Original subtitles

The snow-clad slopes of Mount Fuji

are one of the stunning images of Japan that we all recognise.

But despite a fascination for the country and its culture,

there remains something mysterious and intriguing.

And although we may admire Japanese gardens - and our own gardens are

full of Japanese plants like cherries, maples, hostas -

few of us really understand or know them.

They remain an enigma.

So I have set out to try and get to the heart of the culture

that lies behind some of the most beautiful gardens in the world.

I shall be visiting Japan during its two most radiant seasons,

spring and autumn.

I'll follow the development of stroll gardens,

experience the serenity of a tea garden,

and learn the secrets of creating a Zen landscape.

And the stone said to me, "It's OK. This angle. This position."

The stone is talking to you. Yes.

I'm setting out to relish, contemplate,

and hopefully learn to understand these iconic gardens of Japan.

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I'm starting this trip as I did my first one, in spring,

by coming here to Kenroku-en, and that's because back in April

the head gardener Mr Shishime said,

"You really must come back and see what the garden looks like in autumn."

So here I am.

And glowing in the autumn sunshine, it looks pretty good.

Kenroku-en was originally created as a private garden attached

to Kanazawa Castle, and is one of the most celebrated in Japan.

Keeping it looking as good as this is a big job.

I saw just how labour intensive that work was when I was here in spring.

Six months later, it's clear that the pace hasn't let up.

The women are still hand weeding the moss to remove any single blades

of grass, although now accompanied by burning coils of repellent

to keep the mosquitoes at bay.

The cherry is undoubtedly the national tree in spring,

and the celebrations for its blossom are huge.

But there are also great celebrations in autumn

for the colouring of the leaf, particularly of maples.

Now, Japan has many different kinds of maples and they all

have these glorious hues of yellow, orange and red.

And there's a real festive air.

The weather is glorious.

People are out and about, all due to the falling of the autumn leaves.

And being Japan, there is a specific term for this festivity

which literally translates as "red leaf hunting".

This couple have come to Kenroku-en to pose for their wedding photos.

They aren't actually getting married till next spring

but they're starting early, whilst the garden still provides the perfect backdrop.

They're standing in front of the same pines that I watched

being pruned last spring.

I now want to see the process of Yukitsiri,

where the trees are strung with ropes

so that they look like giant May poles.

Hello. How nice to see you. This looks wonderful.

I'm so glad I've seen it.

It's good to meet up again with Mr Shishime, the head gardener,

and he explains that these rope structures are there to protect

the trees from snow damage.

He takes me off to show me how it's done.

Vertical bamboo poles are lashed to the trunk

and then dozens of rice straw ropes a carefully lowered from the top

to be tied to the branches, which prevents them from bending

and even breaking under the weight of the snow.

The gardening team make this complicated and precise process

looked deceptively easy.

Yes, of course. I'd love to. I'd absolutely love to.

I realise that the invitation is a rare honour that I can't possibly

refuse, but it is a little daunting.

OK. You show me the correct way to do it.

Yeah.

Very simple. Very simple. I'll do it.

I'm very honoured.

I'm fatter than you.

Cor blimey! There we are, that's better. Very beautiful.

I have to say that wearing proper Japanese secateurs is probably

the summit of my life's ambitions and dreams.

I'm just going to savour this moment for one second.

Right. Now I'm ready to go.

OK, let's come on up.

Just going up a little bit higher.

If I fall, it won't matter terribly.

Here we go. So...

Actually, no. Hang on a minute. It wants to go...that way.

It all looks so simple on the ground

and yet now I've completely forgotten how to tie the knot.

So we tie here.

And then like that.

Is that right?

Now cut. Yes, of course.

OK.

That's my contribution to the garden for this year.

There is an intensive one-month period of Yukitsiri at Kenroku-en,

and that can take up to 500 gardeners tying up over 800 trees.

The ropes then remain until March, when the snow begins to melt.

When I was here in spring, I wasn't quite sure how to react

to all the struts and supports that you inevitably see

in a Japanese garden.

