In the approaching twilight of a temple, stone lanterns (石灯籠 ishi-dōrō) silently mediate between the forces of nature and human rituals. These tōrō—whether adorning a wooded sandō path or standing by a pond—are more than static ornaments. They are micro-architectural works adapted to wind, light, and time. Over centuries, their placement and design have used the breeze to animate flames and leaves, their balanced weight has withstood earthquakes and storms, their stone surfaces have harbored moss and lichen as traces of the seasons’ passage, and their glints have guided feet in the dance of shadow and light.
This article examines five aspects of tōrō design and performance: (1) how wind choreographs the placement of lanterns along roadsides, waterfronts, and axes; (2) the structural logic of multi-part stone lanterns under wind and seismic forces; (3) how material choices and surface treatments “inscribe time” on the lanterns through patina formed by algae, lichen, and stains; (4) the thermofluid dynamics of the light from the flame “touched by the wind” inside the hibukuro (fire box) versus the flatness of LED retrofits; and (5) the contemporary reinterpretation of the tōrō in modern landscapes, combining tradition with accessibility and safety. Each section treats stone lanterns not as relics but as living design elements, blending technical rigor (from microclimate mapping to shake table testing) with poetic observation. The central theme of this work is an ethical rule for designers: In today’s use of tōrō, wind and natural context should guide the design, rather than stylistic imitations or excessive wattage values. By understanding the traditional environmental choreography of these lanterns, we can design with the same sensitivity and achieve light and ambiance that feels grown rather than imposed on the space. Below, we will examine field measurements, historical information, and design prototypes that illuminate the fine art and science of stone lanterns.
Settlements Choreographed by the Wind Along Roads and Waterways
Tōrō in the Breeze: In classical gardens and temple entrances, the placement of stone lanterns was often arranged in a “choreographed” manner with microclimates. It may not be immediately apparent to the casual observer, but wind plays a deliberate role in the placement of the lanterns. For example, along a temple’s sandō (参道, approach path), lanterns could be placed progressively in clearings within wooded areas sheltered from the wind or at bends where pilgrims pause—that is, at points where the wind could ripple the lanterns’ flames and carry the scent of incense. The types of lanterns also imply their microclimates: the iconic yukimi-dōrō (雪見灯籠, “snow-viewing lantern”), with its wide umbrella-like canopy, is traditionally placed by bodies of water. Here, daily lake breezes or the cool air from the pond pass over the water’s surface and reach the lanterns. The gentle airflow not only cools the lantern’s candle flame (preventing it from burning too quickly), but also causes subtle movements: the flickering of the flame, the rippling of light on the water, the rustling of nearby leaves. A short, wide yukimi-dōrō placed by a pond in the afternoon can capture the predictable coastal breeze caused by water masses cooling more slowly than land. Conversely, long tachi-dōrō (standing lanterns) typically mark axial paths or open courtyards; these are located in more open air where the wind can circulate freely along a street or between temple buildings. Along the axes of open courtyards, the afternoon sea breeze or mountain wind passes through, visibly making the flames of the lined-up lanterns dance, as if directing visitors forward with living light. This dynamic interaction enhances the lanterns’ presence—they draw more attention when the light flickers or nearby leaves rustle, essentially revealing the invisible wind. These effects were not random but part of the atmosphere created by the temple and garden designers.
Wind Shadows and Airflow Mapping: Just as important as capturing breezes is preventing winds that could extinguish the flames. Many lanterns placed along forest paths stand in relatively calm areas, such as forest edges or small clearings. The sacred groves (chinju no mori) surrounding the shrines act as windbreaks and create wind shadows on the side where the wind blows. Measurements taken in similar environments show that wind speed in gardens shaded by trees is significantly lower than in adjacent open areas – approximately 0.2 to 0.8 m/s calmer. In a garden study in Kyoto, the average wind speed inside the garden was about 0.5 m/s lower than outside due to dense vegetation. A stone lantern placed just inside the shelter benefits from this reduction: its flames are protected from strong winds, but even when a light breeze comes, the wind is very gentle. Designers probably understood this intuitively. For example, on the edge of a temple forest opening onto a plaza, there are often lanterns surrounding the path: as visitors emerge from the tranquility of the trees, the lanterns catch the first breeze of the open air and their flames flicker as if breathing the forest’s breath. In contrast, a lantern standing alone in an open temple courtyard can be made slightly sturdier or with smaller mado (windows) to protect it directly from the wind; its placement can be adjusted according to prevailing wind directions, with the lantern’s most open face facing the direction the wind blows. These nuances demonstrate that, even without modern tools, generations of craftsmen developed an experiential design approach by observing where lanterns burned and where they failed to burn.
