On this visit to Kyoto, I finally entered Katsura Imperial Villa. In truth, the place I had most wanted to see was Kenrokuen; I wanted to encounter for myself the beauty of its Six Attributes, which I have been searching for in my own work.
Katsura carries no such title, yet it possesses a quiet and difficult-to-resist power. When the visit ended, what remained was not admiration but a sense of frustration—as if it had concealed too much, and I had not yet learned how to see it.
That feeling stayed with me. Even when the journey was over, I could not forget the garden.
I bought a book about Katsura and brought it home to study slowly. The retreat begun by Prince Toshihito, the first Hachijō-no-miya, was further developed by his son, Prince Toshitada. The refinement accumulated across those two generations never relies on spectacle. It resides in paths, sightlines, materials, proportions, and details that almost escape notice.
I later understood that admiration keeps us at a distance, while frustration makes us turn back. Katsura does not hurry to display its beauty. It conceals beauty and asks the viewer to exchange time for understanding.
That is why it has become the most beautiful garden in my heart—not because I fully understand it, but because, after leaving, I still want to return and understand a little more.