, but whichever combination of words you use, it certainly is beautiful – a grand exercise in late medieval craftsmanship, rising up from its lightly forested surroundings in three tiers of wood and whimsy. It is something of a Narcissus as well, forever staring at its own elegant reflection in the small ornamental lake that sits at its feet – as if the gold leaf which covers most of its exterior surfaces were not reflection enough. What I didn't quite realise – until I read deeply into the abridged English-translation sections of the information panels around the site – was that the splendid vision before me was not quite as old as I thought it was. Late medieval? Actually, try the mid-Fifties. How so? The bare facts say that, yes, absolutely, Kinkaku-ji has occupied this place for more than 600 years. Its foundation stone is generally deemed to have been laid in 1397, when a villa owned by the nobleman Saionji Kintsune was purchased by the shogun Ashikaga Yoshimitsu. The wider complex emerged shortly afterwards, and was converted into a temple when Yoshimitsu was succeeded by his son Yoshimochi, in 1408. So there you have it. Late 14th century, with a smattering of the very early 15th. Except that Kinkaku-ji was destroyed in 1950 by a novice monk, in a likely case of arson. Gruesomely, the 22-year-old culpri){kind=link}
A 14th-century temple that dates back to the 1950s? A gothic masterpiece rebuilt in the 21st century? Things are not always as they appear
A few years ago, in the vague pre-pandemic mists of 2018, I found myself in Kyoto on a pleasant autumn morning. Specifically, I found myself pausing at the front steps of Kinkaku-ji – the ornate structure, also known as the “Temple of the Golden Pavilion”, which is broadly considered to be one of the most important and beautiful buildings in Japan’s former imperial capital. It is also decidedly historic, having held its position on the city map, a sacred centre of Buddhist worship, since the very end of the 14th century.
I didn’t feel any need to disagree with popular opinion. The temple has other names (you can also try “Rokuon-ji” and/or “Deer Garden Temple”), but whichever combination of words you use, it certainly is beautiful – a grand exercise in late medieval craftsmanship, rising up from its lightly forested surroundings in three tiers of wood and whimsy. It is something of a Narcissus as well, forever staring at its own elegant reflection in the small ornamental lake that sits at its feet – as if the gold leaf which covers most of its exterior surfaces were not reflection enough.
What I didn’t quite realise – until I read deeply into the abridged English-translation sections of the information panels around the site – was that the splendid vision before me was not quite as old as I thought it was. Late medieval? Actually, try the mid-Fifties.
How so?