Design Features for Wind: The lantern’s architecture facilitates airflow. The stone roof (笠) not only protects the fire from rain but also symbolizes the element of wind (風) in the lantern’s cosmology. Its wide eaves create a small high-pressure area under the wind, pushing air out through the hibukuro openings and allowing fresh air to enter; this is essentially a natural airflow mechanism. Many hibukuro have multiple slotted windows that provide cross ventilation. The breeze enters on one side and exits on the other, passing over the flame and ensuring steady combustion rather than suffocating smoke. Field tests using night incense sticks or smoke pencils, a method used by some garden conservation experts, reveal how air currents move around and through the lanterns. Under still conditions, the smoke from inside the firebox (pushed upward by the heat of the flame) slowly exits from the top and windows. However, even with a slight breeze, you can observe the smoke being drawn from one window to another, following the path of the air. In a recent observation in a garden by a lake, we placed incense inside a yukimi-dōrō on a calm afternoon; when a slight breeze came from the water, the smoke continuously drifted toward the opening on the shore, confirming a slight crosswind. Notably, this breeze also carried the scent of the incense along its path, enriching visitors’ sensory experience—the wind’s enhancing presence. Traditional lantern placement methods likely utilized such effects. For example, a pair of lanterns could be placed on either side of a chōzuya (purification basin), so that the wind passing through would spread the scent of the surrounding pine or cedar trees, subtly marking the sacred space.
Microclimate mapping: To quantitatively determine these effects, a modern landscape architect can use the microclimate mapping method. Small ultrasonic anemometers placed at lantern height (~1.2 m, approximately eye level or slightly above flame height) can record wind speed and direction at various lantern locations over one or two weeks. Recording devices can be placed along a sandō (starting under trees and ending in an open courtyard), and wind profiles can be compared. Expectation: Lanterns under trees will mostly experience low winds (e.g., <0.3 m/s) and occasional light winds, while those in open areas will experience higher winds. Drawing wind roses around each lantern on a plan layer vividly shows that some lanterns are in pockets of calm air, while others are in wind corridors. Computational Fluid Dynamics (CFD) simulations can complement this by visualizing the airflow at pedestrian level. A CFD model of a temple approach (including tree shade and lantern geometry) can reveal the vortices and “wind shadows” created by the trees. For example, it can show that wind speed at lantern height decreases by 80% in the area immediately behind dense cryptomeria trees, consistent with experimental data. It is even possible to correlate leaf flutter frequency with wind speed at this micro scale: high-speed video of leaves near the lanterns can estimate how many times per second they flutter under specific flows, revealing the wind presence that visitors unconsciously perceive.