Some of them really quite dominant on the larger trees.

But watching the strings being tied and I suddenly got it.

What I realised is it's all part of the same performance.

In other words, the strings holding up the branches are as significant

and as important to the garden as the branches themselves.

And the Japanese enjoy and celebrate it all equally.

Right across Japan millions of people make a special outing

to their favourite viewing spots

during the red leaf hunting autumn season.

Although it's a weekday in November, Kenroku-en is crowded

with people enjoying the beauty of the magnificent display.

It's been an absolute joy to come back to Kenroku-en and see it

in its autumn clothes.

But it is time to move on, so the next stop is Kyoto.

When I first visited Kyoto back in spring I traced some

of the history of Japanese gardens.

Eighth century boating gardens,

through the use of moss in Buddhist temples,

to a 12th century tea garden

and the 15th century zen gardens.

I'm now back to pick up that story

at the start of the 17th century

during the Edo period.

This is Nijo Castle.

Although Japanese castles were built as military strongholds,

by the 17th century it was a period of sustained peace.

Their gardens were becoming a major feature.

This one at Nijo Castle was made in 1603 for the Shogun,

who was the political and military leader of Japan.

The garden, set amongst the huge halls and defensive walls,

was all part of the display of his power,

wealth and sophistication.

And then in 1626, the Emperor came to visit.

So the whole place was revamped,

the castle was made larger

and the garden was also rebuilt.

This was a major reconstruction just for this one visit.

A new palace was built on the southern side of the enlarged pond,

creating a new viewpoint to admire the remodelled rocks and water.

The palace built specially for the emperor has long since disappeared,

but the footprint remains of a corridor that ran

down here and this was the foundation stone.

And then there was a little pavilion going out over the water.

The whole layout of the garden was altered

to look its best viewed from this point.

So when he sat here he would be duly impressed

by its beauty and grandeur.

The pond features three islands -

the Island Of The Immortals, to entice the gods to Nijo,

flanked by two smaller ones,

Crane Island and Turtle Island,

both of which represent longevity.

Over and above the history, I find the mechanics of a garden like this

so extraordinary because all these stones are placed

with exquisite precision and yet they're colossal.

I mean, look at this bridge.

It's an enormous lump of rock.

And I have no idea how on earth they managed it.

This garden has an austerity that doesn't alter with the seasons

but just as at Kenroku-en,

the grounds here are filled with visitors

enjoying the maples in their seasonal glory.

People of all ages are strolling happily in the sun.

And like me, exploring the market stalls that sell a wide range

of suitably autumnal fare.

And although it was only available once upon a time to a privileged few,

any visitor can now enjoy a traditional tea ceremony

within the historic walls of the castle and its garden.

I'm setting off again now because I want to visit some stroll gardens,

which are one of the most enduring forms

of all the Japanese garden styles.

There are different kinds and forms

of stroll garden from different historical periods

and to visit the first

means crossing the country

to the capital, Tokyo.

The garden of Rikugien is a fine example of a classic stroll garden.

Set in the middle of this crowded chaotic city,

it's an oasis of calm and beautiful serenity.

Stroll gardens were a new style of garden design that evolved

in the 17th century.

And whereas rock gardens were completely static

and Tea Gardens just had a simple path to the teahouse,

the whole essence of a stroll garden was that you moved around it,

around these curving paths along a series of viewpoints

to admire vistas that you wouldn't otherwise see

and they were created for a new class, really.

These were the samurai that had evolved from being the warriors

of an earlier period to a moneyed elite.

And they made these gardens as an expression of privilege and power.

The garden was completed in 1702 by a samurai lord,

and it remained in private hands until 1938

when it was donated to the Tokyo city government

who turned it into a public park.

So whereas for centuries only a tiny handful of the elite

had access to it,

Rikugien can now be enjoyed by everyone.

The garden has evolved to a certain extent

but the function has not changed at all.

The garden's name, Rikugien, refers to the six principles of poetry

originating from ancient China,

and the layout of the garden is based on a collection of poems

describing the scenery of Wakayama Bay in southern Japan.

