Reflections of the Buddha - The Pulitzer Foundation for the Arts

circles and squares — in his architecture. Yet unlike most
Minimalists, and more like Tibetan mandala artists, Andō
seeks to use geometry and enclosed spaces “to inspire internal
vistas within the individual which correspond to
spaces that the individual harbours within himself.” 26
With such statements, Andō acknowledged as early as
1977 his desire to build symbolic architecture. Reflections of
the Buddha makes it possible to see that both Andō and
the Tibetan artists use simple and repetitive geometry
and symmetry to connect with the invisible world, where
the human spirit may find succor from the impermanence
and dissatisfactoriness of life.
Nothingness and the No-Self
In most philosophical traditions, a person is an individual
substance with a true essence or self. But Śākyamuni
taught that all phenomena lack any underlying permanent
substance. This view is known as the doctrine of
“no-self” (anātman). In Buddhism “all there is to a person
is a complicated, swiftly changing stream of mental and
physical phenomena, connected by causal links and inextricably
interrelated with the rest of the universe,” a
scholar of Buddhist ethics succinctly wrote. 27 If you are
not a substance, there is no reason to place yourself
above others. This realization for Buddhists leads to loving
kindness and compassion for oneself and others.
Visitors to the Pulitzer sometimes feel and experience
the spaces as empty. 28 Andō, in a recent interview,
spoke about this emptiness as nothingness:
The space of nothingness is where one finds his or her own self
and life’s richness. The space of nothingness is where one struggles
to reach a deeper layer of self . . . The space of nothingness is
where one experiences love towards his or her self. The departure
point is this moment of self-love. 29
The Indian Buddhist philosopher Nāgārjuna articulated
the related concept of non-duality and founded the
“Middle Way” School of Mahāyāna Buddhism sometime
between 150 and 250 ce. According to Nāgārjuna, behind
the visible is emptiness. This refers to the way all things
actually are, namely empty of the independent way they
ordinarily seem to exist. Everything is interconnected
and in flux. For Mahāyāna Buddhists, it is this awakened
consciousness and penetrating insight into the emptiness
of all things that brings one freedom.
Later traditions have continued the investigation
of no-self and emptiness. A group of twentieth-
century Japanese thinkers known as the Kyoto
Philosophical School influenced Andō’s creative practice.
Philosophers of this school, such as Nishida Kitarō (1870
– 1945), preferred to speak of nothingness not by its
Sanskrit term in Mahāyāna Buddhism, śūnyatā
(“Emptiness”; kū in Japanese), but with the Sino-Japanese
character mu (“Nothingness”; wu in Chinese), a common
term in Zen. Andō has also used the terms mu (nothingness)
and ma (the space in between, or the negative space
around and between objects). Andō elaborated: “The
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importance of the Japanese tearoom does not lie in the
walls, floor, ceiling, but the space of ma surrounded by
these elements . . . [It is] a space for the cultivation of
self.” 30 He then tried to clarify the difference between ma
and mu:
I use the term ma in some of my writings, and it was sometimes
translated into nothingness. I think in English, both mu and ma
are justifiably translated into nothingness. For me both are concerned
with the invisible. While mu is that which one cannot feel,
ma makes it palpable and tangible. I believe [that] . . . Nishida . . .
emphasized the invisible as the place where the spiritual resides.
Again, ma is the feeling of what is hidden behind the visible. 31
Andō’s deep understanding of these concepts makes for
an especially powerful union of art and architecture in
Reflections of the Buddha.
Dependent Arising
Central to the Buddhist experience is the concept of “dependent
arising”: All things arise and pass due to certain
conditions. When conditions are present that support a
thing’s existence, it comes to be. When new conditions
appear, the thing changes. When conditions that support
the thing end, the thing ceases to exist.
At the Pulitzer, Andō created a sequence of galleries
connected by transitional spaces that offer the
means to experience different states of mind; each gallery
offers a different condition. The experience is not
unlike Andō’s description of the approach to the
Buddhist Water Temple on Awaji Island, Japan, which he
designed for the Vajrayāna Shingon sect:
When approaching the Water Temple there are a series of moves
which gradually empty the mind and prepare the way for
meditation. In order to enter a space it is best to first go through
a preparatory space, and that is what happens in this case. There
are several phases. As in a poem you need to be led in. I feel the
same about sequences of architectural spaces of varying moods. 32
The sequence of simple geometric spaces at the Pulitzer
also influences mood. In the context of this exhibition,
the sequence recalls some Buddhist meditation practices
that employ the mindfulness of breathing for tranquility
and development of insight. 33 Some practices emphasize
extending the interval between moments of breathing.
This interval is the time when meditators seek to penetrate
consciousness, 34 which evokes the effect of the
gallery sequences and passageways at the Pulitzer: The
Entrance Gallery’s low ceilings and small size constrict
(as if lungs have exhaled the outside world from which
they have come). A tall passageway filled with light offers
a view of the water garden (extended interval). This passageway
leads you to an expansive light-filled Main
Gallery (a vast space from which to inhale deeply) that
leads you down a bridge with views of the water garden
(extended interval) into the enclosed and dark Cube
Gallery (where the lungs once again constrict