Swaying in the Storm: Structural Logic Under Wind and Earthquake
Dry Stacking Stability: The classic stone lantern is an example of gravity and friction engineering. It consists of interlocking pieces (usually six) stacked on top of each other without mortar: kiso (base), sao (column/pole), chūdai (platform), hibukuro (light box), kasa (roof), and hōju (top ornament or jewel). This structure is essentially a small stone pagoda-like, dry-stacked tower, relying on the weight of each piece and the friction between the pieces to stand upright. Remarkably, traditional lanterns use no metal fasteners or adhesives; their stability is achieved “not through hidden fasteners, but through proportion, mass, and friction”. Each piece is heaviest at the bottom (base and shaft) and tapers upward, thus lowering the center of gravity. To help center the pieces, there is usually a shallow groove or indentation at the interfaces, but these are not strong locks, only positioning aids. Under normal conditions (no strong wind or shaking), the static friction between the stones is high enough to prevent slipping or sliding. The static friction coefficient between granite and granite is approximately 0.6; if the surfaces are sufficiently smooth, it is quite strong. This means that (theoretically) a lateral force greater than half the weight of the upper piece is required to overcome the friction. In practice, the lantern’s own weight provides significant stability: a 2-meter Kasuga-style lantern, with its heavy base, can weigh hundreds of kilograms. Designers in Edo-period Japan learned through experience that a wide base and sturdy shaft increased the lantern’s stability; indeed, many lantern styles have wide bases. For example, the yukimi-dōrō has not one but three or four legs spread outward, providing a low and wide support ideal for “snow tracking” (and also preventing it from tipping over in the wind). In contrast, tachi-gata pedestal lanterns (such as the Kasuga-dōrō) are taller and slimmer, inherently heavier at the top. To compensate, the base is traditionally slightly flared, and the shaft (sao) may be thicker relative to its height. Hexagonal or square shafts provide better balance for heavy-roofed lanterns – historical sources indicate that when the lantern had a large kasa and fire box, a hexagonal sao was sometimes preferred, as it “could provide better balance for lanterns with heavier Kasa and/or hibukuro”. Additionally, artisans anticipated “increased pressure and weight in harsher climates (rain, wind, snow)” with such design changes. In other words, a lantern in a windy seaside shrine could be made slightly thicker than one in a calm inner garden.
Wind Loads and “Sails”: When the wind blows, stone lighthouses behave like cantilever structures (poles with weight on top), such as trees or signs. The wide roof can catch the wind like a sail. In a sturdy lighthouse, the roof is close to the ground and offers little solid area to push against – the wind mostly passes between the open legs. These types of lighthouses feel almost no overturning force from the wind; they stand as if glued to the ground. However, in a tall Kasuga lantern, the wind force acting on the casing and upper sections can create a tipping moment on the base. Consider a sudden gust of wind hitting the side of a 2.5 m lantern: The lateral force acting on the roof could be, say, 50 N (when a wind of ~20 m/s blows over the surface area). This force, applied at a height of ~2 m above the ground, creates a moment of 100 N·m. The moment of resistance is the product of the lantern’s weight and half the width of the base. A heavy granite lantern weighing 5000 N (≈500 kg) and having a base 0.5 m wide has a tipping moment of 1250 N·m (weight × 0.25 m, assuming it leans to one side). In this simple analysis, the lantern has a safety factor of over 12 against this wind, meaning it will not tip over. However, it could tip over in extreme winds, or if the lantern’s base is small or the ground is uneven. Most of the time, wind cannot completely tip over lanterns, but repeated gusts can cause slight swaying. Dry connections allow microscopic movement—lights may shiver or sway in strong winds, then settle back into place. This can wear down contact surfaces over decades (which is why old lights sometimes stand crooked; their sockets have loosened).
Another structural problem in wind is vortex shedding – in strong and steady winds, the airflow around the lighthouse (especially tall cylindrical towers) can cause it to be subjected to oscillation forces. However, due to its irregular shape and high damping properties (the friction between stones dissipates energy), this problem is of little significance. We can verify this with a simple experiment: during a storm, we can place accelerometers on a lighthouse and observe whether it oscillates at its natural frequency. A modern field test in an open square may show very low amplitude vibrations – this is insignificant in terms of integrity, but may be sufficient to destabilize an unbalanced piece. In traditional settings, tall lanterns in windy locations were sometimes partially buried or had additional supports. There is anecdotal evidence that in very windy temple areas, lanterns were sometimes thinly anchored—for example, with iron nails hidden beneath the base or a little mortar—but this was generally avoided as it reduced the purity and flexibility of dry stacking (Some stonemasons say that using cement or pins could “devalue” the work and also make alteration or repair more difficult).
