There is a moment in every Japanese stone garden where you stop trying to understand the arrangement intellectually and simply feel it. The stones are not decorative objects placed for visual effect. They are presences — chosen, positioned, and oriented with a sensitivity that treats each rock as a living participant in the composition.

As a sculptor who works primarily with stone, I find the Japanese garden tradition endlessly instructive. It offers a way of thinking about stone that is fundamentally different from the Western sculptural tradition, and its influence in Australian landscape design has been growing steadily for decades.

The Karesansui Tradition

The dry landscape garden, or karesansui, is perhaps the most recognisable form of Japanese stone garden. Developed within Zen Buddhist temple complexes from the fourteenth century onwards, these gardens use stone, gravel, and minimal plantings to create contemplative spaces.

The most famous example, Ryoan-ji in Kyoto, consists of fifteen stones arranged in five groups on a rectangle of raked white gravel. No two visitors see the same thing in it. The garden resists fixed interpretation, which is precisely the point.

What matters for stone practitioners is how stones are selected and placed. In the karesansui tradition, stones are never carved — they are found. The art lies in recognising the inherent character of a natural stone and placing it where that character can express itself.

Japanese garden masters speak of stones having a “face” (the side to present), a “grain” (the directional energy of the form), and a “request” (what the stone seems to want in terms of positioning). This language might sound mystical, but in practice it describes a deeply observational approach to working with natural materials.

Key Principles

Several principles from the tradition are worth understanding:

Ma (negative space). The space between stones is as important as the stones themselves. The emptiness is not absence — it is active space that gives the composition room to breathe.

Asymmetry and odd numbers. Stones are almost always arranged in odd-numbered groups. Symmetrical arrangements feel static. The slight tension of asymmetry keeps the eye moving.

Borrowed scenery (shakkei). The garden incorporates views of distant landscape as part of its composition. The boundary between garden and surrounding environment is deliberately blurred.

Wabi-sabi. The appreciation of imperfection, impermanence, and incompleteness. Stones that are weathered, moss-covered, or irregular are valued over pristine, uniform materials.

Japanese Gardens in Australia

Australia has a surprisingly rich collection of Japanese-influenced gardens. The Japanese Garden at Cowra, New South Wales, built in 1979 as a gesture of reconciliation following the Cowra breakout during World War II, was designed by Ken Nakajima and remains one of the finest Japanese gardens outside Japan. Auburn Botanic Gardens in Sydney features a traditional tea house and stone garden area. Closer to me, elements of Japanese design appear throughout the Royal Botanic Gardens Melbourne.

Beyond public examples, there has been steady growth in private residential gardens drawing on Japanese principles. Australian landscape designers have been incorporating karesansui elements into contemporary garden design, adapting the tradition to local materials and climate.

What Stone Workers Can Learn

For those of us who carve and shape stone, the Japanese garden tradition offers several lessons:

Respect for the raw material. In Western sculpture, we often impose our vision onto stone. The Japanese approach starts by listening to what the stone already is. I have found that my best carved pieces emerge when I pay close attention to the grain, colour variation, and natural contours of the block rather than forcing a predetermined shape.

Restraint. The temptation in stone work is to add complexity. Japanese gardens demonstrate that power often comes from simplicity. A single well-placed stone can have more presence than an elaborate carved figure.

Context matters. A sculpture does not exist in isolation. Its relationship to the ground, light, surrounding space, and other objects determines how it is experienced.

Time as a collaborator. Japanese gardens are designed to age. Moss growth, weathering, and seasonal changes are part of the work’s ongoing life. For outdoor sculpture, this is a powerful reframing.

Finding the Balance

I am not suggesting that Australian sculptors should all start making Japanese gardens. The traditions are distinct, and transplanting one cultural practice into another context requires care. What I am suggesting is that engaging seriously with the Japanese approach to stone can expand our understanding of what stone work can be.

In my own practice, studying karesansui has made me more attentive to the spaces around my sculptures, more willing to leave surfaces unfinished, and more respectful of the stone’s own character. If you have not visited the Cowra Japanese Garden, or spent time sitting in a well-designed stone garden, I would recommend it. You may find it changes how you think about your own work.