Review by Tina deBellegarde

Spirit of Shizen: Japan’s nature through its 72 seasons, edited by Robert Weis, is a profound and sensitive collection which captures the impermanence and wonder of the micro-seasons. Spirit of Shizen was prepared in conjunction with the exhibit of the same name at the National Museum of Natural History in Luxembourg. Running from July 1 to August 28, 2022, it is an interdisciplinary multi-media experience with accompanying virtual and in-person workshops. Considered an exhibition catalogue, this book is closer to an anthology that easily stands alone, yet is a perfect companion to the exhibition.

Traditional Japanese culture has always honored and respected the paradox of the destructive and nurturing power of the seasons. But the Japanese relationship to the natural world outpaces that of the West’s four seasons. The Japanese include seventy-two micro-seasons that mark the almost daily transmutations of their surroundings. For example, the micro-season of June 21 to June 25 acknowledges the withering of the utsubogusa (prunella spike). It blooms at the winter solstice, but in this particular week, its death announces the summer solstice, ushering in the shortening of the days as we once again head toward winter.

This collection, with essays by over 17 Japan experts, guides us towards a more profound and enriching understanding of our world. Pico Iyer, renowned for his travel writing, keen eye and spiritual insight, opens each section with an inspirational essay which orients us into the spirit and mood of each of the four seasons.

Iyer tells us that autumn is “the secret heart of Japan” and so we begin there. In this section you will find a meditation on momiji-gari (autumn leaf viewing) written by Rebecca Otowa which, she explains, is more contemplative than the celebratory cherry blossom viewing. “The reminiscence of the autumn light fills” Robert Weis as he shares an appreciation of the concept of nagori – nostalgia of a season that has just left us. Edward Levinson encourages us to use our five senses to live in tune with the rhythm of nature, and Mark Hovane examines the cultural and artistic impact of the 72 micro-seasons.

The next section includes an essay by Patrick Colgan describing his first winter in Japan. He speaks to “…the peculiar music of snow, an added softness, a sheet of silence.” Jann Williams shares her experiences on pilgrimages to Mount Ontake and expresses how “…a part of my soul is now one with the sacred mountain.”  Kawaharada Mayumi explains how the seasonality of haiku sharpens her senses “to observe the slightest changes in nature…that are so easily taken for granted.”

Sébastien Raizer closes the winter section with his essay “Nature is Culture” which could easily be the title of this anthology. He quotes the 18th century scholar Motoori Norinaga’s description of the Japanese spirit as “the fragrance of a mountain cherry tree on a frosty morning”. Doesn’t this definition capture the essence of the Japanese culture in tune with nature?

Amanda Huggins opens the third part with her moving insights on the spring rains:

“This acceptance of the nature of things, our embracing of impermanence…defines the philosophy behind hanami (flower viewing) celebrations. Every single one of us is a petal on a wet black bough.”

Naoko Abe follows with a look at the famous cherry blossoms and introduces Collingwood Ingram, the man responsible for bringing Japanese cherry trees to the United Kingdom in the early 20th century.

Amy Chavez ushers us through the seasons of the Seto Inland Sea. Her piece is a meditation on the villagers’ interactions with the seasonal cycle. She begins when the fragrance of plum blossoms entices the residents out their doors, and she ends after the New Year bonfires when the “elderly amble home in the evening, step onto their wooden verandas and into their homes, not to emerge again until the fragrance of plum blossoms mingles with the smell of the sea.”

Yuri Ugaya explains how Japanese gardens require the viewer to approach them with an active imagination, to fill in the negative spaces for a heightened and personal experience. She reminds us that “the history of Japanese gardens is the history of people who have revered nature.”

The book ends in summer. Marc Peter Keane starts us off with an essay on Zen rock gardens “…a meditative reflection on nature that pares down the complexity of the natural world to certain elemental parts.” Bruce Hamana discusses how slow food and slow eating focus awareness of the seasons in the tea ceremony and the kaiseki meal. Karen Lee Tawarayama reflects on moss and how it represents “…timelessness and harmony with nature.” Ikebana, the art of flower arranging, Mark Hovane tell us, is a moving meditation that is meant to facilitate an inner transformation. Edward Taylor closes the section showcasing the paradox of the rainy season, how on one hand it is claustrophobic, and on the other hand produces an incomparable green lushness.

The photography of John Einarsen is the perfect visual accompaniment to this reading experience. His contemplative images capture more than the surface of every season, but something deeper, more elusive, much as the essays do not speak to just the details of the cultural manifestation of the seasons but to the sense, the tone, the intense relationship between the Japanese and their acute understanding of the seasons. His photographs invite the viewer to see our world in a new way just as the narrative pieces and the exhibit do.

Spirit of Shizen benefits from being read one small narrative at a time, stopping to reflect and internalize each glimpse of wisdom and inspiration. This collection is concise yet profound. It captures the ephemeral nature of the micro-seasons. It also provides a warning to those of us who live before a computer, that while we may situate ourselves by a picture window as we work, the window is still a barrier between us and the natural world. The window merely provides a beautiful view.

This anthology begs the question, what is nature?” As Keane points out, it is a moving target. Bruce Hamana sums it up for us here:

In spring, hanafubuki (blizzard of flower (petals)) describes the falling cherry blossoms. In summer, kunpu (fragrant breeze) conveys the feeling of the refreshing wind. In late autumn, kogarashi (tree-drying (wind)) denotes the first winter wind that blows all the leaves from the trees. In winter, botan yuki (peony snow) describes the heavy, wet snow that falls not in flakes, but in large, fluffy puffs. The phrase Ichigo, Ichie (a singular unrepeatable moment in time) reminds us that the seasons are beautiful because of the uniqueness of each fleeting experience. (p.125)

Micro-seasons, in their reduction, expand our connection to the natural world. Committing to living by the 72 seasons is an exercise in mindfulness and an invitation to see the world with deepened awareness. Robert Weis has composed a brief but profound book, much like a micro-season, and I now find myself suffering from a form of literary nagori – a nostalgia of the book that has just closed.

Note: The catalogue can be bought onsite from the museum store in Luxembourg or online. Read an excerpt here.