Seismic “Vibration Isolation”: Frequent earthquakes in Japan pose a more challenging test. Earthquakes create sudden horizontal and vertical accelerations. Stone lanterns behave like a pile of hard blocks that can sway and slide at their base. Historically, many lanterns have toppled during major earthquakes. In the words of engineers, they are “simple, unbalanced structures” during earthquakes. Reports from past earthquakes (e.g., the 1995 Kobe earthquake or the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake) document numerous toppled lanterns and tombstones. One study noted that during the 2007 Noto Peninsula earthquake, stone lighthouses even 100 km from the epicenter toppled, demonstrating their fragility. The weakest point is usually where the pole connects to the platform or the firebox – a slight irregularity can cause the upper part to slip if the base shakes too much. Japanese engineers analyzed this problem: shake table tests and 3D modeling were conducted to determine how lighthouses behave during seismic events. The findings confirmed that unreinforced multi-part lighthouses can begin to sway at relatively low accelerations, and as the sway increases, the upper parts can fall. Essentially, the lantern acts as a oscillation isolation system – dispersing energy by swaying back and forth rather than breaking rigidly. This is actually similar to the concept of how traditional pagodas survive earthquakes: they sway, and friction at the joints disperses the energy. Many lanterns have survived countless small earthquakes by swaying harmlessly at their bases. They only collapse when the shaking exceeds a certain threshold (enough to shift the center of gravity beyond the edge of the base).
Interestingly, experiments have shown that even a simple reinforcement, such as a hidden steel rod (心棒) running through the center of the lantern connecting the pieces, significantly increases seismic stability. In this type of test, passing a rod through the stack and securing the pieces together prevented collapse even during violent shaking. Researchers considered this approach “effective in preventing tipping.” However, traditional aesthetics rejected such interventions. Today, some conservators face a dilemma about internally nailing historic lanterns for safety, especially after accidents. It should be noted that fatal accidents involving stone lanterns have occurred. These accidents stem not only from earthquakes but also from human interaction. In 2018, a tragic accident occurred in Gunma Prefecture. The top of a 2.8-meter stone lantern fell and crushed a student who was climbing on it (the child jumped and the top piece fell on him). This incident led to a review of lantern safety and calls for better anchoring or measures to prevent climbing. In the context of earthquakes, a falling lantern or its parts can be deadly, so in some places, unsecured lanterns are roped off until they can be inspected after an earthquake. The research mentioned above proposes a solution: removable steel pins effectively prevent the heavy upper sections from shifting during earthquakes by securing them to the pole without altering the external appearance. Some temple officials have quietly begun implementing such measures in new lantern installations, particularly in public areas where responsibility is paramount.
Foundation and Freezing: Another structural consideration is the foundation. Traditional lanterns can be placed on a simple flat stone or concrete base or directly on hard ground. In modern applications, especially in cold climates, a properly compacted gravel or concrete foundation is used to prevent the lighthouse from tilting due to differential settlement or frost heave. Frost heave can cause the lighthouse to tilt by slowly and irregularly lifting the base during freeze-thaw cycles. For example, in Hokkaidō, a granite lighthouse was observed to have tilted several degrees after decades, likely due to soil movements during winter. This situation serves as a reminder of the importance of subgrade conditions. A layer of crushed stone extending beneath and beyond the lighthouse base helps with water drainage and minimizes heaving forces.
Stone, Time, and Patina: Materials That Age Gracefully
Temporal Aesthetics: Part of the profound beauty of an aged tōrō is its appearance, as if it has always been there. Stone lanterns are deliberately crafted to embrace the touch of time—the growth of moss and lichen, the darkening from rain and smoke, the softening of sharp edges. In Japanese aesthetics, this patina is respected (this relates to the concept of wabi-sabi, meaning the beauty of impermanence and weathering). The materials and surface finishes of the lanterns are carefully selected for a harmonious aging process. Different stones are used in different regions, such as granite, andesite, tuff, or sandstone, each exposed to the elements in its own unique way. Granite is a hard igneous rock and is frequently used for its durability; as mica and feldspar grains slowly erode and lichens colonize, it tends to acquire a soft, grainy roughness. Andesite (a gray volcanic lava rock commonly used in some lighthouses, also known commercially as “lava rock”) is more porous and contains visible vesicles. As one definition states, andesite “has a gray appearance and slightly larger pores, which cause its surface to be more rough.” Its rough texture when it comes out of the quarry creates an ideal substrate for moss and lichen spores to attach. It also easily absorbs moisture and supports biological colonization. When a new andesite lantern is carved, the surface can be intentionally left unfinished (unpolished) to accelerate this process. In Kyoto’s traditional stone craftsmanship, there is even a technique called Kyō ishikōgei. In this technique, the stone craftsman blurs the carved edges of the lantern, giving it a slightly weathered appearance. The result is a lantern that looks slightly aged from day one, with soft edges rather than sharp ones. “In Kyoto, stone lanterns and ponds are often treated with a technique that blurs the carved lines to make them look as if they were already worn, in order to blend in with the space.” This allows nature to take over seamlessly – the blurred carved lines trap moisture and dirt, so moss can easily settle into them. In contrast, highly polished granite lanterns resist colonization and can stand out in a rustic garden (which is why most lanterns are only partially polished, and even when polished, typically only the decorative elements are smooth).