The guide Eriko Yokohama explained it to me.

The founder of this garden tried to reproduce the 88 points

of beautiful scenery in the garden, and they put the stone markers,

88 stone markers in each place.

So these are the little stone pillars you see. Yes.

So the idea is that you walk around and stand at each

and then look out and there is a scene. Yes.

Now, I see the garden is beginning to be prepared for winter.

But I don't know what these straw mats...

Very beautiful. Yes. Around the pine trees.

Could you tell me about them?

The bad insect go into the straw mat

and then try to keep warm during the winter time.

They cannot go down because the lower part is tied very tightly.

So in March they take out the straw mats and burn it.

So that's a very ecological way of destroying the bad insects.

In Japan even pest control is made into

a refined and traditional form of decoration.

Each bend reveals a dramatic vista and to have such a superb garden,

open to all, in the heart of one of the busiest cities

in the world is a great luxury.

I'm now going to pick up the story

of these gardens at the beginning of the 20th century.

As we discovered in the last programme, that's when,

as a result of a great Japanese exhibition in 1910,

the British became fascinated by all things Japanese

and there was even a brief fashion

for making Japanese gardens back home.

But there is a garden not far from Rikugien

which shows the other side of that coin.

You would be forgiven for thinking that here was another

typically Japanese garden.

There are maples, stone lanterns,

cloud pruning, the familiar repertoire.

But walk up the steps to the next level

and you are greeted with a view that is anything but typical.

This is not what you would expect to see in the middle of Tokyo.

It's an English garden made by a man called Josiah Conder in 1917.

He was born in Surrey and Conder had come to Japan to be a professor.

He's regarded really as the father

of modern western Japanese architecture.

And as a result is a revered figure here in Japan.

This is his enduring contribution.

And what's fascinating about it is that it is not just a slice of the West,

it's a slice of the West 100 years ago.

At the very same time that Japanese gardens were being introduced

to Britain, Conder was making a very English garden here at Kyu-Furukawa.

It's strange for me to see roses blooming in the middle of November

but because of the hot, wet Tokyo summers they're pruned back hard

after their first May flowering

and then have this second display in autumn.

Amongst the 90 or so varieties are some very familiar names

including Queen Elizabeth.

And there's New Dawn

and Dorothy Perkins.

There are an unusual proportion of hybrid teas,

which are a cross between China and shrub roses.

But of course these were immensely popular in the early 20th century

when this garden was made.

This is probably one of most famous roses ever grown.

It's called Peace and I like the story behind it,

particularly in an English garden here in Japan.

It was developed in France just before the Second World War

but there was no time to trademark the name or even think of it.

And so cuttings were sent all around the world

as the Germans were invading France.

These cuttings were grown on by different people and all given

different names but after the war, the French grower contacted

the British Field Marshal Alan Brooke and said could it be

called after him. He said no, it would be much better if the rose

was known by the name of Peace.

So that's what it was called wherever it had been grown,

and immediately was successful.

Hundreds of millions of this rose have been sold and grown

all over the world and it continues to be one of the very best

hybrid teas ever developed.

The colour that these roses bring to the garden is exceptional

here in Japan, and this clearly delights the many visitors.

I'm hoping that the director of the garden, Atsuko Hanafusa,

can explain that fascination.

There are lots of visitors here.

Do you think that people see these flowers as exotic?

Because of course for us in Britain, they're very normal.

If people like the roses so much,

why do we not see more roses

or indeed flowers in Japanese gardens?

Conder's very British, very Edwardian garden

reflects a period when Japan was rapidly Westernising,

but it remains an exotic oddity here in the middle of Tokyo.

And for me it's been a surprising treat to see such a big collection

of superb hybrid tea roses.

They've become very unfashionable.

But this garden, locked in a time warp on the other side of the world,

shows that they can be exquisitely beautiful.

Before I head to my next garden I'm going to make a detour,

to a suburb north of Tokyo called

Kawaguchi that's known for being a gardening hub.

