Yesterday I made my first visit to the famous Miho Museum (ミホミュージアム) in the mountains of southern Shiga Prefecture, an hour or so out of Kyoto.

There are two things that must be said when talking about this museum:

The first is that a visit is a spectacular experience. I can't begin to tell you the high level of sense and style the designers have in displaying works of art. In particular, the current “special collection” on display until the middle of this month, of what I can best describe as “a bunch of old red plates”, is jaw-dropping eye-popping bathing-in-the-light-of-angels spec·tac·u·lar.

Photography was not allowed and so I can't even begin to show it, but even if photography were allowed, no photo could do the interactive 3D experience justice. The folks who designed the display are masters of light and sightlines and presentation, and their work oozes with class and style.

When I actually stopped to read the details of some 1,000-year-old plate or bowl I found interest in imagining who might have made it, and what kind of hands it may have passed through on the way to the display case in front of me, but much more than that I was in awe of how these objects were displayed, and my jaw dropped at every turn in the twisty many-roomed gallery.

But I'm getting ahead of myself... first, we have to arrive. From the parking lot you can walk the 600m (0.4 miles) to the museum, or hop onto a golf-cart type shuttle. I was with Paul Barr and Stéphane Barbery, and we chose to walk.

The initial part of the road is, I'm sure, spectacular during cherry-blossom season, but it was quite dull for us:

Eventually you come to the opening of a tunnel...

The lead photo is from inside the tunnel. Here's a similar one, with the white balance set for the incandescent lights lining the tunnel instead of for the sunlight splashing in...

Eventually the curve leads you to see the museum in the distance...

... but before you arrive to it you first must cross a bridge supported by thick, photogenically-arranged cables...

The thick cables terminate into an industrial-looking gridwork on the outer edges of the bridge, a theme (as we'll see) carried throughout the whole museum. (The industrial vibe reminds me of some of the photos on “A Visit to Suntory's Kyoto Beer Brewery”.)

At last we approach the museum entrance...

At this point one must dutifully mention that the museum was designed by that Louvre pyramid guy; in this case the look mimics traditional thatched-roofed farmhouses of the region, such as these seen on the road near the museum:

The inside is done tastefully. Here's the foyer for the special-collections wing:

The glass ceiling is supported on a framework similar to that of the bridge, and this theme is carried out throughout the various wings of the building.

Let's go back down the random staircase to take a closer look at that 1,600-year-old mosaic on the floor...

Just six little stones that look like they've been taken from the parking lot protect a 3rd-4th century floor mosaic depicting Dyonysos's discovery of Ariadne on Naxos (whatever that is). Really, have you ever seen a museum so devoid of things that detract from the experience of why you're there in the first place?

If you look closely at the big version of the photo you get when you click through, you can sort of make it out the description card on the bumper closest to Paul, and even harder to make out is a “no touch” symbol next to it, but otherwise there are no signs or warnings of any kind visible in the shot.

Simple clean understated first-class class. The whole place is like this.

Like the special collection area, photography was not allowed in the permanent exhibits either, but here's a shot from just outside the “Egypt” room:

When you walk inside, and take a sharp right, on the wall is a small poster that, though it's not apparent until you really pay attention, serves as an overall description for the entire room. At the bottom is a small “no photography” symbol, and that's the full extent of the “no photography” warnings at this place... one small sticker on an easy-to-miss poster in each room.

It's so easy to miss that Paul and I had looked around and decided that photography must be allowed in this room, before eventually noticing the sticker. There was no staff anywhere nearby to ask. We decided that the sticker was meant to convey “no photography in this room” instead of the at-first-glance “no photography of this poster”, so we refrained.

It seems clear to me that they don't care whether you take photos of the artworks... they care whether your taking photos would disrupt others' enjoyment of the artworks. Perhaps they had trouble in the past, but even if not, I can easily imagine the clickity-click of even reserved, respectful photographers would disrupt the atmosphere.

Later, at the larger restaurant near the parking lot, we had another, larger lunch just because it had such a good reputation...

It was very good.

So, at the beginning of this article I said that there were two thing that must be said when talking about this museum, but I've so far mentioned only one.

