Lotuses Grow in the Land of the Setting Sun

A hall inside of the San Francisco Asian Art Museum.

As a kid growing up in NYC, California always struck me as a kind of far flung, mystical destination. I'm certainly not the only one who thought of California as the "Land Furthest West", one of sun, surf, and hippies. The Golden State! The desire to explore the world beyond the northeastern US was one reason I decided to head to the San Francisco area for graduate school. Grad students, as a rule, generally do not have much free time but when I first arrived, I did make it a point to check out what San Francisco had to offer. One of the first places I visited was the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco.

Presently located directly across from San Francisco's city hall, the museum was originally a wing of the de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park. In 2001, the collections were relocated to the former site of San Francisco's main library and in 2003, the museum reopened once again.

Front view of the Asian Art Museum.

San Francisco's City Hall.

On a cool but sunny autumn day, I got off at the Civic Center BART station and took a short stroll to the museum. The lack of crowds on this particular day and time created a very calm atmosphere at the museum, which made me enjoy my visit even more.  Something I found particularly interesting was how the galleries were arranged. As you might expect, "Asian art" encompasses an enormous amount of history and culture. The museum also has one of the largest and most comprehensive collections of Asian art on the planet. How then, can one coherently present such a multitude of art and culture? In a word, Buddhism. For all of the diversity that Asia has, the common thread that unites all of these cultures is Buddhism. Simply put, every part of Asia was or is currently Buddhist. In this context, the galleries of the San Francisco Asian Art Museum are generally arranged according to the spread of Buddhism throughout Asia..

Gandharan sculpture of the
bodhisattva Maitreya.

The suggested tour of the museum begins with an escalator ride to the third and highest floor, and the first galleries one encounters are the ones covering South Asia. As I walked in, I was immediately struck by fine examples of Gandharan art. Gandhara was a historical kingdom that existed from ~1000 BCE to ~1000 CE, occupying the area of what is now eastern Afghanistan and western Pakistan. Gandhara is historically quite significant since it is generally thought to have been where the first buddha images were created. This region was at the crossroads of many cultures (Persian, Greek, Turkic, Indian) and artwork from the Buddhist era (~1-500 CE) famously reflects these various influences. I've always found Gandharan art to be especially elegant and life-like.  In fact, there was one sculpture of the bodhisattva Maitreya (dating from ~200-350 CE) that looked quite a bit like an uncle of mine! Before I continue, let me apologize in advance for the many blurry photos. Using a small, mediocre-quality handheld camera with no flash was a bit tricky, especially in the days before I became more serious about photography.

While the basic thread uniting the galleries may be Buddhism, there's obviously far more to Asian art than just that. There were two objects in the South Asian gallery in particular that caught my attention; a fragment of a Jain scripture and a Qu'ran from the Mughal era, both from around 1550 CE. Whenever I look at stone sculptures, the figures always seem so solid and strong, very often having endured centuries of existence. I could easily imagine people centuries from now gazing at them. Books, however, are very different. They're inherently much more fragile than stone, which to me makes their preservation even more remarkable. I also think books are in some ways more personal than sculptures in the sense that the words, from different times, different places, and in different languages, are still speaking directly to whoever gazes upon them. If anyone happens to be reading this blog centuries from now, let it be known that I'm also I'm speaking to you right now.  Yeah, YOU!

Page from the Jain Kalpasutra.

A Qur'an from Mughal India.

The jeweled buddha.

I slowly made my way to the South East Asian galleries and there I saw what was perhaps one of the fanciest buddha statues I'd ever seen. It was from Thailand and it was the first time I'd ever seen such a buddha statue. On one hand, I was fascinated and amazed at the craftsmanship and delicacy of it. It was truly a masterpiece. On the other hand, I was quite puzzled. I always think of the Buddha as the embodiment of simple living and without any fancy adornments. What, then, should I make of such a fanciful representation?  Not having come to a definite answer, I just snapped a picture, enjoyed a closer look, and continued on. 