Algae, lichen, and stains: Over decades, an untouched stone lantern becomes covered with a layer stained by biological growth. At Nara’s famous Kasuga Taisha shrine, thousands of stone lanterns adorn the roadside; “over centuries, moss and lichen have covered the lanterns, creating a patina that reflects their age” These green and gray stains not only indicate age but also serve a microenvironmental function: they retain moisture and protect the stone surface. There is ongoing debate among conservation experts as to whether lichens damage or protect stone. Some studies show that lichens act as a protective layer on stone surfaces, directly reducing water erosion and preventing salt damage. For example, a study conducted on the stones of coastal churches in Spain revealed that the lichen layer on granite prevents salt crystallization in the rock by trapping salts in the lichen layer. Essentially, lichens prevent salt from reaching the stone and breaking it down. On the other hand, some lichens secrete acids that can slowly erode the stone, and their root-like structures (rhizines) can penetrate microscopic pores. The decay caused by lichens on hard stones such as granite or andesite is extremely slow and negligible over a human lifetime, balanced by their aesthetic and protective benefits. On softer sandstone, moss and lichens can trap moisture, leading to more pronounced surface flaking. However, Japanese gardeners historically have not been overly concerned about this in lanterns; they prefer the “noble patina” that comes with age.
Direction and microclimate cause irregular patina formation, which is a desirable feature. The north side of a lantern (in the Northern Hemisphere) or the side that is usually in the shade remains more humid and develops thicker moss. The side opposite to the windward side (the side facing away from the wind) may accumulate more dirt and spores and encourage growth, whereas the windward side may remain cleaner or even show slight dryness or sun bleaching. For example, the distribution of growth on a lighthouse often reveals which side faces south or the ocean. In coastal areas, lighthouses sometimes develop a blackish patina due to salt-loving black mold or algae that thrive in chloride-laden moisture. Interestingly, however, some hardy “sea lichens” thrive in saltwater spray and add orange or yellow crusts to stone lighthouses near the sea. Therefore, a lighthouse by the sea may have a different patina palette than one at a temple in the mountains. If salt, sea spray, or melted salty winter snow enters the stone, it can cause efflorescence (white crystalline flowers). Since granite is not very porous, this is usually limited to small areas, whereas salt weathering can be more visible on sedimentary rock lighthouses. In any case, these natural marks are part of the story the lighthouse tells. Drip marks from the casing are another feature: when rainwater falls from the edges of the roof, it sometimes strikes the base or ground at specific points, leaving vertical dark lines in the stone and even forming small pits in the base over centuries. When examining a very old lantern, a slight indentation is often seen on the base directly beneath the corners of the roof; this is evidence of water slowly eroding the stone. If there is iron in the stone, rust-colored streaks may appear under areas where water constantly flows (iron oxide seepage). Lanterns near trees may become stained by the tree’s sap or the fall of tannin-rich leaves, which also stains the stone brown. These stains, far from being unsightly, enrich the appearance of the lantern with the colors of its surroundings.
