Experiences – Life – Inspiration 🇨🇭🇯🇵

Last year, I made a bold—and honestly, rather desperate—decision in our garden. Armed with nothing more than a hand saw, I cut several stubborn shrubs all the way down to the ground. These shrubs had become woody, overgrown, and unresponsive. Their branches were tough and brittle, their leaves sparse. They didn’t look like they were going anywhere, and frankly, I thought they were beyond saving. I assumed they were just neglected Japanese boxwood.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was sawing into a mix of rhododendrons and azaleas, two cherished flowering shrubs in traditional Japanese gardens.

I didn’t expect them to come back. But this spring, to my surprise, they did.

The once-hardened stumps sent out vibrant new shoots, filled out with healthy green leaves, and then—against all odds—burst into pink and white blossoms. It was the first time I had seen these plants flower since moving here. I was stunned. I had unknowingly given them a new life with what’s known in horticulture as rejuvenation pruning—cutting a shrub back drastically to encourage fresh growth.

With their lush new form, I started to look at them differently. Inspired by the serene shapes I’d seen in Japanese temple gardens and the incredible work at the Adachi Museum of Art in Shimane Prefecture, I began researching a traditional technique called karikomi (刈込)—the art of pruning shrubs into soft, rounded cloud-like shapes.

What is Karikomi?

Karikomi is a Japanese pruning method that sculpts shrubs into smooth, undulating domes—like living green clouds. Commonly applied to azaleas, rhododendrons, and boxwoods, karikomi is less about the plant itself and more about its shape in space. It reflects a refined garden philosophy: controlled simplicity, organic balance, and the harmony between human intention and natural form.

The technique is not only aesthetic; it’s atmospheric. Rounded shrubs soften the garden’s landscape, drawing the eye gently from one element to the next. It also invites stillness—an intentional kind of beauty that evolves over seasons.

The Adachi Museum: A Living Masterpiece

The Adachi Museum of Art, world-renowned for its gardens, offers some of the most beautiful examples of karikomi in Japan. Its founder, Adachi Zenko, believed that a garden should be viewed as a form of art. The museum’s meticulously maintained shrubs, clipped into rolling formations, seem almost painted into the landscape—scenes of stillness and discipline in every curve.

(Source: Adachi Museum of Art Official Website)

My Humble First Attempt

Now that the shrubs have rebounded with such vitality, I’m planning to shape them—slowly and carefully—into karikomi-style domes. Some are finally dense enough to start. I’m under no illusion that I’ll get it perfect on the first try. The cuts might be uneven. The shapes may not quite balance. But one thing I now know is this: these plants are resilient. And like me, they’re learning to take on new form after a bit of radical change.

There’s something satisfying about this. I’m not a professional gardener. I’m just someone who saw life struggling and gave it a hard reset with a hand saw. Now I’m learning to shape that comeback into something beautiful—one careful cut at a time.