produced, not grown... and to add to this artificial experience, they "emit" a colorful light-show in the evenings. But this is probably only my low-key Scandinavian mind speaking - in a couple of years, when the surrounding real trees and greenery have developed, the Supertrees will blend in more softly and add great sculptural structure to the garden.

An unexpected side of Mexico City...

Paseo de la Reforma in Mexico City - a miles long, tree-lined avenue where sculptures form a calming contrast to the roaring traffic.

Mexico City was in many was just what can be expected of one of world's largest metropolitan areas - vast, congested, crowded, noisy and filthy, full of decrepit buildings with dirty, rag-covered windows, and people begging and sleeping in gutters even in the wealthiest of area trying to carve out their daily living amongst millions of others in need. At the same time, it was all the opposites of the aforementioned: colorful, luxurious, tree-lined avenues lined with glorious houses, art and grand architectural monuments, and with smiling, effortlessly friendly people always ready to explain and help you further when needed.

A sculpture with a wonderfully soft organic form, with no plate about its name or creator...

What I found one of the most intriguing features of the city, was the amazing amount (do you say amount?) of sculpture on display everywhere in the city; by roadsides, in parks, in the middle of roundabouts - it felt like where ever my eyes wandered, there was a sculpture waiting to be discovered in the shadows of trees, forming proud focal point in the white sun, or drenched in the middle of water squirting fountains. Partly a deliberate and proud effort to display Mexican art and history, I still sensed that somewhere behind that official agenda, there must run an innate, deep love for the sculpted, chiseled, casted and modeled. Maybe, it is a living heritage of the earlier, ancient civilizations who carved their magnificent temples  filled with sculpted artwork on this same soil...

"Las Alas de la Ciudad" ("The Wings of the City") and"Equilibrista 90 monumental" by Jorge Marín, a young Mexican sculptor, whose classically influenced works are displayed on Paseo de la Reforma.

Marble guardians of Nolhaga

These white marble Guardians by Italian sculptor Stefano Beccari stand in the park of Nolhaga Slott  in Alingsås, Sweden. Like full-length, frozen versions of Giuseppe Arcimboldo's crazy vegetable portrait heads, they stand in the middle of a clearing amongst tall, old beech trees. With their rigid, voluptuously decorated forms, they command one's attention, managing at the same time to look a tiny bit ridiculous, just like real-life guardians with their showy uniforms in front of palaces and castles often tend to do.

Part of a temporary sculpture exhibition until 2012, they are a great addition to this modest but charming little park. I only wish that the park department or whoever is in charge here would have spent more in lawn care. Now weeds and bare patches of worn lawn draw one's attention, when a dark, velvety lawn or a carefully composed planting of perennial grasses would have formed a magnificent stage for these guys, adding a mysterious note to the setting. Still, it is wonderful to see that the authorities of a small town like Alingsås do invest in art, as they did here together with two local art societies. As they say, one cannot live on bread alone.

(PS - Nolhaga Slott means Nolhaga Palace, but this 19th century building is really only a middle-sized mansion).

The Garden of Souls in the Utopian Heights Neighborhood

Asked to write about the garden of Seattle artists Nancy Mee and Dennis Evans, I was invited to their home and garden last Friday. The visit has kept my thoughts occupied ever since. Filled with art by themselves, their artist friends and artisans from faraway cultures around the world, Nancy's and Dennis's home, ateliers and garden were a visual and intellectual synthesis that merged their passions, interests and work into one seamless, harmonious whole. 

Nancy and Dennis  have been living and making art in their Utopian Heights Studios in the Bryant-Assumption neighborhood in Seattle since 1976. Both are successful, well-established artists - Nancy a sculptor and Dennis a painter - and their creativity touches everything around them.

Nancy and Dennis believe that art is about sharing. Around their home and ateliers, they have put this belief into practice, transforming their garden, the surrounding parking strips and an adjacent lot into the Utopian Heights Neighborhood, complete with a very official-looking (but unofficial) sign stating the name. Here, forty bright pink Prunus 'Thundercloud' trees, carefully selected stones and sculptures, bronze plaques with philosophical passages and minimalistic benches offer nourishment and rest for the eyes, minds and legs of the occasional passers-by and residents of the area.

