The Worst of Perth

Thanks to Snuff I have been boning up on the epic art of Japanese rock gardens, or karesansui. I went back to Edgewater – the very name hints at the art – to immerse myself in the verge masterpieces.

There is paving at Ryōan-ji, and there is paving here. The obelisks erode, reminding us that our time here is temporary. To paraphrase Nishon: if the ducks quack, but we are not there, have they really quacked?

This lush tableaux salutes the moss garden at Saihō-ji. Each Astroturf blade has been carefully placed. The bricks are a bridge over the river, inviting us into the grove.

I knocked on the door here: the resident said his garden was called The Solitude of Crowds. We discussed a certain Kobe garden. He invited me to sit on the porch of his hojo. We watched the monoliths erode.

I found this a little showy (but what do I know!). A miniature landscape within a miniature landscape? And yet it is mostly space.

As the Sakuteiki says: “There should always be more horizontal than vertical stones.” How would you cross the river to get to the bait table? What better spot to meditate than in a river? That way you become the eroding rock.