Tibetan statue of Tara bodhisattva.

The South East Asian galleries lead to the Himalayan art section. I was excited. I was a huge fan of Tibetan and Himalayan art long before I had any spiritual interest in Buddhism. Perhaps my favorite piece in this gallery was a statue of the bodhisattva Tara. Although I'm not a practitioner of the Tantric/Vajrayana (Tibetan) tradition, I've always found its various expressions of the "female" aspect of spiritual practice to be fascinating and also unique amongst the various Buddhist traditions. The topic is very complex and certainly beyond the scope of this blog (or any academic study, in my opinion) but the Berzin Archives are a great place to start if you're really interested. Getting back to the Tara statue, I found it not only very beautiful on a physical level but also on a spiritual one as well. The elegant pose and blissful expression wasn't just great art, but I also found it very soothing, comforting, and encouraging, almost like looking at pictures of close friends or family. But I suppose that's just what those who create such works have in mind.

Wooden
Samantabhadra statue.

After crossing the Himalayas, I found myself in China, or rather the gallery of Chinese art. Of all the many wonderful pieces on display, a simple statue of Samantabhadra bodhisattva really stood out for me. One reason was that it was made out of wood. As I mentioned earlier with books, the continued existence of such delicate objects made from fragile materials always amazes me. In contrast to the gilded and glitzy figures I saw in the Himalayan gallery, this statue was not all shiny. It looked as if it had once been painted yet the faded colors and multiple cracks definitely left me with a very humble impression. While the Tara statue embodied the supernatural and mystical aspects of the path, this wooden Samantabhadra felt very down to earth. Aside from this point, artistic depictions of Samantabhadra are not quite as common as for other bodhisattvas in East Asian art. He is, however, almost always shown riding an elephant.


Perhaps one of my favorite pieces in the entire museum was a lovely black and white ink painting of a building, perhaps a temple, during a snowy winter day. What I loved most about it was the simplicity and directness of it. There was nothing to embellish the scene but also nothing to detract from it. It was what it was. In that sense, I found it reminiscent of Zen-style ink and brush paintings.

A snowy winter day.

The last gallery on the tour focused on Japanese art, which I found quite appropriate. Here I was, looking at art from the land of the rising sun in a museum in the land of the setting sun. Pretty neat. As I left the galleries, I noticed a large inscription in one of the main halls. It was obviously left over from when the building was a library but I thought the spirit of the message could be applied to any place of learning: "Books bear the messages of the wisest of mankind to all the generations of men".





In many ways, California is the heartland of the dharma in America. The first Buddhist temple was built by Chinese immigrants in San Francisco in the mid-1800s and the large numbers Asian immigrants who arrived and settled on the West Coast greatly expanded the community. In the 20th century, particularly during the 1960s and 1970s, California became a magnet for many Buddhist teachers and groups, and still remains the area with the highest concentration of Buddhists in the US.

One year I went to a Vesak celebration at the Jodo Shinshu Center in Berkeley. It was a fascinating experience. People and representatives from essentially every major Buddhist tradition were there. During the keynote address, a monk from the Dharma Realm group (Chinese Chan tradition) mentioned that the number of groups present at the event was about 40. The number of various Buddhist groups known to have resided in the ancient Chinese capital of Chang'an (present day Xi'an) during the Tang Dynasty (618-907 CE) was about a dozen. And let's not forget that the Tang Dynasty was the golden age of Buddhism in China. There's more to the story than just numbers, however. Interactions between traditions that historically had little or no contact with each other, for example the Tibetan and Theravada traditions, are becoming quite common. What this type of confluence will lead to is anyone's guess. All we can say is that thousands of years and thousands of miles away from it's land of origin, the lotus buddha's teachings is blooming beautifully after a long journey to the West.