On the parking strips, Dennis has placed several, beautiful limestones from North Dakota. These were formed  and partly turned into marble by high pressure under the snow masses during the ice-age. They form contemplative focal points and invite to touching and closer examination, evoking thoughts of petrified trees or waterfalls. A seasonal dial (instead of a sun dial) tells when it is time to celebrate the spring and autumn equinoxes, or summer and winter solstices, and sometimes Nancy and Dennis arrange a celebration together with their neighbors. Along the sidewalks, Dennis's bronze plaques bear messages like "A permanent state of transition is man's most noble condition" or "The wise man changes his mind - the fool, never"; a gentle poke on the minds of even the most hurried walkers.

From the sidewalk, there is an opening into the Garden of Souls, a secluded garden that is open to the public. Here,  in a setting of several small rooms filled with plants and water features, Nancy's large glass and metal sculptures meet the visitors, looking like beautiful hybrids between ancient Japanese Torii-gates and sea marks that radiate both strength and fragility at the same time.

The Garden of Souls was begun - inadvertently, as Nancy and Dennis say - on September 11, 2001, and it was completed within six weeks out of pure frustration with the acts of terror happening that day. It has evolved during the bygone decade, with Dennis planting and shaping the structure and Nancy working with the sculptures, but it still functions as a place for contemplation and reflection, and as a memorial for all souls that were lost - or passed forward, as Dennis and Nancy say - during that single day. 

In their neighborhood park, Nancy and Dennis have even included a small, wooden shrine, where passers-by can leave their thoughts and prayers. These are gathered and burned every six months, and so joined with the universe. Small presents are often left on the little altar, and someone even carried a bright green Buddha here; now, it welcomes visitors with a broad smile among the lush ivy under the altar. The most private and touching little notes filled the shrine when I visited, reminding of the deep need of spirituality in our daily lives. And maybe the park and shrine are especially protected, as they so far have been safe from graffiti and other foul deeds.

As number three of Dennis's bronze plagues by the sidewalk says: "Be happy with what you have and are, be generous with both, and you won't have to hunt for happiness." In my mind, no-one fulfills that better than Nancy and Dennis themselves, who are happily doing what they love and so generously sharing it all with us others.

More about Nancy's and Dennis's art: Utopian Heights Studios.

Ulf Nordfjell at Millesgården

Ulf Nordfjell's vegetative spheres built with pratia plants at the main terrace of Millesgården at Lidingö near Stockholm.

Since last year, Ulf Nordfjell, a Swedish landscape architect maybe most know for winning the "Best in Show" award at Chelsea in 2009, has been invited for a long-time collaboration with the the gardens at Millesgården, home and atelier of the Swedish sculptor Carl Milles and his Austrian wife Olga who lived there during the first half of the 20th century.

Flowerbed inspired by Josef Frank's fabric called Aralia; detail with a Ricinus plant.

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During this second year into Ulf's work with Millesgården, he co-operated with two colleagues to build an exhibition called "Between Sky and Sea", to create interest and breathe some new life to the almost century-old gardens there. Initially, I wondered how Ulf's Nordic, poetically modern style would go together with the quite pompous, Mediterranean influenced style of the gardens, but he had combined both quite elegantly, building huge spheres covered with delicate little blue star creepers, and filling the flower borders with delectable flower combinations.
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"Fuchsias are the most feminine of plants" according to Ulf. He placed them in classic terracotta pots at Olga's terrace.

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Mediterranean notes were provided by rows of laurels, olives, fuchsias and lemons planted in classic terracotta pots on the terraces, and they seemed to thrive and complement their monumental but historically sensitive surroundings quite naturally. It still felt like Ulf's work at Millesgården was in its early stages, and I am curious to see how it develops over the coming years.

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Lemons in terracotta pots in front of one of the ateliers.

