This characteristic brings us to the Japanese eye for natural beauty. Nature is of prime importance in Japanese culture. Here again we can see the influence of religion, and indeed, if the concept of oku works so well with the teahouse, it’s mainly because the teahouse is barely distinguishable from its surrounding environment.
“Space in Japan was always seen as something universal and in accordance with Shintoism, was based on the unity with surrounding nature. […] Buildings are designed to blend into their surroundings so as to appear not as the focus of an architectural composition, but as a part of an overall picture.” Wolfgang Fehrer, The Japanese Teahouse
In our case, we went so far as to not only have it barely distinguishable by hiding it behind the wall of trees, but indeed, by making nature the main element of its creation, thus nature being the ROOM itself: the natural knot is the tokonoma, and the ma element of our space, the centre of our ROOM, while the tree’s canopy creates the surrounding oku factor and the physical room by its influence on the light.
“Only a small hut, which can hardly be seen between the bushes and trees, the teahouse mostly recedes behind its surroundings.” Kakuzo Okakura, The Book of Tea
“Let us then construct a small room in a bamboo grove or under trees, arrange streams and rocks and plant trees and bushes, while [inside the room] let us pile up charcoal, set a kettle, arrange flowers and arrange in order the necessary tea utensils. And let all this be carried out in accordance with the idea that in this room we can enjoy the streams and rocks as we do the rivers and mountains in nature, and appreciate the various moods and sentiments suggested by the snow, the moon, and the trees and flowers, as they go through the transformation of seasons, appearing and disappearing, blooming and withering. As visitors are greeted here with due reverence, we listen quietly to the boiling water in the kettle, which sounds like a breeze passing through the pine needles, and become oblivious of all worldly woes and worries; we then pour out a dipperful of water from the kettle, reminding us of the mountain stream, and thereby a mental dust is wiped off. This is truly a world of recluses, saints on earth.” Zen master Takuan
In the analysis of the structure of Japanese space, Willy Flint and Manfred Speidel place the tea room in a level with the residential building, the pilgrim temple and the stage of the Nô theatre. (Japanische Architektur – Geschichte und Gegenwart)
This is mainly because all these buildings are based on a common spatial concept, which can be divided into five areas: area 1 refers to the access, in our case of the teahouse by the teagarden. Area 2 is the transition area, in this case the nijiriguchi, the crawl-in entrance, which we will touch on upon further later. Area 3 is the innermost area, the tearoom itself, while 4 and 5 respectively designate the non-accessible area, and the outside-area. Once inside the tearoom, the tea-garden becomes that non-accessible area, but it is not part of the surrounding city. It thus becomes another layer in the oku wrapping of the teahouse.
The difference to the Japanese residential houses is obvious at first: in teahouses, the absence of fixed exterior walls allows the building to open completely to the garden by removing the sliding shoji. However, this varies depending on the teahouse as well, as some are built closed. If anything, the teahouse differs by its size and outline rather than by its walls.
In our case, these areas were of less importance, considering that nature would by chance conform to it, or not, without having any influence on the fundamental element of our ROOM as a teahouse. Our intervention would only spoil its purity in this case.