Winter Break

I've decided to take a little "winter vacation" from posting and will return in January. I've certainly got no shortage of ideas and things to write about, however, I do have a shortage of time at the moment. I'm looking forward to being back!

A slice of the Alps, as viewed from Hohensalzburg Castle, Salzburg, Austria.

The Bright Side of the Moon

Statue of Augustus the Strong, King of Saxony and later Poland.

When I first moved to Germany, I had a goal of visiting every state in the country. Given that there are only 16 of them (with Majorca unofficially being the 17th), it didn't seem like a difficult task given Germany's wealth of cultural and historical offerings. By the autumn of 2011, there were only two more states I had yet to set foot in; the eastern regions of Saxony and Saxony-Anhalt. It was time to head east. 

I took this chance to visit some friends in Berlin, by far Germany's coolest, most bad ass city, and after a fun-filled weekend, went off to Dresden. Departing from Berlin's sleek main station, I arrived comfortably in Dresden a couple of hours later. The city has a centuries-long reputation as a royal capital and as one of Europe's leading cultural and artistic centers. Although Dresden's classic beauty made it known as the "Florence on the Elbe", the area around the central rail station left much to be desired. The dull concrete buildings and a rather soulless pedestrian/shopping strip (Prager Straße) didn't particularly impress me. But then again, who judges a city it's ugly areas?

My hotel was situated on the western edge of the old city center (Altstadt). The room was cozy enough and had somewhat kitschy wallpaper. It did, however, offer a great view of the Yenidze, one of Dresden's (many) architectural landmarks.

I couldn't have asked
for a more Saxon room.

The Yenidze building.

When I first saw this building, I was a bit shocked to see what looked like a giant mosque in the middle of the Saxon capital. Complete with a large dome and minarets, the building has everything you'd expect from a mosque except any religious function whatsoever because it is not at all a mosque. The story goes that a tobacco company in the early 1900s wanted to build a cigarette factory in Dresden. The people of the city, concerned that an ugly factory would blight the beauty of the city's famous skyline, opposed the project. After some negotiations, it was decided that the company could indeed build its factory in the city on the condition that it didn't actually look like a factory. As Orientalist design was popular at the time, the factory was built to look like a mosque. The name "Yenidze" (modern Genisea, Greece) refers to the area of the then Ottoman empire that was famous for its tobacco. Nowadays the Yenidze is a office building. After getting settled in my hotel room and watching a bit of a Polish medical drama, I set out to explore the city. I could write a great deal about the many things that Dresden has to offer but will only focus on a few of my favorites.

The neighborhood to the north of the Altstadt, on the northern side of Elbe river, is known, in a typically literal Germanic fashion, as the "new city" (Neustadt). Although separated by just a river, the two areas couldn't be more different. While the Altstadt is basically a giant, outdoor museum filled with art galleries, royal palaces, performance halls, and indoor museums, the Neustadt has a more relaxed yet slightly more posh feel to it. Unlike the Altstadt, the Neustadt section survived the Second World War mostly undamaged. The result is an abundance of classy, old buildings. Aside from that, the numerous cafes, restaurants, and bars further added to my feeling that the Neustadt was Dresden's living room. In the middle of the Neustadt is the lovely tree- and sculpture-lined street, the Hauptstraße.

Hauptstraße in the Dresden Neustadt.

The Augustus statue in Neustadt.

No discussion of Dresden's history would be complete without mentioning the man who turned what was just another royal town into one of Europe's cultural centers. Friedrich Augustus I was also known as Augustus the Strong, on account of his great strength. It is said he could break horse shoes with his bare hands. Augustus was also known for his love of women; various stories say he fathered anywhere from a few dozen to few hundred children. While not showing off his strength, either at the court or in the bedroom, Augustus was busy transforming the Saxon capital into an opulent Baroque paradise. Many of Dresden's landmarks like the Zwinger Palace, city castle, the Old Master's Gallery, and most famously, the domed Frauenkirche, where either built or rebuilt during his reign.