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Millesgården is situated on Lidingö, an island just outside Stockholm city center. Carl Milles, who had initially studied cabinet making and carpentry before leaving for Paris and studying at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, became a hugely successful sculptor with numerous commissions both in Sweden and internationally. Between 1931 and 1950, Carl was professor at the Cranbrook Academy of Art in Michigan, USA, and delivered at the same time several public and private commissions at both sides of the Atlantic. Millesgården is a monument for his life's work where everything is on a grand scale, from the buildings incorporating Carl's ateliers to the stone terraces and replicas of his sculptures.

The gardening life of a man called Pearl

There's always gonna be obstacles.

The thing is, you don't let those

obstacles determine where you go.

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-Pearl Fryar-

Yesterday evening, as I struggled in the snail-paced rush-hour traffic to the other side of the town, I quietly wondered if the lecture I was heading to really would be worth the tedious effort. It was, every minute of it. Pearl Fryar, the 70-year old self-taught master of artful topiary, spoke about his life and garden, and as he spoke, he proved to be just as much of a philosopher as a gardener.

Pearl Fryar's garden, photo by Erica Glasener.

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Coming from a poor family, Pearl told how he seldom was able follow on the school field trips, as he could not afford the 25 cents needed for the transport. But he never let those circumstances hinder himself from trying hard to get what he wanted, ending up with a good job and house with a garden for his own family. In 1984, he began to work with his 3 acre garden trying to win the local "Yard of the Month" competition of his hometown, Bishopville, South Carolina.

A topiary sculpture by Pearl Fryar, from Tales of the Microbial Laboratory.
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Pearl knew nothing at all about gardening when he started, so he didn't have any limitations or expectations about what would be or not be possible. He rescued some half dying plants from the local nursery, and off he went, arguably creating some of the most incredible topiary in the world, with wildly sculptural, almost extraterrestrial forms reminding of both Dr. Seuss and Salvador Dali, combined. As Pearl described his work, it "flew from him naturally", and he just felt where the forms of the plants would go. He talked about his love to seeing other peoples gardens as they always are an expression of the creativity flowing from the person gardening in them. I would have loved to ask him what his garden tells about him with its laboriously cut and shaped forms, but being paralyzingly shy for asking questions in front of crowds, I unfortunately don't have an answer.

Topiary sculpture, photo by Erica Glasener.

Since starting his garden, Pearl has become something of a celebrity, and several newspapers and gardening magazines have pictured his work. Also, a documentary "A man named Pearl" was done for two years ago, telling Pearl's story from the early days as a sharecropper's son to the celebrated cultural icon of his hometown that he is today. The Garden Conservancy has now included Pearl's garden into its protected gardens, working on preserving the garden to the future generations; an amazing journey for a man who just wanted to win the local "Yard of the year" competition.

At the end of his presentation Pearl told that he gardens with a purpose: he sees his garden not only as an artwork, but as a tool to learn the unprivileged young kids of today about his life's philosophy of never giving up. As he said, "you have to think and and positive, 'cause negative thinking has never led to positive results." If he could beat the odds of a poor childhood, anybody can; "If people see you trying hard to achieve something, sooner or later some of them are bound to try to help you." And couldn't agree more with him, leaving the lecture feeling warmly and deeply touched by Pearl and his wonderfully eccentric topiary garden that is a living testament to his philosophy in life.

Pearl Fryar's Topiary Garden, official website.
A visit to Pearl Fryar's garden, a blog post by Tales of the Microbial Laboratory, with excellent pictures.

The first picture is from a postcard given out by Pearl at the lecture.

Quote of the day

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We don't express nature, we express our relations to nature.

The fact of creating is the expression of nature.

-Adaline Kent (1900-1957), sculptor-

Adaline created the human-like, reclining sculpture in the famous pool at the Donnell garden in Sonoma, designed by Thomas Church in the 1940s. This pool became the most photographed one in the world and articles with pictures of it were widely published in magazines and gardening books. Adaline's name was rarely mentioned in the articles.

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I found a autobiography by her, published in 1958, the year after she died in a car accident. The quote above is from this wonderful collection of fragments from her notebooks and photos of her sculptures. There are several pictures of minerals, shells, pebbles and magic and primitive artifacts that she kept in her atelier; many of them functioned as inspiration to her artwork. Adaline's sculptures have strong, biomorphic forms; her language of expression had its roots in her close relationship with the nature, just as she writes above. Her smooth but powerful, abstract style reminds me especially of Henry Moore; maybe it is the strong connection with the nature that makes the work of both sculptors so calming, consoling.