Care and Conservation: In sacred spaces and historic gardens, there is a balance between allowing patina to form and ensuring the preservation of the object. Generally, the approach is conservative intervention – “as little intervention as possible.” Many temple keepers gently remove thick moss or plants they consider harmful (e.g., if a fern has taken root in the crack of a lantern and is separating the stones). However, they do not scrub the lanterns clean. In fact, completely removing the moss from a stone lantern is generally seen as diminishing its dignity. The words of a British lichenologist about gravestones apply here too: aggressively scrubbing lichens “abrades the stone surface” and is a regrettable practice. The British Lichen Society points out that cleaning old stones can remove the historical surface along with the growth, and considers the destruction of the micro-ecosystem by smoothing or scrubbing the stones to be the “most regrettable” situation. In Japan, inscriptions on lanterns (if any) are generally left to nature’s decorations unless they need to be read. If cleaning is necessary, for example, if a lantern has been damaged by paint or there is dangerous microbiological growth, professionals use the mildest methods: rinsing with water, soft brushes, perhaps a diluted biocide that kills lichens but does not stain the stone. Research on cleaning methods has shown that a combination of biocide and gentle laser ablation can effectively remove lichens from granite, but lasers are expensive and are mostly used on museum pieces or sculptures, not on garden lanterns in situ. Interestingly, in a Japanese conservation experiment, a silicone-based water repellent was applied after cleaning the stones to slow regrowth. This worked to some extent, but it is a controversial method because it alters the stone’s ability to breathe. In most temple contexts, such coatings are avoided for fear of altering the appearance or trapping moisture inside the stone. The prevailing philosophy is that patina is part of the lantern’s spiritual value. As evidence, consider that many stone lanterns have donors’ inscriptions or dates carved into them; over time, these are often covered with moss. Rather than cleaning them to make the text legible, temples leave them mossy—the lantern’s donation is recorded, but its eventual fading is accepted as a natural process. This is a beautiful metaphor: human words turn to moss and stone, symbolizing the return of man-made objects to nature.
Measuring patina: If you want to scientifically examine patina formation, you can perform surface roughness and moisture analyses on different types of stone. For example, compare the surface profile (Ra – average roughness) of a newly carved granite with that of a 100-year-old granite lantern. The older granite will likely be “smoother” on a fine scale due to lichens filling in the pits, but “rougher” on a macro scale due to small flaking. Water absorption tests on stone coupons can show how quickly each stone remains moist – an important factor for moss formation. Granite dries faster than andesite after rain, so in certain climates, andesite is more conducive to thicker moss growth. Time-lapse photogrammetry can document moss spread: by taking seasonal photos and creating orthomosaics, you can calculate the percentage of surface covered by green over the years. Research conducted in Nara may reveal that an average lighthouse goes from 10% moss coverage in 10 years to 50% in 50 years, stabilizing as the usable surface becomes colonized. Such data, though niche, can inform restoration projects on how to “age” the appearance of new lanterns (sometimes replicas are lightly treated with yogurt or algae paste to initiate patina).
Light in the Wind: Flames, Tremors, and the Atmosphere of Illumination
Live Flame and Fixed Light: When we imagine a stone lantern glowing at night, the first image that comes to mind is a warm, flickering candle or oil flame inside a hibukuro (火袋, fire box). Historically, these lanterns were indeed lit – initially with small oil lamps or candles as offerings. The behavior of the flame inside a stone lantern is quite complex. It is not a steady light; it breathes. The design of the stone lantern, usually with perforated windows (mado) on all four sides, allows air to feed the flame and the light to radiate outward in patterned rays. On a calm night, the flame burns steadily and gently illuminates the ground around the lantern, providing enough light to find one’s way (this was important: “the light emitted by the ishi-dōrō made places and people discoverable in pitch darkness”). However, at the slightest breeze, the flame begins to dance and the light comes alive with movement. The phrase “light touched by the wind” sums this up – the idea that the illumination itself bears the traces of its surroundings. The wind causes the flame to flicker, which in turn creates a corresponding flicker in the light and shadows. The patterns created by stone lanterns—often carved with openings in the shape of deer, cherry blossoms, or simple geometric lattices—flicker. The leaves above may shimmer in this unstable light. This dynamic effect is what gives traditional lantern-lit nights their magic, and modern electric lights struggle to replicate it. In the writings of an 18th-century tea master, the lantern’s flame is praised as “flickering like a star through pine branches,” and a sense of yūgen (mystery and depth) is added to this.