Hokusai on the Elbe.

I took a stroll across the bridge spanning the river Elbe and came across a surprising sight. A cutout of a wave, taken from Hokusai's famous "Great Wave off Kanagawa" was on the bridge. Far from being a random homage to one of Japan's most famous artworks, the wave sculpture was actually a memorial dedicated to the Great Flood of 2002, which caused severe damage throughout eastern Europe and the eastern regions of Germany. Dresden in particular was also flooded, with many areas and famous landmarks (like the opera house) being badly damaged.

Crossing the Elbe bridge, I soon made my way to the Theaterplatz, which is a lovely open space surrounded by no less than four of Dresden's famous institutions; the Catholic Hofkirche, the city castle (Residenzschloss), the opera house (Semperoper) and the Zwinger palace.

 

The Semperoper. Aside from it's prominence as a
performance venue, it's also prominently featured in
advertisements for "Radeberger Pilsner".

The courtyard of the Zwinger Palace.

A dog like that goes perfectly
with palace courtyard.

After spending some time in the lovely Zwinger courtyard, I decided to partake in a traditional late-afternoon German ritual known as Kaffee und Kuchen (coffee and cake). I absolutely adore old style cafes and luckily there happened to be a very traditional looking place right on the Theaterplatz. How traditional you might ask? In this case, traditional enough to have been designed by the famous Prussian architect Karl Friedrich Schinkel. Any neogothic or neoclassical buildings you might see in Berlin, for example, were probably designed by Schinkel. After the waitress with a lovely Saxon accent brought me a slice of cake and a latte macchiato, I flipped through my trusty guidebook, further planning my time in the city. While I personally found the Saxon dialect to be rather melodious and pleasing to the ear, many others do not agree. It turns out the Saxon dialect is considered the most disliked in all of Germany. 

The Hofkirche is on the left (with the small green dome), the city castle in the center (with the larger grey tower), and Cafe Schinkelwache is the smaller building on the right with the three large windows.

 

I suppose you can't name a cafe
after Karl Friedrich Schinkel
and not have a portrait of
him somewhere inside of it.

Interior of the Hofkirche.

After finishing up at Cafe Schinkelwache, I popped inside the majestic Hofkirche, the largest Catholic church in the mostly Protestant Saxony. Just opposite the Hofkirche is the mighty Fürstenzug (Procession of Princes). This large mural lies on an outer wall of the Dresden city castle and was started in the late 1800s. Paying homage Saxony's various rulers from the middle ages all the way up to the early 20th century, the Fürstenzug is made up of over 20,000 pieces of exquisite (and locally produced!) Meissen porcelain. The small, cozy street containing the Fürstenzug, Augustusstraße, was my favorite in the whole city. 

The Fürstenzug.

A view of the Fürstenzug looking
toward the castle/Hofkirche.

Walking a past the Fürstenzug gave me my first, full-blown view of the what is undoubtedly the symbol of Dresden, the Frauenkirche (Church of our Lady).

Behold the Frauenkirche.

The cherubs are even
cuter up close.
(Wikimedia)

In the days to come, I would spend a lot time time in the city's legendary museums. While I especially liked the New Masters Gallery since it was packed full of Romantic era paintings from Caspar David Friedrich (a personal favorite of mine), it's perhaps the Old Masters Gallery that really blew me away. The fact that the gallery is actually housed in a wing of the Zwinger palace should already give you an idea of its splendor. It's obvious to any visitor after one step on the staircase leading up the galleries that the collection is fit for a king (and literally was). The gallery itself is a fantastic masterpiece of design and that's exactly what I loved about it. That and it also is home to Raphael's famous Sistine Madonna.