I'm visiting a garden centre located at an intersection

between two motorways.

It's what is known as a roadside station or pit stop,

which are government designated rest areas found along major roads

and highways all over Japan.

Instead of the all-purpose service station,

these pit stops promote tourism and trade by only selling specific

local goods and produce.

Wherever I travel I like to visit nurseries and garden centres as well

as the gardens of the great and the good.

Because as a gardener it's just as informative to find out what

real people are buying and planting in their gardens

as admiring the finished product.

The thing that strikes me straight away about this place

is the sheer size of it.

It's bigger than anything I've seen in the UK,

with a huge variety of plants and seeds.

I mean, it's actually a fascinating mix of plants.

You would never, never see this in Europe.

And some of the prices are jaw droppingly high.

You wouldn't find such expensive plants

in your average British garden centre.

That's £1,000.

That is just amazing.

Hello. Hi. What are you buying today? What are you looking for?

And what do you like to grow?

What's your favourite plants to grow in your garden?

It's interesting that this lady is buying brightly coloured plants

like violets and pansies that seem to me to be very Western,

which is in stark contrast to the more subdued tones

of the traditional Japanese gardens I've seen so far.

Hello. What are you buying here?

Do you like these? Do you grow them at home?

Do you garden a lot? Do you have a big garden?

Coming here has been a fascinating lesson in what private gardening

is like in Japan because it seems that people are selecting things

that are much more ephemeral and colourful than the received idea

of what a Japanese garden looks like.

I'm continuing my education by heading back to the garden capital

of Japan, Kyoto.

And I'm now going to follow the development of the stroll garden

from the 17th century and visit one that was made at the end

of the 19th century and that is starting to absorb Western changes.

Murin-an is a Meiji era stroll garden.

Its purpose was not only to show off the wealth and power of the owner

but also to provide entertainment for important guests.

So this garden, like all stroll gardens of every period,

is designed to have a series of changing views

as you follow a path that weaves through water and rocks,

trees and shrubs and often incorporates borrowed landscapes.

And although the garden is actually a little more than an acre

with clever design that both reveals distant wooded hills and hides

the surrounding city, it seems much larger.

The garden was completed in 1898,

and was designed by one of the leading garden designers

of the period, Ogawa Jihee,

and the home of one of Japan's most powerful leaders -

the future prime minister General Yamagata Aritomo.

Murin-an shows some of the growing western influence

by successfully combining many traditional Japanese features

with the tightly mown lawns of an English country garden.

I think anybody who's gardened in the West takes grass for granted,

but you can't do that in Japan.

And to see grass on this scale is really unusual.

It's Western.

Grass and moss flow equally into each other.

And if ever there was a symbol

for Western influence and Japanese culture,

it's the way that those two work together.

General Yamagata was a garden designer in his own right

and had close involvement with the creation of Murin-an.

He specified the exact location of the waterfall in the far corner

of the garden, close to both the road and the nearby Lake Biwa canal.

And the canal had been built in the 1880s to help reinvigorate industry

in Kyoto, and it was Yamagata himself who had signed off

the permission for its construction.

Perhaps that's why he felt that he could simply siphon off water

from it into the garden and the pretence that he gave

was that it was necessary for fire control.

The result is the garden now has this splendid stream

running through it, opening out into a pond

and creating movement and energy right through the middle of it.

Mr Yamagata made a teahouse in the garden and the Emperor learnt

of this and sent him a gift of two pine trees, which he planted.

Now, because the Emperor sent them

he looked after them with special attention.

The pines flourished and as Yamagata wrote,

"They were like dragons rising through the clouds."

He sent a photo of them to the Emperor

who replied in the form of a short poem expressing his pleasure

and the hope that the pine trees would keep Yamagata company

for many years to come.

Now, they're no longer here but the place is marked

by these stone squares.

In fact there's another younger pine growing inside one of them.

But they're all part of the history of the garden.

The use of the borrowed landscape of the distant wooded hills

expands the sense of space.