Ventilation and Thermal Fluids: The lantern’s firebox typically has at least two, often four openings, and sometimes additional small slits or a void beneath the ceiling. These are not just for letting light out; they are for letting air in. The flame needs oxygen, and in a semi-enclosed stone box, a clever airflow is necessary to sustain the flame. Designers have effectively created a mini ventilation system: hot air from the flame rises and exits through the top openings (for example, many lanterns have a small opening around the hōju or at the roof connection point). This allows fresh air to enter through the side windows – a natural convection cycle. When the air is stagnant, this system ensures that the flame receives sufficient oxygen and that the combustion gases (smoke) do not smother the flames. Add wind to this and you get a kind of cross ventilation. A breeze entering through a window increases the oxygen supply and can even bend the flame, making it longer and brighter for a moment (like a slight soldering lamp effect). If the breeze is too strong, it can of course extinguish the flame or blow it out the window. For this reason, many lantern windows are not huge holes, but medium-sized and sometimes partially covered with carvings. Cut-out patterns (such as Kasuga deer motifs or other symbols) act as wind deflectors, breaking direct breezes. The balance is delicate: openings large enough for light and air, yet small enough to protect the flame.
This can be simulated using CFD analysis: the flame inside a lantern is modeled, heat production is included, and an external airflow at varying speeds is added. CFD shows the recirculation zones and how the flame deflects. This will confirm what observations reveal: up to a certain wind speed (perhaps a few m/s), the flame continues to burn but flickers; above this speed, it may extinguish or be blown out of the window. Indeed, some old lighthouses have smoke stains on the inside of certain windows. This is evidence that when the wind frequently blows from a certain direction, it pushes the soot from the flame toward the opposite wall. These soot patterns can be seen as darkening on the interior stone surfaces above the window or on the underside of the roof. (Keen eyes can use this to guess the historically prevailing wind direction in that area – the window with the cleanest interior was probably facing the wind, because the flame moved away from it, leaving soot on the side where the wind was blowing). Moisture buildup is more common when oil lamps are used compared to clean-burning candles. Traditional lamps could burn rapeseed oil or fish oil, which produced more smoke. Over the years, the inside of the firebox darkens and develops a hidden patina that can only be seen when looking inside or when the lantern is disassembled. This has an effect: the blackened interior absorbs more light, so over time, old lanterns emit a softer light (less light is lost due to reflection inside). During maintenance, it can be scraped occasionally to prevent the residue from becoming too thick or smelly.
Photometry and “Mystery, Not Glow”: The light level of stone lanterns illuminated by flame is quite low by modern standards. A candle can emit approximately 10-20 lumens of light. Very little of the light that escapes through a few openings and is scattered by the stone reaches the ground—perhaps a few lux immediately beneath the lantern. This is sufficient for a careful person to see the path and the lantern itself, but no more. Japanese gardens have historically embraced darkness; lighting was for creating points of interest and guiding the way, not for filling the space with light. A common principle was to avoid glare – the lantern’s light should never shine directly into your eyes. Stone lanterns achieve this through their design: the light source (flame) is embedded within the stone and is usually positioned below eye level or protected by a roof and carvings. You perceive the lanterns not as a dazzling point but as a soft glow. Contemporary lighting designers who study Japanese gardens emphasize the importance placed on subtle and low-level lighting. As garden lighting expert Hiroshi Kira says, the goal is not to mimic daylight, but to recreate the harmony and subtlety of moonlight. Kira advocates for “soft landscape lighting, tranquility, peace, and subtlety”; these characteristics are almost identical to the feeling provided by a flickering flame. In ancient times, numerous lanterns were lit during festival nights (for example, thousands of stone and bronze lanterns are lit at the Kasuga Lantern Festival, creating a magical scene). Even then, each flame was weak, but together they illuminated the paths like a sparkling constellation. It is said that the darkness between the lanterns is as important as the lanterns themselves – it creates mystery. This is sometimes expressed as “mystery, not brightness”: allow people to move in an environment where only clues are illuminated, so that their imagination fills in the rest.
