The Garden in Movement

MESSAGE FROM GILLES CLÉMENT

I have very powerful memories from the time I was in Japan. I was astonished and filled with wonder. There, I stopped trying to find comparisons with the different ways of gardening I had seen around the world because everything looked new, strange and perfectly accomplished: it was a total immersion in an unknown world.

I hastened to forget what I had learned in the books and through the images of Japan circulating around the world, I was living the moment. I liked this unknown world. I found myself at home. Not as a gardener (I haven’t experienced Japanese gardening) but as a human facing nature.

The presence of a Shinto altar in a Buddhist garden confirmed the idea that the ancestral animism of human societies will not collapse under the weight of reason and this was a relief to me.

The landscape considered through a partition between the near and the far – satoyama, okuyama – giving a place for the human settlement and for the spirits, reminded me of the “fadhy” spaces in Madagasacar or the “leyaks” in Bali. Territories where nature peopled with spirits and free creatures can express themselves. Here it is tanukis, wild boar and deer crossing the road only when the green light turns on in Nara.

The white lawn of the gardens at the end of winter will become green while in Europe it will turn yellow under the sun. It confirmed my idea that the English green grass is not the only model suitable for gardens.

The natural presence of gardeners, their nobility, their know-how, their self-confidence and the accuracy of their role show that gardening in Japan is not the duty of technical experts for simple “cleaning” but a skillful work in which one needs to know about the life of the trees and the grass.

During that time, Kenichi was filming. Discreet and smiling, respecting all my movements. It seemed to me he was trying to pick up everything my astonished eyes were lingering on during our visits in Japan, and what my hand were busy with in my own garden, the Valley.

Of his presence, I keep a warm memory. He did not come to take images and to leave them to the whim of cyberspace, he was here to report: this is the art of narrative poetry while keeping the feet on the ground.

20th May, 2016

Gilles Clément

Translated from French by Emmanuel Marès

I disembarked alone at San Sebastián Station after about three hours of being jolted around on a train heading south from Paris’ Austerlitz Station. It was just before noon. The station was small and rural with almost no one in sight. Grey leaden clouds hang low in the sky, chilled by drizzle, carrying the minimum of camera gear in my camera pack, on reflection I must have felt slightly anxious as I nervously looked around. Fortunately, I was soon able to find Clément smiling far away as he stood beside a beaten up old car. It had been around half a year since I met him at a lecture the first time he had visited Japan.

Clément’s driving was, unexpectedly a little reckless, but then again I had never imagined him driving before. He drove directly towards home without stalling. While driving, he talked about the things that had caught his interest recently. He had found a lost boot in his garden that was thickly covered with overgrown plants. He told of how he took a liking to the boot and had decorated his entrance with it. Could it be seen as a masterpiece fusing human and plant design?

As I gazed at the view that continuously swerved past on left and right, I lost track of where we were driving. After a while, without even noticing it we had wondered on to a small road surrounded by a forest. The car bumped around on a slightly rough road and we eventually arrived at Clément’s home. The Garden in Movement spread out in front of us. Entering my vision first were the tall Katsura tree that soared above the Valley Garden and South American and other plants covered in giant leaves out of proportion with the garden. I wondered where the apple tree Clément had introduced in his lecture in Japan was, which continued to grow after the trunk had fallen over, and searched for the giant hogweed that was a symbol of the start of The Garden in Movement.

With stonewalls covered in vines, the house was picturesque and seemed to merge into the garden, while at the same time resting on an exceptionally impressive expanse of land. On the first floor were the kitchen, dining table and a living room with an old fireplace, the firewood for which was piled up on one wall next to the entrance. Going up to the second floor, I was guided to Clément’s office, which had a desk and sofa, and told that I could stay here tonight if I wanted. The Internet router is usually switched off in order not to waste Clément’s energy, so I was told that I would need to turn it on if I wanted to use the Internet. Anyhow, I began setting up my camera so I could soon start filming. Outside, wind gently blew raindrops up against the room’s large glass window.

Soon after arriving, Clément told me that the playwright Nadège would be visiting to collect material for her own work. By chance, she ended up briefly appearing in the film. Many people visit his garden throughout the year. While waiting for Nadège to arrive, Clément began making us lunch. It was an omelet-like local dish primarily made of ingredients from a vegetable plot in a corner of his garden. I had begun taking footage by this time, and he generously told me that I could film whatever I liked. Impolitely, I even filmed his bedroom, bath and toilet. Suddenly, he asked, would you like me to shown you around the garden? Looking suspiciously at the rain glimmering in the sky, and lacking adequate waterproofing for my equipment, I hurriedly followed behind.

At this time, I wasn’t sure how I would compose the film, but I endeavored to shoot the time I spent with Clément as much as possible in long shot. Eventually, I shot about one and a half hours of him showing me carefully around the garden. In contrast to footage taken in Japan, in which he almost looked reserved, Clément walked energetically around the garden and spoke extremely eloquently and confidently. Even though he must have shown a wide variety of visitors around this garden on numerous occasions, I was impressed by how much he seemed to enjoy it. As I probably only pressed the record button about twice during this time, I was able to continue filming as I walked around the garden. This was the footage that made up the central structure of the film.

Though it was the middle of August when I visited Clément’s garden, rainy nights were extremely cold, and he began lighting the fireplace. The crackling sound of wood on the fire was relaxing and pleasant. During the night, I made an effort to not turn on the camera. I think that one advantage of working on a project alone is that you can become more intimate with the person you are filming, however, at the same time conversation also becomes more difficult. As a result, you have to carefully follow your judgment about when to turn off the camera. I wanted to put down the camera and have a good talk with him.

Clément asked me what type of footage I want to take. I feel that film seems to flow with its own unique time. This is different to the time we experience in our everyday life. In great cinematography, we feel that we are living in the time flow of that film. This certainly doesn’t involve simply abandoning ourselves, but is a time-flow that we choose, feel and breath. Through my films, I want to bring about this living flow of time.

We also talked about when Clément visited Japan, the town that he was born and grew up in, and about the issue of war and energy. Now over 70 years of age, he talked of how he wants to reduce his workload and actively take on projects that he thinks are important. However, he was pleased to be able to spend time to help me. As we talked, it got late, and around when I started thinking of going to bed I was surprised by how late it was. Without having notice it, the rain had stopped.

The next morning, Clément had to go to Geneva, and the plan was for me to go back with him to Paris. As I took footage of different parts of the garden while the sun came up, I heard his voice behind me. I wanted to have more time. I wanted to film more. The Garden in Movement. Always receiving people with a multiplicity of expressions, I promised myself I would return. As I said farewell to the garden I asked Clément to let me visit again. Valuing harmony with animals, plants and insects, his garden was a treasure-trove of ideas for the intellect. However, the feelings brought about by visiting his garden were, how can I put it, more direct, something that pierced the heart. I wish, one day I will be able to record how he lives his life and the ways in which the expressions of his garden change. And then, on another occasion, I would like to show this film to everyone and together breath the time-flow of film.

Kenichi Sawazaki

Artist / Film Director

Translated from Japanese by Daniel Milne