The gardeners maintain this illusion by pruning the surrounding barrier

of trees to just the right height so that they frame the mountains

whilst hiding the invading city skyline.

Two things strike me most about this.

The first is that the trees are actually much smaller

than they look from a distance.

And that's because the garden uses really clever perspective.

But more importantly is because they are pruning it,

you see the borrowed landscape.

So the hillside in the far distance becomes part of the garden

and that makes the garden seem much bigger.

And that feature of the borrowed landscape

is a really important part of the next garden I'm going to see.

This is Tairyu-Sanso, another turn of the century stroll garden

not far from Murin-an.

I had expected that the garden would be best appreciated

by following the paths but was told that the most spectacular views

were from inside the building.

So I put on the clean white socks I'd been instructed to bring...

..and gingerly stepped into this immaculate house.

It was good advice, because the garden does look superb from here.

At this time of year when you get that rosy spread,

the maples and the cherries as

the autumn colour begins to hit it,

it really does feel as good as any painting.

And someone said to me that the European aristocracy

collected paintings for their houses

whereas the wealthy Japanese

made living art out of their gardens.

And just like any good work of art, there are no irrelevant

or chance details.

So the boat in the foreground perfectly plays with perspective.

And the waterfall and the water mill are all composed

as carefully as a painting.

If you wanted to hire someone

to create your garden as a living

work of art then you needed the best designer,

and Jihee Ogawa was the man of the moment.

He had designed Murin-an ten years earlier

so he was hired here to do the same sort of thing,

which is to create a landscape

that feels grand and dramatic,

packed with these extraordinary tableaux and views.

And yet in the middle of Kyoto,

in a relatively small space.

This garden, believe it or not, is only just over half the size

of my own garden at home.

Yet it seems huge.

With the water running everywhere, trees rising up the hillside,

the scale is enormous,

even though the space is very limited.

I'm hearing two waterfalls.

At this spot right now we pass

from one waterfall to the other, but I can only see one.

So when I'm back there, I'm assuming

that the sound comes from the water that I can see.

But in fact, there's another one.

And the garden is full of those sleights of hand

so when you're sitting on the balcony looking out on this tableau,

this beautiful scene, the sound accompaniment is working perfectly,

but from a completely different source.

Tairyu-Sanso is one of the few

privately-owned historic gardens in Kyoto.

It is immaculately maintained and exemplifies the almost

obsessional artistry and detail behind Japanese gardens.

Stroll gardens remain as popular today in Japan

as they were in the Edo period.

And there are lots to see in Kyoto.

But there is one modern one in particular that I want to visit while I'm here.

In the first programme I went to see a garden...

..designed by Mirei Shigemori.

And he had taken a traditional idea and given it a real modern twist.

And at this temple on the outskirts of Kyoto,

I am told that he has done the same thing with the stroll garden.

This is Matsuo-taisha, which is one of Kyoto's oldest shrines.

Its origins can be traced back to 700 AD.

The story is that a nobleman on horseback came across a turtle

bathing under a waterfall.

This was a profoundly auspicious sign

because turtles are considered symbols of longevity and wisdom,

so he founded the shrine on the spot.

In 1973, a new series of buildings were completed.

Mirei Shigemori was commissioned to make gardens to accompany them.

Shigemori based this garden upon the ancient Chinese legend

of this winding stream.

And cups of sake would be put into the water

so it would work its way downstream to reach poets,

to give them inspiration to write suitable verses for their masters.

And what's really unusual is actually the water itself,

because Shigemori hardly ever liked to use actual water.

Tending to use gravel or sand to represent it instead.

I really like the way that Shigemori manages to convey the idea

of a large landscape

in what is really quite a small space.

It captures the essence

of a whole hillside,

and the stream running through it.

Tomotaka has been a priest here for over 15 years,

so he can tell me how this garden has evolved.

I gather that you saw this garden very early on.

What did it look like then?

So, why do you think that that has changed?

What has made those stones mellow?

So a new garden, sooner or later, becomes an old garden?

Thank you very much indeed. Thank you.