The second is that the museum is owned and run by a religious movement that, according rumors I've heard from everyone I've ever heard about the museum from, is a cult. I've heard that it's similar to scientology in that it has a pyramid-like scheme for “advancement” and that the ultimate goal seems to be extracting money from its believers.

I have no idea whether that's true. As far as I can tell (and I was on the lookout for it from the moment we arrived), there's not the slightest hint of cult or “spiritual movement” at the museum... it's a museum 100% and that's that. I recall that on one poster I saw the founder of the museum's name mentioned, which is perhaps relevant because that lady also started the religious movement (cult?), but at no time on the museum grounds did I ever even see the “religious movement” mentioned by name, implied, or even hinted at. Ever.

Yet here we have a private museum that rumors say cost a billion US dollars to build and curate. And that's not all... looking out the window you're meant with a sci-fi like view of the church off in the distance...

That's a lot of land in between.

Even more strange is that the Wikipedia entries for the museum and its owning religion make no mention of any kind of “cult” status or even rumors.

I've been told that the religion has three main tenets: eat only healthy food, appreciate art, and that people's spirits can heal one another. If this is true (that these indeed are the tenets), the first is well represented in the lunches we ate, and the second one was apparent everywhere.

I highly recommend a visit, but do check their calendar. Paul, who has been there a few times, said that it's normally quite crowded, and he was shocked (and pleasantly surprised) at how uncrowded it was yesterday.

Continued here...

My previous post told the sad tale of forgetting the camera memory card on a family outing. I did that mistake one better yesterday by forgetting the entire camera this time, dutifully arriving at my destination with a nice array of lenses but nothing to put them on.

After a massage and returning home to fetch the camera, I returned to the Nishi Hongwanji Temple (西本願寺) where several huge ginkgo trees are currently in full splendor.

First the memory card, then the camera. I worry about what I'll forget on today's outing (upon which I embark momentarily)!

I once complained that I had ruined every photo before I even took it by accidentally leaving the camera in low-quality JPEG mode (instead of raw mode, which gives much latitude in recovering from exposure mistakes).

Today I did myself one better.

After driving 2½ hours last night to a hotel near a particular spot where I wanted to make a sunrise photo with the family, we got up at 5:15 and by 6am we had parked and were ready for the 30-minute hike to the location, when I took my first shot of the day, of a picturesque ridgeline with a dull warm 40-minutes-before-sunrise light beyond.

The photo that popped up on the back of the camera was stunning: the sky that seemed almost black in person was now in the photo a deep rich blue at the ridge with a lovely gradient to black at top. The day was starting off exceptionally well, except....

... except that unfortunately, I always have my cameras set to not show each photo on the back of the camera immediately after capture (because it wastes battery), so the photo suddenly popping up meant only one thing: the camera was in “demo mode” like it would be at the store, because I'd forgotten to put in a memory card. Doh!

Sigh.

The camera and lenses all went back into the car, and we made the hike sans camera. (Fumie and I both had iPhones with full batteries, but both died from lack of battery within 10 minutes after reaching the destination. I speculated at the time that the battery might have been consumed faster because of the cold, but I didn't really believe it because it wasn't that cold... just a touch below freezing... but both batteries suddenly returned to half full when we got them back to the warm car.)

I guess it just wasn't my day for photography.

The Seifuso Villa (清風荘) near Kyoto University was a private residence for centuries before being donated to Kyoto University in the 1950s, which now preserves it as a cultural treasure. Thanks to the kindness of a friend who teaches at the university, I was able to take a tour of the villa last week.

This simple gate is on a path that leads to a small tea house where the resident might meet afternoon callers of sufficient distinction to merit such a setting.

Careful inspection of the ground under the edges of the roof that would otherwise be moss shows a black stripe. It goes around on all sides...

This is, of course, the subject of the “What am I?” quiz from last week. The black stripe is made up of charcoal logs buried edgewise. One sees this occasionally at temples where water might drip down, providing what I suppose to be a surface less prone to erosion and its unsightly results.

Continuing along, we come to the tea house...

As it so happens, two other photos I took end up making a nice little two-frame wigglegram to give more of a sense of being there...