One evening, a couple of days before I would leave Dresden, I took a walk at dusk along the Elbe. After days of museum visits, day trips to other cities in the area, and taking in so much history and culture, a nice leisurely stroll was just what I needed. It was wonderful. The Elbe was flowing peacefully, some people were walking their dogs, others were jogging, friends were meeting up, people were heading home from work, and some were sitting on the grass and relaxing.

A relaxing sunset along the Elbe.

As I too sat down and enjoyed the calm atmosphere, I started to admire Dresden's lovely skyline. But soon, I started thinking about what happened here in the middle of February 1945. In modern times, Dresden is perhaps most well known for the infamous bombing raids that destroyed most of the city. Sitting on the banks of the Elbe, I tried to imagine what the city must've looked like after the destruction. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't imagine it. I just couldn't. Of course, I had certainly seen many pictures of the bombing's aftermath and the toll of the devastation is widely known. Even now, the tops of many of Dresden's older buildings are still blackened by the inferno of decades past. Despite this, I just couldn't fathom that the lovely city I had spent the past few wonderful days in was once a smoldering mass of death and destruction.

Some months before my visit to Dresden, I was reading Kurt Vonnegut's classic "Slaughterhouse 5". The non-linear, anti-war, darkly satirical science fiction novel takes the destruction of the city as its focal point. The story is based on Vonnegut's own experience of the bombing as an American POW being held by the Nazis. He and the other prisoners managed to survive by being locked up in an underground slaughterhouse a few days earlier. Vonnegut would later write that the city after the bombing looked like surface of the moon. As you can see from the famous photo below, there was, quite horrifyingly, no dramatic license in his description.

Overlooking a destroyed Dresden from the city hall. (Wikimedia).

Ruins of the Frauenkirche after the bombing.
A toppled statue of Martin Luther lies in the
foreground. (Deutsche Fotothek).

After the war, the rebuilding efforts commenced and Dresden gradually started to resemble the Baroque gem it once was. The major exception, however, was the Frauenkirche. The government of communist East Germany decided to leave the famous cathedral as a pile of rubble, a testament to the horrors of war and a memorial to Dresden's destruction. For decades, what was once the architectural icon of Dresden remained a shattered silhouette of its former self. Over time, the idea of rebuilding the church slowly picked up steam. After the fall of the Berlin Wall and the German Reunification, support for the reconstruction efforts became even greater.

Though not without scars, the
Frauenkirche stands tall once again.

After a bit over a decade and nearly €200 million in private donations later, the new Frauenkirche, 60 years after its destruction, was reconsecrated and reopened in 2005. The decision was made to incorporate as much of the original remains of the church as possible, which is why some parts of the facade are blackened. Although a few were critical of this choice, I (and many others) thought the mixing of old and new was a fitting way of restoring the city's landmark while also paying tribute the cathedral's destruction. 

My first visit to the Frauenkirche was during my first evening in Dresden. I had just passed the Fürstenzug and came upon the Frauenkirche. It was beautiful. After snapping a few pictures, I went inside. At this time of the day (dusk), there weren't as many visitors as I would've expected for Dresden's most famous landmark. As for the interior itself? It was, in a word, divine. The (new) pure white walls with baroque detailing were a real treat for the eyes. I especially enjoyed looking up at the murals in the dome's interior.

The interior of the Frauenkirche.
(Wikimedia)

Murals on the Frauenkirche's
famous dome. (Wikimedia)

While I enjoy popping into a lovely church, being in the Frauenkirche was much more than a check on my itinerary. On my last evening in Dresden, I went once more inside the Frauenkirche. As I sat in the pews, I thought quite a bit about all the things I had seen, all the things that were destroyed, and all of the things that were rebuilt. When most people, especially older folks, hear the name Dresden, they immediately recall the horrible bombing that reduced the city to ruins.  While we certainly must not forget such events, we also need to remember that the story does not end there. Time rolls on. Dresden is not just a city that has risen from the ashes but is once again a classical city of arts and culture. Dresden and its lovely Frauenkirche live again and in a way, so do the rest of us.