Japan, a land of wood: forests, spirituality and architecture
The Archipelago of Trees
With nearly 70% of its territory covered by forests, Japan is first and foremost a land of trees. From the mountains of Tōhoku to the slopes of Kyūshū, the landscapes are crisscrossed by dense vegetation where cedars (sugi), cypresses (hinoki), pines (matsu), camphor trees (kusunoki), and paulownias (kiri) coexist. This abundance of forests, shaped by a humid climate and steep terrain, has profoundly shaped Japanese civilization: its spirituality, its architecture, its craftsmanship, and even its imagination.
In Shintō thought, nature is not scenery but divinity. The kami, sacred forces inhabiting every element of the world, reside in stones, springs, and trees. Around the shrines, the chinju no mori, protective forests, shelter these invisible presences and ensure continuity between the sacred realm and the world of the living. In these ancient woods, where nothing is ever cut without reason, humans integrate themselves with the utmost respect.
This organic relationship explains why, in Japan, wood has never been perceived as a mundane or perishable material, but as a living, breathing substance, imbued with spirit. It connects architecture to the cycle of life, both rooted and ephemeral, fragile and perpetual.
Wood and Impermanence
While the West built its cathedrals and monuments in stone, Japanese culture has always preferred wood. Stone seeks to defy centuries; wood, on the other hand, accepts their passage. It expands, patinas, degrades, then is reborn.
This vision is deeply linked to the Buddhist principle of mujō, the impermanence of all things. Building with wood is to admit that everything eventually transforms; it is to inscribe beauty in the very precariousness of the material. Fire, earthquake, typhoon—all these natural forces that threaten Japan have not led to abandoning wood (though, of course, large cities have adopted more durable architectures to try to protect against natural risks), but rather to adapting it, making it a symbol of resilience.
Traditional carpenters have thus developed an art of flexibility: nail-less joinery, flexible structures capable of absorbing shocks, and millimeter-precise adjustments of beams and rafters. This expertise embodies a worldview: building, destroying, rebuilding, not to erase the past but to extend its memory.
Ise Jingū, the Cycle of Renewal
No place better embodies this philosophy than the moving Ise Jingū shrine, in the heart of Mie Prefecture. Dedicated to the goddess Amaterasu, it is considered the supreme shrine of Shintō. Yet, this venerable monument is, in reality, only about twenty years old: every twenty years, it is entirely rebuilt according to an immutable ritual, the Shikinen Sengū (the next reconstruction is planned for 2033).
This cycle of reconstruction, uninterrupted since the 8th century, relies on the use of hinoki (Japanese cypress), a wood of remarkable purity, with a tight grain and subtle fragrance. The hinoki comes from the Kiso forests, specially maintained for this sacred use. Each beam is selected, dried, polished, and fitted by hand. When the new shrine is completed, the old one is dismantled, and its wood is then reused for other shrines across the country, or transformed into ritual objects. Nothing is lost: the cycle of wood extends the cycle of the world.
During a visit to Ise Jingū, emotion arises less from the splendor of the buildings (in fact, one cannot see much, as the important buildings are hidden from view) than from the invisible presence of the sacred. The scent of cypress, the golden light filtering through the trees: everything evokes the continuity between humans, nature, and divinity.
Living Wood
Even today, Japan remains a civilization of wood. Contemporary architects like Kengo Kuma or Terunobu Fujimori extend this tradition by working with wood as a breathing material, in dialogue with light and air. Their works—pavilions, houses, or museums—perpetuate this aesthetic of the living and the transient.
Wood remains at the heart of daily gestures. It structures space, softens light, and shapes objects for tea, incense, or the table. It retains the memory of time, is polished by hand, and softened by touch, as shown in the last photo of this article: the extraordinary platform of the Tenjuan temple in Kyoto, whose entire history can be read in the sumptuous veins of its wood.
Atelier Ikiwa is committed to promoting Japanese and Korean wood culture by offering a selection of objects crafted by young artisans who reveal their uniqueness. Unique pieces shaped with ancient savoir-faire in a very contemporary vision, extending the spirit of the forests from which they originate. They translate the deep connection between nature, culture, and creation in these two countries where the forest links the sacred, the symbolic, and the everyday. We also invite you to read our article dedicated to the artisan Sungwoo Choi, a very talented Korean artisan.
© Atelier Ikiwa – Laurence Corteggiani. Photographs and texts protected. All reproduction prohibited without authorization.
