LANDSCAPE GARDENING AND THE ARRANGEMENT OF FLOWERS
No review of Japanese art, however superficial, can pass over without
mention one of the most interesting of all its phases--the application
of its conventions to the living and plastic forms of nature in the
sister arts of landscape gardening and the arrangement of flowers. And
here, as in other departments, the Japanese artist does not seek dully
and slavishly to copy nature, but by a frank and dexterous use of these
conventions he endeavours to suggest its spirit. By this departure
from mere literal truth he attains a wider fidelity to nature. In the
limited space at his disposal he knows that he cannot transplant a
piece of natural scenery--he must work to scale--but his miniature
rocks, trees, hills, and streams are so exquisitely proportioned as
to express within the area of a few yards the breadth and expanse of
nature.
So, too, in flower arrangement, the master secures the appearance
of naturalness by the most careful and daring manipulation. Twigs
and stems are twisted and broken, leaves and petals even shaped and
cut, to produce the effect apparently so spontaneous, so free from
artificiality.
And the reason is obvious. The defect or incongruity that would pass
unnoticed amid the wealth and profusion of the living plant, balanced
with superb ease by countless other points of interest so that the eye
could not dwell on the deformity, when transferred to the narrower
field of the flower vase, stands out with awful distinctness, and
assumes an importance which formerly it did not possess. The artist
dare not take the liberties which Nature allows herself. Her keyboard
is limitless, but his harmonies must be built up of a few carefully
selected chords.
The rise of both arts dates from that wonderful period of
awakening--the coming of the Buddhist priests in the sixth century. The
first gardens were those of the old Buddhist temples; the first flower
arrangements were placed as offerings before their shrines.
Among the earliest examples of landscape gardening were the temple
groves of Biodo-In at Uji, and Todaiji and Kofukuji at Nara, and
this old style of temple garden, simple and severe, was called
Shinden-Shiki, but little is known regarding the details of its
arrangement.
With the Kamakura period, from the twelfth to the fourteenth
centuries, we come to more familiar ground. Then the landscapes took
a freer form--hills and valleys, lakes, streams, and waterfalls being
represented. A curious form was the Kare-sansui, or dried-up water
scenery, where the bed of a stream or the hollow of a lake was shown
dry, as if in time of drought, and this style was usually combined with
a bare mountain or moorland scene.
But a great impetus was given to the art when, in the fifteenth
century, Yoshimasa, retiring from active life, and surrounded by a
group of artists and sages, revived the ancient tea ceremony, and made
it the nucleus of so many forms of art. The wide-reaching effects of
this quaint ceremonial on art generally have already been indicated in
a previous chapter. A special form of garden was devoted to its use;
while also the art of flower arrangement flourished for long merely as
an adjunct of the cha-no-yu.
In the first group of Cha-jin, or tea professors, were Shuko (the
teacher of Yoshimasa), Showo, and the famous artists No-ami and Oguri
Sotan; while a little later we have the names of Gei-ami, So-ami, and
later still Senno Rikiu and Enshiu. So-ami was one of the greatest
masters of landscape gardening, and in his quiet and dignified
compositions one sees the hand that produced the delicate landscape
paintings of misty hill and lake. Examples of his gardens exist to this
day, the best known being that of the Silver Pavilion at Ginkakuji,
which was laid out about the year 1480.
A hundred years later Enshiu was the founder of a new school, which
afterwards became very popular. One of his greatest works was a palace
garden near Kioto, through which flowed the river Katsura, and so
highly esteemed was this garden that for one hundred and fifty years
after his death not a stone or shrub was altered.
During the luxurious Tokugawa period it became the custom for the
wealthy Daimios to have their gardens laid out by well-known artists;
and the art grew still more in importance, a modern style being
introduced by Asagori Shimanosuke of Fushimi in the early part of the
nineteenth century.
The training of the landscape gardener was long and arduous, for it was
by no means the same thing to compose an actual landscape as to paint
one. The novice was sent direct to nature to sketch and study natural
forms, not, as in painting, from one point of view only, but so as to
realise how a scene would appear from all sides.
In designing a garden the first step was a careful survey of the
site; its drainage, levels, size, and shape had all to be taken into
consideration. The aspect then was chosen, and this was generally
south or south-east, so as to be sheltered from the cold west wind,
though near Tokio a vista to the west was always left open commanding
a view of Mount Fuji. Then the style of the garden had to be decided.
Was it to be a hill garden or flat plain land? Was it to follow the
“Rocky Ocean,” the “Wide River,” the “Mountain Torrent” or the “Lake
Wave” style? The character of the surrounding country would largely
determine the answer to this question, for a garden was designed to
fill harmoniously its place in the natural scene. The artist also,
while endeavouring to obtain a result that would look well from any
point, had to bear in mind that the best view of all should be from the
house itself.
A striking characteristic of Japanese gardens is that water, in the
form of cascade, lake, or stream, is almost universally present, its
cool and refreshing properties being considered well-nigh indispensable.