Shigemori died shortly after this garden was made,

and it was left to his son

to realise his designs for the rest of the shrine.

Shigemori was a master of taking traditional styles

and combining them with modern, conceptual ideas

to create his gardens.

However, the priest Tomotaka told me that some feel

that this can't be considered a proper Japanese garden,

and that it is more akin to modern art.

Well, there are those, like myself,

who consider that not to be criticism, but high praise.

38 million people live in Greater Tokyo,

and the city is set to have the world's highest population density by 2030.

So it's not surprising that a garden of any kind

is a luxury that many don't have.

However, the Japanese have other ways

to bring a little greenery into their lives.

One method is to shrink everything down to a smaller scale.

It doesn't matter what style or age of garden you find here in Japan,

the trees and shrubs are invariably tightly pruned and controlled.

But none more so than bonsai.

And bonsai I think, is something everybody associates with Japan.

And I've come to a suburb of Tokyo

which is improbably called Bonsai Village,

to meet a bonsai master.

The word "bonsai" simply means, "planted in a shallow container".

It originally came from China,

arriving in Japan at the start of the 14th century.

There are different regional styles.

Tokyo encourages stubbier trees,

whereas those in Kyoto focus more on elegance.

But every specimen starts out as an ordinary plant,

and it's only skilful pruning and careful training

that eventually turns it into a miniature representation

of a fully-grown tree.

Some of which can be hundreds of years old.

This is the bonsai nursery Fuyo-en, run by Hiroshi Takeyama,

a world-renowned bonsai master.

And he's agreed to give me a lesson on the essence of bonsai pruning.

Hello.

Now, I'm be very interested for you to show me what you're doing.

Yes.

So a nice shape.

Yes. So there's your last cut, there.

Yes. So we cut...

I just cut there, yeah? Yes, yes.

Oh, wow! Very handsome.

There, it's grown a lot.

That's got very dense, hasn't it?

It's got a smooth, smooth triangular shape.

So you have this shape here.

Thank you very much.

It's always good to have a lesson from a master,

although I appreciate that was very elementary.

And I also appreciate that bonsai is an ancient, ancient tradition

that is very popular today because it's small, but it's not modern.

And that's what I want to go and see now,

is modern gardening for a modern world.

I've come here for a lesson in kokedama,

that translates as "moss balls".

Hello. Hello.

Kokedama is becoming increasingly popular,

and is a simple way of bringing a piece of living garden

into the smallest home.

Chie Kishimoto runs workshops on modern kokedama,

and has kindly agreed to give me a crash course.

Well, I think that is very beautiful,

so I'd love to learn how to make something like that.

Could you show me? Hai.

So turn that over. OK.

Right. So just take this

and wrap it round, just right round the whole thing? Mm.

So it's got a nice little blanket. Mm.

Now, what is this?

OK, so, now we wrap it up?

Now, if you saw me wrap my Christmas presents,

you would realise that this is going to end badly. OK.

Well, I will do my best.

And why does it have to be cotton?

So that goes round... OK.

I'm going to have to put my glasses on cos I can't really see it.

Ah.

OK. OK.

THEY CHUCKLE

So it's a tomato rather than an aubergine.

Oh, come on, this is not too bad! This could be worse.

So we cut that.

Yeah?

Gosh, that's very clever. Mm.

Clever, but difficult.

There we are. Yes! We're in! Hai.

Well, I give...

It's a sad comparison, but OK.

Well, I think it's very beautiful, and I love the delicacy of it.

Thank you. Thank you very much for showing me how to do that.

SHE CHUCKLES

Kokedama are fun, as well as being a way

of bringing a touch of nature into the home,

which is clearly a good thing.

However, on a larger scale, the opportunities to create

new public gardens in Tokyo are few and far between.

But the government has recognised their importance

and is starting to do something about that.

For all the huge buildings and numbers of people in Tokyo,

there is a concerted effort to green the city.

In fact, there is now a law that every building that is either new or refurbished

over 3,000 square metres,

must have 20% of its exterior surface,

including the roof, that is green.