We spent quite a long time on the impressive grounds and in the house, certainly subjects for subsequent blog posts. But eventually it came time to leave, so here's an “action shot” of the gate in use...

I have no idea why I include this, other than for that I seem to like it for unknown reasons.

Here's a similar shot as “The Gate” above, but less documentary and more artsy...

And finally, another shot of the front door to the property, at dusk, in a subdued style quite different from what I normally do...

Continued here...

This is a followup to yesterday's post with photos from the Hokyo-in Temple in Kyoto, a temple with some of the most harsh, restrictive anti-photography policies I've ever encountered.

On one end of the spectrum are places that allow even tripods, such as the Yoshiminedera temple. Moving along toward more restrictions, the Heian Shrine allows tripods, but only if you pay a ¥2,000 (about US$20) fee. Most places don't allow the use of tripods at all, but the Hokyo-in Temple featured yesterday doesn't even allow you to have a tripod in your possession. Even if securely sequestered in your backpack, you're simply not allowed in.

😍This is my new favorite temple. 😍

But not for the reasons you might think. First, let me go over the rules....

The sign above says:

There were two of these signs at the entrance, the other one being a good 5 feet tall.

If you have a tripod with you, you have to leave it at the entrance with your shoes.

As I wrote in “On Photography and Rights” six years ago, I'm a strong proponent of owners' rights (if it's yours, you have the right to decide whether to share, and if so, under what conditions). It's nice that on their web site they take the time to describe exactly why they have these rules. As you might imagine, it can be summarized as “because in the past, cameramen were rude, selfish assholes”. (Pardon my spicy, but appropriate, English)

The photo above, showing a few folks taking pictures at the end of the path, was probably the most calm that “storm” was all day, because the garden had just opened and the crowds had not yet gotten oppressive.

Can you imagine a half a dozen folks with tripods vying for position, yelling at temple visitors — some of which may have the audacity to consider the temple visit an actual religious experience — to get out of the way? Nobody that I would visit with would ever act that way, but I can certainly imagine it.

Heck, just a couple of weeks ago at the Honen'in Temple I was shocked to see a photographer with a tripod yelling down a path at someone to please get out of the way. I was doubly mortified for fear I'd be lumped in with him because like me, he had a camera and was Caucasian. I made sure to stay away from him.

Whether the selfish jerk is wielding a tripod or a cigarette or a too-loud iPod or boorish manners, it takes only a few bad apples to ruin the experience for everyone, both in the short run, and, as we'll see, in the long run.

Going back to this temple's web page, they explain that prior to 1989 there were no restrictions on tripods or large-format cameras, but they had increasing troubles with photographers causing a nuisance, and actually causing damage to the temple grounds. It got so bad, they explain, that they started to hear from their true target demographics (Buddhists who want to visit the temple for its religious significance) that this temple was to be avoided due to the rude cameramen.

So, eventually they prohibited tripods, and relied on the honor system for them to not be used. They write:

So, they eventually had to ban the tripods altogether.

And remember, this was back leading up to 1989, in the purely film era. Just imagine how bad it'd be now in the digital era, at an easily-accessible photogenic-but-cramped place like this.

So, despite the harshness of the signs, the jerks in this case are those photographers 25-35 years ago.

I wish the restrictions weren't there, but I can understand why without being told, but I really appreciate the long thoughtful explanation on their web site, so it's now one of my favorite temples.

As a bonus, they even have the foliage-color timeline history on their site, so you can know when the colors have traditionally been best. There's quite a range, from the peak falling on a November 15th (1997) to a December 4th (1994). The median looks to be about November 27.

I try to always be respectful when in a temple or shrine or other religious place, but that goes double when I have a camera. Whether I like it or not I'm representing all photographers, and all foreigners, and all Americans, so I try to act accordingly. But mostly it's just because (I think) I'm a considerate person, thanks to how my parents raised me.

In my experiences out and about with the camera in Japan, I find that most people are pretty reasonable, which is why the tripod-yeller mentioned above was such a shock.

Sometimes I run across very strange warnings or prohibitions, and wonder what set of circumstances lead to the need to warn or prohibit the seemingly-innocuous thing in question. I wish I could remember some of the examples I've run into recently...there have been some doozies.