The main levels fixed, the hills and valleys modelled, the next
important feature consisted of the rocks and stones which represent the
crags and precipices of nature. Great care is taken in the selection
of these, which are termed the bones of the garden. Certain stones,
which are highly valued are often brought great distances, the larger
ones sometimes carefully split to render carriage more easy, and pieced
together again on their arrival. Fancy prices were paid for such
stones; and, indeed, to such a height did this form of extravagance
attain, that early in the nineteenth century an edict was issued
limiting the price to a certain sum.
The size of the garden, which varied from about fifty square yards to
a few acres, gave the scale of the stones, and these again in their
turn fixed the size of the shrubs, the trees, the fences, and other
furnishings of the garden. In a large garden there were no less than
one hundred and thirty-eight of these stones, each with its special
name and purpose assigned to it.
In the arrangement of the trees, shrubs, and flowers a regular or
symmetrical arrangement was avoided, the growths and forms of nature
were carefully followed, and the result made to appear as free and
unstudied as possible. Contrasts of form and line, and of colour in
the foliage, were sought after. No garden was deemed complete without
maple-trees, so placed that the light of the setting sun would enhance
the richness of its crimson leaves. Deciduous trees were not so
largely used as evergreens on account of their bareness in winter; but
exceptions were made in the case of the plum and the cherry, so highly
prized for the beauty of their blossom.
Flowers were chiefly grouped round the house, and were sparingly
distributed among the foliage; but here again we have exceptions in the
case of the iris and the lotus, which were used in large masses with
gorgeous effect.
Miniature pagodas appeared among the trees in the larger gardens,
little bridges crossed the streams, and large stone lanterns cast a dim
and mysterious light over the scene when darkness had fallen.
But now let us turn to the sister art. The love of flowers has long
been a characteristic of the Japanese people. As long ago as the ninth
century the Emperor Saga held garden parties during the flowering of
the cherry blossom, at which the literati of the day composed verses
in honour of the flowers; and now, after the lapse of ten centuries,
the transient glory of the cherry blossom is still a national festival,
observed alike by the rich and the poor.
Nowhere but in Japan has the flower motive been so extensively used in
art or with such grace and charm. The Japanese flower paintings stand
in a class by themselves, beside which all others seem clumsy and
coarse, alike in conception and execution, but it is in the applied
arts that their fancy is allowed to run riot. In lacquer floral designs
are wrought wonderfully in gold or inlaid in mother-of-pearl; in metal
they appear in chasing, embossing, inlaying, and many other forms; they
form the chief decorations of pottery and porcelain; but it is perhaps
in the textile fabrics of Japan, in the gorgeous silk brocades, that
they are seen in their greatest glory.
This being so, need we be surprised that in Japan the arranging of
living flowers has for hundreds of years been recognised as a fine art,
has had its schools, its laws, and its traditions, and has numbered
among its exponents such great artists as So-ami, Oguri Sotan, and
Korin? The flower artist, they say, “must be thoroughly imbued with a
sympathetic feeling for the character, habits, virtues, and weaknesses
of the members of the floral kingdom from which he seeks his material,
till he possesses the same love and tenderness for their qualities as
for those of human beings.”
And so to the arrangement of flowers the Japanese bring an enthusiasm,
a delicacy, and a refinement of dainty pedantry that, even in its
most stilted and artificial forms, is full of charm, for the spirit
underlying the formality and giving life to the most mannered
productions is this genuine and reverential love for the beauties
of nature. It is related of Rikiu, the famous flower artist and
philosopher, that he once observed a fence covered with a beautiful
growth of convolvulus. After standing for a while rapt in admiration he
plucked one flower and one leaf, which he carefully arranged in a vase.
“Why so humble,” asked his friends and pupils, “when the whole plant is
there at your disposal?” “Nay,” answered the master; “it is impossible
to rival nature in magic of design, and so any artificial arrangement
should be marked by modesty and simplicity. But even one leaf and one
flower are sufficient to call for admiration.”
The Japanese art of the arrangement of flowers deals not only with
blooms but also with many non-flowering plants characterised by a
graceful habit of growth. The effects aimed at are pre-eminently those
of line and balance, colour being more or less subordinated to these
qualities.
The earliest flower studies, placed as offerings before the shrines in
the temples, followed a style of erect composition known as the Rikkwa
school, and with their vertical central mass and supporting side
groups approached more nearly to symmetry than is usual in Japanese art.
In the later styles symmetry was carefully avoided, and, perhaps,
to no department of art does the style of asymmetrical yet balanced
composition seem more suited than to those delightful arrangements of
freely growing natural forms.
The most popular school is that of Enshiu, which groups the essentials
under three heads. First, the quality of giving feeling and expression
to compositions, for the Japanese artist is no mere copyist of nature;
each group must mean something, must convey some idea. Second, truth to
nature in the sense of presenting correctly the style of growth of the
plants used; and third, truth to nature in the strict observance of the
laws of season and locality.
The different parts of the composition have each a special name, as
also have many of the faults into which the novice is liable to fall.