As a result, there are many new roof gardens across the city.

Like this one, up on top of a shopping centre,

with a bullet train running just a few feet away.

And although it is an eclectic mix

of Mediterranean and Japanese plants,

it is, nevertheless, a green space.

And the result is that this overpopulated,

frenetic, extraordinarily-busy city,

is becoming more pleasant for people to live in,

and environmentally, much more friendly.

Another unlikely place to find a garden

is in one of the world's busiest airports.

Right in the middle of the domestic departure lounge

of Tokyo's main airport, Haneda,

is a permanent growing oasis.

It's a garden made by a man who will be familiar to millions

of people in the UK,

because it's designed by Mr Ishihara,

who has shown at Chelsea Flower Show for 14 years,

and, in the process, collected no less than ten gold medals.

In fact, this garden is based upon one that he showed

at the 2011 Chelsea Flower Show,

and was opened here after the earthquake of the same year

as a statement of the enduring strength and beauty of Japan.

And a garden in the middle of a busy airport

somehow makes sense here,

because the Japanese have clearly learnt to utilise

all the space that they can to create little islands of calm.

Mr Ishihara, hello. Nice to meet you.

And you. How are you? I'm very good. Nice to see you,

and to see this garden. Thank you.

Please... I'd love to see inside it, yes, please.

Because it's interesting, this garden doesn't appear very Japanese

when you first see it.

And what have been the problems of maintaining a garden here?

Because a show garden for Chelsea is there for one week.

This has now been here for nearly seven years.

How easy has that been?

Really? So a difficult environment to make a garden.

Well, I look forward to seeing you at Chelsea again.

I hope you will be coming back next year.

Yes!

Thank you. Thank you very much.

This is clearly a very tricky place to make a garden, but it works.

It softens what would otherwise be a hard and impersonal space.

And this greening process is not just working in public areas.

I've heard of a private house recently designed and built

that has incorporated the concept into every aspect of its fabric.

And that's what I want to go and see next.

This building is known as the Tree-ness House.

The owner, Taka Ishii, pulled down his original house on the site

so he could replace it with this remarkable building.

It took eight years to build.

Finally being completed in 2017.

And from the outset, the architect, Akihisa Hirata,

wanted to integrate nature and man-made structure.

As a result, the garden has been incorporated

into the very fabric of the building.

As you wind up the outside of the house,

it is a bit like clambering through the branches of a tree.

And, of course, the planting aids that sensation.

There's also a real sense of the external wall being removed.

So these stairs, which would normally be on the inside of the house,

suddenly appear and take you outside the building.

And, of course, that's the point.

It's playing with this idea of the inside and outside of the garden,

which is normally on a horizontal plane,

rising up and coming along with you on this adventure.

This garden seems to me to be a potential model

for future urban gardens.

And I asked Taka Ishii what it's like to live in.

Now, was this your idea to create this combination

of garden and house in this style?

No, actually, that was the architect's idea. Right.

But I told him that I'm an art dealer,

so always in the white cube all the time.

So I don't want to be in the white cube when I'm in the home.

It's a house full of levels and shapes and forms.

It feels organic. It feels like the house has grown.

Yes, it is. It's like a tree, kind of. Yes.

In the forest. I've kind of lost where I am.

Forest? It's a maze, actually, forest, but it's...it's very fun.

Well, it's really almost as much a garden as it is a house.

Yeah, yeah.

I spend whole seasons here.

So you can realise the new things each season. Yes.

It's very refreshing.

One of the things that I can't help notice, with a western eye,

is the relationship between a sort of very beautiful

and proportioned house like this, and other buildings... Mm-hm.

..and the amazing tangle of wires you have.

Is that something that you think that people would like to change,

or that nobody notices?

You live here, you don't notice that much, actually. Yes.

But I kind of like it.

That's Tokyo. Yes. Downtown Tokyo, I think.

OK. So, that's just the spirit of the place?

Yeah, I think so.

There's a strong vein of tradition at the core of this building.

