Miyadaiku Tourism & Experience

With a pickup from our hotel, it was easy to take part. Dressed in a traditional hanten, we paid our respects at the shrine and then stepped into the workshop, where we were enveloped in the pleasant scent of hinoki cypress. I was left speechless by the master carpenter's beautiful planing, and I was truly moved when I managed to shave a thin strip of wood myself. It was not mere sightseeing; feeling the craftsmen's quiet passion and a spirituality one might call "Zen in motion" was a precious experience. The matcha served afterward was delicious, and the apprenticeship certificate became the finest memento of our trip.

As a student of architecture, this tour was a life-changing experience. I encountered the sensory world of "medzutae" (learning by watching), which is not found in university textbooks, and was overwhelmed by the craftsmen's finely honed movements. Kigumi, which interlocks wood with wood without metal fittings, and kikujutsu, which derives complex curves with nothing but a carpenter's square, are the ultimate techniques, fusing geometry with an aesthetic sensibility.

Witnessing up close the world's oldest and yet perfectly accomplished timber construction techniques left a deep impression on me. I take my hat off to the rational reasoning that planing is not merely a finish but a "natural waterproofing" that keeps out moisture, and to the wisdom of tsugite and shiguchi joints, which allow a building to last 1,000 years by replacing only damaged members. The craftsman's philosophy of "sharpening the mind" by sharpening one's tools had a beauty beyond words.

I took part as an inspection of sustainable architecture and cultural heritage conservation, and gained far more than I expected. The miyadaiku's craft of making buildings last over 1,000 years through repeated restoration, rather than building new and demolishing, is the very embodiment of the "original carbon-neutral" philosophy. Their concrete SDGs initiatives—using thinned timber, conserving forests, and working with local communities—are highly instructive for my own country's environmental policy and building administration.

We took part in an original group course between sessions of an international conference. It was a highly refined program; the tension of a busy conference melted away, and the bonds among participants deepened. We encountered "authentic Japanese luxury," pared of all excess and a world apart from lavish spectacle, and everyone was deeply moved. Beyond the master carpenter's skillful demonstration of craftsmanship, the attention to detail—from the warm hospitality to the matcha tea ceremony—was wonderful.

From the philosophy of tool sharpening—"preparation is 90 percent of the work"—to the craftsman's sixth sense honed through ten years of training, there were extremely deep lessons from the perspectives of innovation and organizational management as well. The process by which skill gives rise to emotion and becomes "art," and a building becomes a source of local pride (civic pride), is a philosophy directly connected to how we create brand value.

Grasping the invisible "sensation" rather than the visible "material"—the worldview of the miyadaiku was the very essence of what I have been trying to express through art. In the "Zen in motion" of sharpening blades in silence and honing the mind, and in the way they carve trees thousands of years old as if paying respect and conversing with them, I saw the decisive moment when technique is sublimated into art. The aesthetic of wabi-sabi, which values simplicity and naturalness over decorative splendor, makes me ask what true luxury really is.