While photographing the gardens of Ninna-ji, the author unexpectedly encountered a sliding-door painting by Domoto Inshō. Its brushwork, reminiscent of Hasegawa Tōhaku, revealed the painter’s true greatness instantly, marking a moment where photography, gardens, and Japanese painting intersected.

2015-12-30
I had never had an opportunity to encounter the paintings of Domoto Inshō, and thus had no interest in him at all.

Yesterday, for the first time in a while, I entered the gardens of Ninna-ji.

My first visit to Ninna-ji was during a high school excursion.
Now I visit about twenty times a year.
I enter the gardens from time to time.

I often tell people around me:
When it comes to photographing the gardens of Kyoto, it would not be an exaggeration to say that I am the best in the world.

For example, there is probably no photographer who photographs the gardens of Tenryū-ji sixty times a year.
That is what I say.

This visit to Ninna-ji was among the finest I have experienced.

My shooting speed is probably also the fastest in the world.

When I finally saw the sliding-door paintings inside, I thought, “What?”

There was a bamboo painting whose brushwork resembled that of Hasegawa Tōhaku.

I wondered, “Was there a Hasegawa Tōhaku here?” and looked at the description.
It said: Domoto Inshō.

I pass in front of the Domoto Inshō Museum about fifty times a year, yet I have never entered it once.

I had never had an opportunity to encounter his paintings, and therefore had no interest in him at all.

Yet through that painting, in an instant, I realized that Domoto Inshō was indeed no ordinary artist.