Everywhere in Japan, you see the importance of making nature

a part of one's life.

Whether that be in the historic stroll gardens of Kyoto,

or within the walls of an ultramodern Tokyo house.

There has been so much to take in on this journey

that it is a little overwhelming.

So now I want to get away from the bustle of Tokyo

to see one last garden, in a tranquil setting.

WAVES CRASH

I've come right across the country,

to the west coast, by the Sea of Japan.

It's been a long journey, but it's worth it

because I've been told about a garden here that I must visit,

which includes components from all the many gardens

that I've visited throughout this series.

This is the Adachi Museum at Yasugi,

and has been voted the most beautiful garden in Japan.

There are elements in it of every Japanese garden style.

From Zen dry gardens,

moss gardens and stroll gardens,

to borrowed landscape,

and, of course, the obligatory maples.

The guiding spirit behind this was Zenko Adachi,

who was a farmer's son born and raised in a nearby village.

He created the museum to house his art collection,

and made its surrounding garden to provide the perfect setting.

Zenko Adachi learnt his business acumen very early.

As a small boy, he sold charcoal.

And he only had straw sandals to wear,

and often, he'd have to trudge through snow

and walk ten miles every morning.

And he worked out that if he doubled the amount of charcoal on his barrow,

he could make a lot more money.

And that sense of entrepreneurship

very quickly earned him a large fortune.

Throughout his life, he travelled across Japan,

visiting gardens and personally selecting

trees and stones to use here.

To the end of his days, he apparently knew every detail

of every single tree and rock in the garden.

This was his obsession and his masterpiece.

But like all masterpieces,

you can look, but you can't touch.

The garden can only be viewed

from these large windows inside the building.

And that means that the design and the maintenance

and every detail of it

is geared towards that one face.

And the garden is a series of static scenes

to be looked at like paintings.

Everything is meticulously thought out

and maintained like a vast Chelsea show garden.

And every clipped shrub, rock

and sweeping curve of grass

is calculated for maximum effect.

To help unravel this virtuoso performance,

I'm catching up again with Professor Suzuki,

who I first met back at Kenroku-en in April.

Professor Suzuki, could you explain,

really, the philosophy behind the garden?

That's a museum garden.

It was kind of the miniaturised landscape,

the landscape of the seaside,

with pine trees and white sand and the ocean.

For us, it's kind of the typical landscape of Japan.

Very, very popular, very calm.

And it's a mother landscape, I think.

And it's kind of our mindscape.

As well as being a mindscape, I like the idea of that,

and a distillation, what is most noticeable to me

is that the whole garden is designed to be seen from these windows.

Yeah. I mean, even us sitting here, looking out over the pond garden...

Yeah, yeah. ..it's a series of pictures, isn't it?

Yes, it is, yes.

He was inspired by the paintings.

Like, a western painting, it's the framing

and also the one piece and one piece, one piece.

And also, in Japan, the traditional way to paint, the rolling...

So a scroll, yes. Yeah. Yeah.

So you should see the garden as a scroll that you move along...?

Right. Exactly. Yes.

It's kind of an unique scenery, like a sequence,

with the idea of scrolling pictures here.

I was struck by something Professor Suzuki said,

which was that Adachi,

with all its references to traditional Japanese gardens,

for the first time for a long while,

is inspiring a generation of Japanese

to look at their own history for inspiration

to create new and beautiful gardens.

Well, I've come to the end of my time here in Japan,

and I've been so lucky.

I've seen the cherry blossom at its very best in spring,

and now, in autumn, gardens just raging with a fiery glory.

And I've see a whole range of gardens, too.

From the very earliest pond gardens,

right through the rock gardens of the Zen period,

tea gardens, stroll gardens, up to the most modern.

And I've really started to understand

and learn about the handling of space.

How that the gaps between things

can be as important as any other aspect of the garden.

And the Japanese regard every detail to be important,

and therefore, worthy of being beautiful.

Modern Japan still has a real awareness of its history.

And there is still a reverence for nature.

And, I believe, a living delight

in its gardens.

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