[Illustration: A FLOWER COMPOSITION]
Nagashi, the arrangement of long, streaming sprays on each side of a
group, is, as approaching the symmetrical, especially to be avoided.
“Window-making,” the crossing of stalks in such a manner as to give the
appearance of loopholes, and “lattice-making,” where the crossing
suggests lattice-work, are both grave faults, as is also any suspicion
of parallelism in the main lines.
It is not sufficient either that the finished study should look well
from the front. It must bear the test of examination from all points of
view.
There are also distinct rules regarding the vessels employed to hold
the compositions. Sometimes beautifully wrought bowls of bronze are
used, sometimes vessels of wood or porcelain, sometimes a simple wicker
basket.
The shallow bronze bowl is the most usual, as in it little vices of
wood may be conveniently fixed across to hold together the stems, and
metal crabs, dragons, tortoises, and frogs are often used to hold the
cuttings in position, and at the same time form part of the design.
Sometimes the vessel is made in the shape of a boat, a style said to be
first inaugurated by So-ami, and since forming a class of composition
by itself.
A favourite combination is a rough wooden tub used for horses to drink
from and a bronze horse’s bit. Its use dates back to a time when
a famous general of old, during one of the duller intervals of a
campaign, employed his leisure in composing a flower study, using as
vessel and vice the only articles at his disposal.
Holders of bamboo are used in various forms, as many as forty-two
different methods of cutting and notching the hollow stem
being recognised. Some of the names of these are delightfully
expressive--such as “lion’s mouth,” “singing mouth,” “flute,”
“stork’s neck,” “conch shell,” and, most imposing of all,
“cascade-climbing-dragon’s form.”
The plants themselves are grouped in many grades. Seven--the
chrysanthemum, the narcissus, the maple, the wisteria, and the
evergreen rhodea--are of princely rank, and form a veritable
aristocracy of flowers. The iris, also, is of equal rank with the
foregoing, but, owing to its purple colour, must never be used at a
wedding.
Then, again, within the same species, the flowers take rank according
to their colour, in most cases the white bloom ranking highest. Among
chrysanthemums, however, the yellow takes precedence, with the peach
and cherry pale pink, and with the camellia and peony red.
Certain plants, also, must never be used, and this “Index
Expurgatorius” includes all strong-smelling or poisonous plants,
and a long list comprising the aster, the poppy, the orchid, the
rhododendron, and many others.
Male and female attributes are also applied to plants in many ways.
The front of leaves is male, the back female; red, purple, pink, or
variegated flowers are male; blue, yellow, and white female. So that a
flower composition in Japan, apart from its intrinsic beauty, bears a
wealth of symbolic meaning.
In all important rooms there is an ornamental alcove or recess,
called the toko-no-ma, with raised floor polished and lacquered, and
a handsome corner pillar of rare wood. On the back wall is hung the
kakemono, or in some cases a pair, or set of three, and on the dais
before it, or suspended from above, is placed the flower study. In this
recess are displayed, one at a time, the choicest art treasures of the
house, and in front of it is the place of the honoured guest.
There is an etiquette even in looking at flower studies, and in
praising them only appropriate epithets should be used, always softly
expressed. White flowers are “elegant,” blue “fine,” red “charming,”
yellow “splendid,” and purple “modest.”
But the greatest compliment that can be paid to a guest on such an
occasion is to ask him to make an extempore arrangement himself. And
here the ceremonial is delightful in its graceful formality. The host
brings a tray with vase, cut blooms and sprays, scissors, knife, and
a little saw. If the vessel brought be a very valuable one the guest
modestly protests that he can produce nothing worthy of so fine a
setting, but, on being pressed by his host, should comply with his
wishes. The host then removes the kakemono, for to allow it to remain
would impose upon the artist the task of designing his group in harmony
with it, and with the rest of the company withdraws to an adjoining
room until, the work being completed, the guest summons them, having
placed the scissors beside his composition as a silent request for the
correction of its faults. When his host enters he apologises for the
imperfections of his work, and begs that the whole may be removed. The
host in his turn assures him that in beauty it is all that could be
desired, and so the delicate interchange of compliments goes on.
Not the least attractive feature of this gentle art is the evanescent
nature of its charms. The painter, the sculptor, the artist in lacquer
or in metal, works for posterity: hundreds of years hence his fame may
be greater far than it is to-day. But the artist in flowers can hope
for no such permanence in his work, its creations are verily but “the
lilies of a day,” his modest task but to give sweetness and beauty to
the passing hour.
[Illustration: A Japanese Fan]
THE WORLD OF ART SERIES
Edited by STEWART DICK
_Small Quarto. 3s. 6d. net_
I. ARTS AND CRAFTS OF OLD JAPAN.
By STEWART DICK.
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TRANSCRIBERS’ NOTES
Missing or incorrect punctuation, as well as obvious spelling errors
(e.g., ‘stonger’ → ‘stronger’), have been silently corrected.
The original spellings of Japanese names (people, places, and things)
have been retained and have not been updated to reflect modern
orthography.
In this text version, “_” was used to indicate words which were in
_italics_ in the original text and all small caps have been replaced
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