Art | Enhancing elegance of Japanese House

The term "hidden treasure" might be a long-overworked cliche, yet how else can one describe the Japanese House and Garden in Fairmount Park, an architectural and aesthetic masterpiece by any standard?

The house, called Shofusa ("pine breeze villa"), isn't hidden if you know where to look, but fortunately the site is unobtrusive. Otherwise the enchanted environment would he compromised by noise and traffic.

A gift from the Japanese people, the house, designed in the style of the 16th and early 17th centuries, opened in 1958. Originally the interior contained landscape paintings by Japanese artist Kaii Higashiyama. These were destroyed by vandals in the 1970s, and until recently the walls, which are mostly sliding panels called fusuma, were plain white.

Several months ago, the house was invigorated by the installation of a new set of 20 murals painted and donated by Japanese artist Hiroshi Senju, who has studios in Tokyo and New York. These panels impart both vitality and contemplative calm to the spartan interior, which is otherwise minimally appointed.

This might sound contradictory, but the murals in fact generate an active interior mood while providing a soothing harmony with the lily pond and miniature waterfall just beyond the house's open porch.

All the panels are semi-abstracted interpretations of falling water created by combining several techniques. Beginning with sheets of black mulberry paper, Senju poured paint from the top (a technique associated with American artist Morris Louis). He also brushed, spattered and, at the bottom, sprayed.

The paintings look nearly monochrome but in fact represent a mixture of several colors, including red, yellow and green. The exact hue of the darker passages is hard to pin down; to me they look dark brown with tinges of green. The important thing is that the color isn't homogeneous; it shifts according to intensity and direction of light.

For panels of this type, Japanese painters would normally use organic or mineral pigments. However, because the climate here is said to be drier than in Japan (hard to believe), Senju used acrylics from Switzerland.

Looking at these paintings isn't a museum experience. There isn't any artificial light in the two rooms, which are open to the south-facing porch, so try to go on a sunny day. The paintings are designed to be seen from floor level - that is, kneeling or sitting - but visitors aren't normally allowed to enter the rooms. You can see them adequately from the porch, however, if the light is bright.

Senju's murals provide an uncommon experience, and not just because they establish a gentle dialogue with the garden and the pond. More than casual decoration, they create a poetic aura that amplifies the elegant architecture.

I saw the murals on a rainy day, and still the effect was noticeable. Sitting on the porch, one is bracketed by artificial nature on one side and natural artifice on the other. It's a perfect refuge for those who can still appreciate art that doesn't flash, move or make noise.

A foil to Rocky. Philadelphia's putative cultural midway on the Parkway just gained another attraction, a monumental steel abstraction by the American sculptor Mark di Suvero called Iroquois. Several weeks ago, the bright scarlet angularity was anchored at the east end of the mall-like lawn on the north side of Eakins Oval. The sculpture was acquired by local collector David Pincus and given to the Fairmount Park Art Association.

The Art Museum environs are thick with figurative monuments, the most prominent one being the George Washington statue at the west end of the oval. Iroquois' immediate neighbors also include the gilded Joan of Arc at 25th Street, Gen. Anthony Wayne, also in gilded bronze, on the museum's east terrace, and, of course, Joe Palooka Stallone near the base of the museum's front steps.

The 40-foot-high di Suvero, a cluster of heavy steel I-beams projecting in several directions, is the first permanent abstraction in the neighborhood. Eight years ago, a large sculpture of similar scale and color by Alexander Calder perched on the museum's east terrace for about a year before it was sold and carted off to a sculpture park in Seattle.

Because of its size, bright color and prominent, elevated site, the Calder stabile, called Eagle, generated considerable visual impact. It made the case for locating a large-scale modern or contemporary sculpture on or near the oval to counterpoint all the bronze figures disporting themselves along the Parkway and Kelly Drive.

Iroquois doesn't make quite as strong an impression, largely, I think, because of its site. When I first saw it in place I thought it needed to be higher off the street. Eagle was 72 steps above the sidewalk and played against the soft caramel stone of the museum building. Iroquois, on the grass, is less imposing, especially for drivers or pedestrians moving east to west, or along Pennsylvania Avenue.

This is despite its being a powerful abstract expressionist composition, thrusting upward and outward, symbolizing the creative energy and dynamism of contemporary American society. Di Suvero said he titled the piece Iroquois because he wanted to honor "a great tribe." He might have added that members of the Iroquois nation have been known for generations as intrepid steelworkers who have built many of the country's skyscrapers.

Placed as it is, the 171/2-ton sculpture forms one axis along the lawn with Joan of Arc to the west, at 25th Street, and another across the oval with George Washington to the south. The most effective view is probably from the Joan of Arc end of the lawn, because from there the sculpture is framed against a dark backdrop of trees.

At this time of the year, another unobstructed view presents itself from the south or southwest. From where Washington sits astride his horse, one of Iroquois' vertical elements echoes the spire of St. Francis Xavier Church just to its north.

While Eagle was an instant hit, Iroquois will take some getting used to, because its impact on its surroundings, and our impression of it, will change noticeably with the seasons. I think it will come into its full glory in winter and early spring, when it will provide a robust grace note in an otherwise dun landscape.