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Whenever I visit Holland Park, my path past Kyoto Garden is obstructed by the trail of tourists that linger at its gate, waiting for their turn to pose upon the staggered bridge, or catch a glimpse of shimmering koi fish that spot the pond's silvery water with colour. All the guides to London list this as the place to visit for beauty in Britain’s capital. ‘Really? A Japanese garden that has no cultural association with England?’ I wondered. ‘How strange.’
You can find four Buddhas at Battersea Park – nestling at the centre of the Peace Pagoda – captivating all who venture here. Similarly, Kew's rock garden, with its rippled ridges, rakes in visitors who admire its neatly clipped hedges and the nearby Chokushi-Mon (Gateway of the Imperial Messenger), which closely resembles the gate to the Nishi Hongan-ji Buddhist temple in Kyoto. Even smaller parks, such as those of Hammersmith and Peckham Rye, emulate their Japanese counterparts with colourful trees and fountains gushing from rock formations. I decided that I had to discover why these magical gardens are so often mirrored in Western culture. My journey took me back over a thousand years.
Like many aspects of Japanese culture during the sixth to eighth centuries, garden schemes were greatly influenced by earlier Chinese models, mimicking the artificial hills and pavilions that characterised outdoor spaces in the Tang Dynasty. The Chinese philosophies of Daoism and Amida Buddhism were the main drivers of this garden design: the associated legend of eight immortals who inhabited five mountainous islands, located on a sea turtle’s back, was mirrored in the form of artificial hills and rocks, signifying the turtle’s carapace.
While Chinese and Korean Buddhism also had a strong influence in Japan at this time, the main religion practised in the country was Shintō, a belief in supernatural deities called kami. The white gravel courtyards that we associate with Japanese gardens are tied to the worship of these entities, as the niwa (‘garden’) became synonymous with a place of purity that anticipates the arrival of kami. This, along with the reverence for great rocks, lakes, ancient trees and other ‘dignitaries of nature’ within the religion, greatly informed garden schemes, extending into Buddhist temples and Zen gardens as Japan’s religion and culture became independent of its easterly neighbours.
The introduction of Buddhism (often traced to around the middle of the sixth century) marked a turning point. Though the figure of Buddha initially met with a mixed reception, it was soon accepted as a symbolic ‘guardian of the state’ and a way of strengthening Japanese institutions. With its introduction came the birth of Japanese Zen Buddhism, which evolved out of the Chinese Mahāyāna school of Buddhism, and is rooted in the idea of gaining insight into one’s true nature – and the inherent emptiness of existence – in order to achieve a liberated way of life.
Many Buddhist temples were erected to encourage the study of this doctrine, and these were often fitted with a gravel garden similar to those found in Shintō shrines. Unlike them, however, the purpose of these Zen gardens was not to act as a space for the preservation of purity. Instead, the hypnotic swirls etched into the gravel were intended to imitate the essence of nature, conjuring a sense of emptiness and distance to aid meditation.
Also evocative of Shintō architecture are the Buddhist pagodas known as buttō – in fact, until the ‘Kami and Buddhas Separation Order’ of 1868, a Shinto shrine and Buddhist temple were interchangeable. What started off as a stupa – a simple burial mound, the earliest examples of which housed a portion of the Buddha’s ashes – in time became more elaborate. It evolved into multistorey pagodas that no longer served as reliquaries, but instead functioned to enshrine statues of various deities. Paintings and decorations symbolic of these gods can be found adorning the ceilings and central shaft. Pagodas are commonly structured in five tiers, embodying the five elements – typically identified as earth, fire, water, wind and air (or void); their height mirrors the increased perception achieved through Buddhist practice. As a fundamental symbol of a national ideology, pagodas have been placed in many of the replica Japanese parks that have been created in the West.
The presence of Japanese gardens in the West is a fairly recent phenomenon, however, one that arose in the late 19th and early 20th centuries as part of a growing appreciation of Japanese culture known as ‘Japonism’. With their unique design principles and singular appeal, such carefully cultivated outdoor spaces represented a key part of this fascination. Artists such as Vincent van Gogh, James McNeill Whistler and Claude Monet were inspired by Japanese art and its conventions, which they incorporated into their own works. Monet’s Water Lilies and Japanese Bridge (1899) is a prime example of this cultural attraction and the widespread promotion of Japanese aesthetics in Europe, not least London.
The expansion of international trade and the opening of Japan to the West in the mid-19th century also played a crucial role in bringing Japanese-style gardens to London. Its government actively participated in international shows, such as the Japan-British exhibitions of 1910 and 1912, captivating the UK's audience with vibrant showcases of the culture.
This charm also ensnared garden designers, who began borrowing from Japanese traditions and styles. One such was Reginald Farrer, a British botanist and plant collector who extensively studied Japanese gardens and introduced their design principles to the British public through his writings and garden schemes. Josiah Conder, an English architect who lived and worked in Japan, was another influential figure: his book Landscape Gardening in Japan, published in 1893, further piqued the interest of gardening enthusiasts in London.
British imperialism and the concept of Orientalism also fed into the popularity of Japanese gardens, as notions of the East became romanticised and idealised. The British Empire’s control over colonies such as India and Hong Kong exposed its citizens to Asian cultures and aesthetics and inspired them to replicate the exotic allure of these foreign landscapes. Japanese-style gardens grew in number as a result; they served as an evocative reminder of the appreciation of natural beauty that is so extensive in Eastern ideologies, and the opportunity for meditative peacefulness that these calm green spaces offer.
Having learned all of this, I ventured back to Kyoto Garden on a milder evening, when the sun wasn’t so scorching and the day’s slow descent into darkness had sent tourists in search of nightlife thrill. Swinging open its wooden gate, I paced along the pebble path and peered down through the pond’s translucent waters as I carefully crossed the staggered bridge that led me to a row of benches. Sitting face to face with the trickling fountain that soon disappeared behind my eyelids, it dawned on me that I was situated within the single constant of humanity’s existence – nature.
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