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Adaline Kent: Presence, 1947. Collection SFMOMA.

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I photographed the logs above on the Ruby Beach at the western shores of the Olympic Peninsula; the glowing logs of redwood brighten up the leaden grey and murky brown tones of these cold, Pacific beaches. Adaline would probably transformed the essence of them into one of her sculptures...

Gardens at the Getty Center

More Californian, hazy blue skies... Another amazing place I visited the previous week was the Getty Center, an enormous art center situated high up on a hilltop overlooking Beverly Hills and the immense metropolitan area of Los Angeles. The effect of seeing the center from below is a reversed version of my picture above: a streamlined, cream-colored fortress looming high above the busy everyday life of the congested, cosmopolitan city.

The Getty Center was designed in the '90s by architect Richard Meier and built of steel, glass and countless tons of travertine, shipped from Bagni di Tivoli in Italy. Visitors arrive to the center with a sleek, modern tram, which Meier designed to give them a feeling of 'being elevated out of their day-to-day experience'; this I completely agree with. In back of my head, a small voice whispered 'only in America...' as I entered this huge bastion of high culture and art, that was built with money earned from oil and with a budget that probably exceeded the annual GNP of any of the Scandinavian countries.

The Getty Center is a monumental place with superb collections of Western art, ranging from old manuscripts, sculptures, paintings and decorative arts to modern art, including photography. Many of the sculptures - Miros, Moores, Magrittes, Maillols... - are displayed outdoors, forming incredible focal points against the magnificent scenery. I was briefly reminded of the lovely Foundation Maeght on a hilltop in Saint Paul de Vence in southern France, as so many of the works are made by same artists, but a comparison is impossible. The Maeght Foundation was, despite the many visitors, a personal experience on a intimate scale, while the size and extent of the Getty Center and its collections make visiting it everything but intimate; still, it's a truly magnificent place in its own way.

The Central Garden is the largest garden area, designed by artist Robert Irwin. He once called it 'a sculpture in the form of a garden aspiring to be art', and it felt like the hybrid he wanted it to be. Meandering down from the upper level, a zigzag path followed a boulder-filled stream surrounded by London plane trees, reminiscent of a natural ravine. Here, Irwin concentrated on the experience of sound, provided by water running down the stream, and texture, provided by plants that he organized 'according to the complexity of their leaves'. Unfortunately, the stream remained dry during my visit, but I found the contrast between the sleek path and the rough boulders strong and attractive. The plantings were well-composed and contemporary, the plants had attractive forms and colors, even if I didn't quite catch anything really special in the leaf combinations.

The zigzagging path and the stream run down to a circular maze of Kurume azaleas planted in rusty steel containers in the water. It was coming to full bloom; a eye-catching blaze of colour, that felt almost aggressive amongst the otherwise restricted color scheme. So called 'specialty gardens' encircled the central pool with azaleas; looking at them, I caught myself thinking 'Oh no, not a kitchen garden here', as 'cottagey' as they were in their expression (the second picture above, on the half way level from the pool up). Irwin meant them to provide scale and intimacy, but somehow I just thought that they felt out of place with their small scale, completely dwarfed by their surroundings. Instead, I found the sculptural, rusted iron bar 'mushrooms' (above), with bougainvilleas climbing up them, in perfect scale with their environment, providing rest in well-needed shade in the white, Californian sun.

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On the south side of the Center, several staircases with viewing platforms extended out from the building. A roof terrace planted with cacti made a great focal point in front of the boundless view; I thought that they mirrored the rounded forms of the leafy suburbs, suddenly changing into the spiky, high specimens, like the skyscrapers in the distant horizon. Gliding down to the garage in the silent tram, I was uncertain if I could ever get used to this kind of grandeur; like the great chateaus and museums of Europe, the Getty Center seemed like a place best enjoyed in small portions, carefully dealt out over convenient periods of time.