In the studio of a Buddhist sculptor

Serene faces, complex carved robes, frozen hands with compassionate gestures – Buddhist sculptures will flourish in faith and discipline and become a still moment. Although they seem to belong to the distant past, BusshiOr Buddhist sculptors, which continue to flourish in Japan today.

For Kyoto-born sculptor Gakyu Miyamoto is one of Japan’s most outstanding Busshis, ancient art is not only related to preservation. It’s about shaping a beauty that will be away from him for centuries through a modern perspective – capturing eternity in a way that resonates in the present.

A person must get lost first

Miyamoto grew up in a religious family, but was a spirituality waiting in every corner in Kyoto. “Kyoto is the kind of place you see the statue of Kisashi when you see it [a child-protection deity] Miyamoto recalls: “In Kyoto dialect, we call them Manman-chan, and my mom always tells me, ‘Manman-chan is watching, so if you lie or do something bad, you get your thing.”

When Miyamoto was a child, Miyamoto liked to draw and build things with his hands. In middle school, he turned his attention to designing clothing. “Even when I was young, I was attracted to being a craftsman, fashion design seemed cool,” he said. After two years in college fashion courses and three more years at a vocational school, he entered the industry as a fashion illustrator and contributed to magazines.

But the industry’s light soon became boring. “During college, I’ve started to be restricted by fashion and have to attract a wide range of modern customers,” he said. The illustrations feel free, but the trend moves too quickly. “What you designed has passed in a year.” Uneasy, he began to paint abstract canvases, but it also began to feel limited.

At that time, through his brother’s introduction, he first entered the sculpture studio. There he helped draw a robe of a 3-meter-high statue of a Buddhist goddess. “I think it’s a great opportunity to see a new world,” he said. But when he walked into the studio and saw the sculptor immersed in handicrafts, he ran into something.

“I always thought fashion was something that the wearer could hate, so I spent a lot of time learning about the human body. Initially, I thought sculpture and fashion had nothing in common, but my understanding of the human body and the texture became very useful. Jumping into the world of sculpture, into the world of sculpture, I felt like I could hear the lock of the gears-I finally found the gear. I finally found the gear.

Continuous Art

At the age of twenty-five, Miyamoto was considered to be the late stage of arts and crafts. He managed to find a job in the studio of two brothers in Kyoto. The elder, a Busshi, created and restored Buddhist sculptures, while the young sculptures Ihaishispecializing in commemorating tablets to commemorate the spirit of the deceased. Miyamoto became their first apprentice, and his days spent carvings and demolishing centuries of statues for repair. At night, he practices carving at home, trying to make up for the lost time.

“The first thing I did as an apprentice was to unpack a 1,000-year-old sculpture to wash it,” he said. “I learned firsthand how these sculptures were made centuries ago.” For a young artist, who was tired of the brief cycle of fashion, the transition was dazzling. “Wearing clothes, the trend is fast. With sculpture, you are making things that last 100, 500, 1000 years – for a world you will no longer enter. The difference in size is shocking.”

Like all Busshi, Miyamoto is named after the sculptor: Gakyu. Usually, the apprentice will choose a name composed of two Chinese characters, one of which is inherited from its owner. Miyamoto breaks down with tradition. “Usually, you inherit a role from the teacher. But when I asked, he said my style was so different that I should choose my own name.” “I promise both my master and I are good,” he said with a smile.

He chose to combine the Chinese characters “ga” (“self”) and “kyu” (“rest”). “Over the whole training, my teacher told me my ‘ga’ – my self-awareness – that was too strong and it would have a negative impact on my work. I combined it with ‘kyu’ to remind myself that I could check my self as long as someone calls me by the name.”

Destruction and creation

After nine years of training, Miyamoto left his Masters studio independent and established his own studio Miyamoto Miyamoto-Kogi in the Nicea Mountains of Kyoto. However, nearly a year after leaving, he did not commission. Typically, Busshi usually handles some large-scale committees from temples or galleries every year, which often come from personal contacts. After starting his studio, Miyamoto had no such contact, and he had to find a way to build himself.

Without paid work, he spent a lot of time creating his own version of symbols, which every Japanese would recognize: Daruma. “I happened to have a daruma photo of my father in the studio,” he recalls. “I thought, ‘If I had redesigned it with a modern twist, people might have learned me.'” He reimagined the traditional doll – a round, wide-eyed, and its gaze was strong, but it looked sweet in some way – by creating smooth textured, dense eyebrows versions and cartoon expressions, often balancing unbalanced objects on the head.

Then there was his first real committee, which was actually born from the fire. Just as he was about to put down his head and beg his master to take him back, a priest approached him. The pastor explained that a member of their community house was burned down and he wondered if Miyamoto could make sculptures from the destroyed house. “Essentially everything turned into ashes, but there was a big pillar, and the interior of the wood was still fresh.” The finished work became both a devotion and a memorial, and also a Miyamoto, a meaningful first committee with a domino effect that connects him to more inquiries.

Now Miyamoto’s work grows with his reputation as his identity. One of his most important commissions was from the Shimogamo Shrine last year, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the oldest sanctuaries in Kyoto. The shrine allowed him to create a new Guardian for the temple – a statue that has not changed for 150 years.

“It’s an honor to receive such an important inquiries from the shrine,” Miyamoto said. The resulting work stands at the entrance, is an implementation of power and protection, but also has a continuity, connecting the 2,000-year-old shrine to the hands of the living artist.

Maintenance work is also the core of Miyamoto’s practice, and the process requires not only technology, but also discernment. Sometimes the statue resumes and appears as before. At other times, their elderly patina was saved as part of the story.

Today, he handles the sacred statues of Kiyomizudera and Nanzenji – temples that attract millions of tourists every year. “I am still very nervous about dealing with ancient sculptures,” he admitted with a smile. “If my skills are not comparable to the original creator, it won’t appear correctly. It’s another responsibility to do something from scratch.” For the court, the repair process was an act of respect and humility, then before the hand that was carved centuries ago.

Space for self-expression

Miyamoto’s perception of the artist’s role continued to evolve over time. “I began to believe that sculpture also needed self-expression,” he said, citing respect from medieval masters unkei and Kaikei, who respected tradition but also developed different styles that were revolutionary at the time. “It’s important to respect the traditional approach, but also to be aware of the modern beauty and how you express it yourself. I already think ‘ga’ is actually very valuable.”

Even if you try to suppress your personality, he will find that it will find your job somehow. “The human sculpture is like a kind of emotion that comes from looking at a glass-sculpture. So I try to work on the kind of work that reflects my current mood. For example, I often work on Sunday’s kind Gizzo or animal sculptures, and after that, I spend two little jokers.”

Despite all his achievements, Miyamoto talks most enthusiastically about an unfulfilled dream: creating one Shinbutsu – A supreme god with a true sense of divineness. “For me, this is a work of 1,000 or 2,000 years from now,” he said. “Sculpture with universal, unchanging beauty.”

He believes that in order to achieve this goal, it is necessary to oscillate continuously between the past, present and future. “To get a glimpse of the future, you first have to know the past. I learned about the past from restoration, and I tried to connect with a modern audience to figure out what resonates with the present.”

Miyamoto’s sculpture has multiple layers of balance inside: tradition and personality, reverence and play, stillness and expression. Each form gives something invisible, tempting admiration and reflection – about the nature of God, the nature of piety, to create a meaning intended to transcend one’s own life.

More information

To learn more about Miyamoto’s work, visit his website.

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Updated on September 30, 2025