I am trained as a psychiatrist, and, as you might expect, "cities" where not in the curriculum of my residency program. When I realized I needed to understand the urban, I had to go back to school. I did this in two ways: studying with renowned architect/urbanist Michel Cantal-Dupart in France and getting a certificate in landscape design from the New York Botanical Garden. The two paths of study were interrelated, as Cantal fostered my love of gardens by sending me to gardens during our travels in France and explaining his own work in gardens, like Square Bir Hakeim in Perpignan. Under Cantal's tutelage I visited Givenchy, the wonderful garden created by Claude Monet and immortalized in many of his paintings. Thanks to other urbanists I have visited gardens in other parts of the world, of which I particularly treasure that I had the opportunity on two occasions to visit Ryoang-ji, the Zen garden in Kyoto.
I mention Givenchy and Ryoang-ji because I wish to place Daisub Byunjeong's garden in the constellation of those two.
Givenchy and Ryoan-ji taught me about the powerful emotional response I have when I enter such a unique place, one that calls on all my senses and emotions. These are unique experiences. The Zen of Ryoan-ji contrasts with the eye candy of Givenchy and I am asked to make sense of the place in a very particular way. Because I have been to so many gardens -- and I putter in my own garden at home -- I have some experience of the encounter that comes with meeting a new garden. I'm sure, however, that there is no "been-there-done-that" when it comes to gardens. And none of my previous experiences prepared me for what I felt on meeting Daisub Byunjeong and spending an afternoon in his garden.
Like Monet, Daisub Byunjeong is a painter and his garden reflects that profound sensitivity to light, color and texture. Givenchy is expansive, and Monet created the effect in lush expanses of land and water. Daisub's garden is small and the power lies in intricate layers, each delicately and carefully curated so that the eye can is always interested and never satisfied. In a way, this effect is similar to Ryoan-ji, which cannot be taken in at a glance and demands that one sit quietly trying to understand the whole from its parts, which is, I think, the heart of all meditation and the true source of Wisdom.
As I sat in Daisub's garden, I tried to take in the parts, but each was so profoundly complicated that it eluded my intention of grasping it. And there were so many! Daisub is a master of the gardener's art of mixing plants by color and texture and season of bloom. He adds to that his works of art, settled amongst the foliage as if it is natural to have a statue or some bells everywhere you look.
Daisub is not only a remarkable gardener, but also a wonderful and nurturing host. He would disappear into his house and come out with food as beautiful as it was delicious. I loved the way in which he tended his garden from time to time, sniping a leaf or adjusting a pot.
I was visiting with friends and from time to time someone would suggest that we should go somewhere else. I am so grateful that these calls to move could be resisted, and I could bask in that space for hours. I tried to photograph every inch of the garden. Daisub kept saying that I would love it even more if I could see it in full bloom, but I did not agree that would be better -- only different. It was clear to me as the sun passed over head that his garden was a place that eluded time, that made every second count because it would never come again. While gardens teach us different lessons, Daisub's garden taught that lesson of being in the utter splendor of the moment.
Daisub sends me photos from time to time and these teach me new lessons. In classical Chinese landscape painting, the smallness of people is placed in conversation with the majesty of mountains. Daisub achieves this effect by borrowing the mountains near his house. But he doesn't allow the hugeness of the mountains and our feelings of humility to dominate the photo. Rather, he adds a bit of his red umbrella in the foreground to remind us "Enter, rejoice and come in!" to quote a UU hymn I love.
Daisub Byunjeong's garden is truly one of the great wonders of the world. And here's that photo:
