Finding Balance

The Japanese have a fascinating approach to visual balance that is a marked departure from our Western ideal of symmetry. I won't go into a lot of detail here because that's not the point of this piece; but the idea is predicated that visual harmony doesn't always mean symmetrical (in the classic sense) balance or even a structured or forced asymmetry. Rather empty space (e.g., distance between components of an art piece), color, light and shadow all play a role in defining beauty that flows naturally and organically. Ikebana (floral arranging), art and sculpture of Japan all benefit from this sense of balance. Japanese gardens employ the same techniques for placement of various plants, stones and ponds. The challenge here is even greater because the viewer is often part of the "art" itself and the view constantly changes.

On a larger scale, the arrangement of architectural elements within a building or, at a macro-level, the arrangement of buildings or structures in a development complex does the same thing. Traditional Shinto temples, for instance, are often composed of various structures that, when observed as a whole, provide perfect a perfect illustration. The Itsukushima Shrine (more information here) at Miyajima, Japan is one of the most famous Shinto edifices in the country and provides a great example of this concept.

You can see from the photo that the shrine is composed of three primary elements: a tower (pagoda), a temple complex and a torii gate that sits, uniquely, in the water far from the other two. Ignoring for now (with apologies) the religious significance of the components of the shrine and focusing simply on their shape and placement, the diagram shows how the tower provides a visual "highlight" for the whole, while the rambling low-roofed temple buildings give the complex a base. Alone, each component fails to make the view feel balanced. At one end of the complex, the tower itself seems a bit unstable. By itself, the temple building simply rambles among the trees and over the water. Together, however, they provide a sense of place and purpose.

All that is needed is a way to tie them together. This is accomplished by the placement of a torii gate some distance from the complex, composed of the same colors and method of construction. Given the distance over the water (or land, at low tide), the torii doesn't have to be very big (though this one is quite large, by comparison). Rather, the empty space between the two acts as a visual balancing tool that compensates for the relatively small size of the torii just like a lever pushed down at one end can lift a substantial weight at the other. That's the physical science-version of Japanese visual balance.

So why relate this Asian art lesson?

Anyone who knows me knows it's not about art at all. And again, focusing solely on these building elements as objects and not religious icons, I think the elements that tie and balance this beautiful temple complex have parallels to who we are as individuals and may even offer insights on how we can balance our lives:

The pagoda or tower element is our public persona. It represents who we are and how others see us. It may be our job or a particular set of talents we possess, but it is the thing that makes us, for lack of a better phrase, "who we are."

The sprawling temple complex with its covered roofs, hallways, pathways, shrine rooms, foundations, steps and (in the case of Itsukushima) pilings into the ocean sediment, represents all about our life that supports us. I'm thinking family would be the first parallel, followed by employment, religion, faith, love, children, etc. You could draw parallels forever and as much as I'd like to, I don't have the space in this blog to do so.

So what about the torii gate sitting out in the water providing balance to the whole thing? What is that all about? I guess it may represents the personal elements of our existence that help provide the sense that everything else going on makes sense. It gives us some outlet for both our frustration and creativity. I've heard people say that they work just so they can golf or travel or fish. I'm not sure that's the sole purpose of that "little" orange torii out there, but I'm sure it's part of it. It may be friends, a vacation, the novel you're writing or simply a love for sunsets. Regardless, I'm convinced that without something outside of your routine--a special hobby, interest or passion that perhaps only you share--it gets very easy to be pulled into the frustration of the day-to-day and lose a sense of purpose and perspective on life.

I'll just throw that out there and leave the details to your thoughts. But it doesn't take much to provide a spark or zest for life, so long as it is a departure from your daily routine and provides some balance to everything else you do.