Modern LED lighting is generally very stable and often unnecessarily bright. The use of electric lights in stone lanterns became widespread in the 20th century for practical reasons, such as being easily turned on every night. However, harsh white bulbs detract from this effect. For this reason, many gardens have switched to warm-colored LEDs (in the 2200–2700 K range, mimicking the golden hue of a flame). Some go even further by using flickering LED candles. These are usually small, programmable LEDs that randomly vary in brightness to mimic flames. Products that provide a semi-plausible flicker are available, but experts will notice that they are not as complex and fluid as the chaotic movements of real flames. Another missing element is heat and smoke: the heat of a real flame creates a shimmer in the air (ever notice the background waving when looking at a lantern’s light? This is distortion caused by warm air). It also gives off a faint incense-like scent when oil is used. LEDs produce none of this. LEDs are safe and convenient, but they “flatten” the sensory experience. The oil flame inside a lantern tends to flicker and dim as the fuel is consumed or the wick moves—this is an organic irregularity. LEDs are very consistent unless deliberately altered. Some innovative approaches attempt to combine the two: for example, a very low-wattage heating element is used to create a convective current inside an LED-illuminated lantern, so that airflow continues and a thin smoke (from a safe source) can be added to visualize the air. Others have linked LED brightness to wind sensors – so that as the wind picks up, the LED flickers more intensely or momentarily brightens, mimicking the response of a real flame. These are niche experimental modifications, but they show how designers can incorporate wind sensitivity into modern lighting. In a contemporary garden, one can imagine a “smart” stone lantern that normally flickers softly with a dim 10-lumen light, but on a windy evening detects the breezes and makes the light dance accordingly. This would be a tribute to old flames without the maintenance drawbacks.
Shadow Patterns: An important aesthetic feature of “Light Touched by the Wind” is its moving shadow patterns. Different hibukuro cutting styles create different shadow textures. Commonly used Kasuga lanterns have simple square or hexagonal openings; their shadows are flat and resemble the silhouette of window panes on the ground. More decorative lanterns in the Oribe or Rankei style may feature intricate carvings (e.g., the asa-no-ha hemp leaf pattern). When lit, these lanterns create complex shadows of the pattern. As the flame flickers, sharp shadows ripple and come alive. Observers subconsciously perceive this movement and feel a liveliness, as if small spirits were dancing around the lantern. It is no coincidence that lanterns are often associated with the presence of ancestors or spirits (during Obon, it is believed that lights guide spirits; the flickering can even be seen as a manifestation of spirits). Documenting these patterns is a wonderful exercise: using time-lapse photography, you can capture the changing lacework of light and shadow created by a carved lantern on a gravel path. In our special issue, we could include a shadow pattern catalog—a series of small panels showing the different shadows created by different mado designs (e.g., hexagonal lattice, chrysanthemum cut, plain rectangular opening). We can label these with their traditional names (菱形 hishi-gata diamond pattern or 麻の葉 asa-no-ha hemp leaf, etc.) and note that these patterns are not only decorative but also functional – the size and placement of the cuts affect airflow and brightness.
Historical and Contemporary Context: In the days before electricity, the flame of stone lanterns was truly a beacon of light. They marked sacred areas, illuminated stairways, and symbolized the divine presence (light offering). People were accustomed to reading by firelight and finding their way by moonlight and torchlight, so their eyes were accustomed to dim light. Today, most visitors to Japanese gardens at night may not realize that lanterns are not lit except for special events in some gardens, as they are unaware that lanterns should be lit. Reviving this tradition, even with LEDs, should reflect its original essence. Kasuga Taisha Mantōrō (Lantern Festival) is a powerful example of this: held twice a year, the festival sees all 3,000 lanterns lit (stone lanterns outside, bronze lanterns hanging in the corridors). The Nara forest comes alive with flickering lights, and that night the wind causes millions of tiny shadows to dance. It is an unforgettable scene of “light touched by the wind” on a grand scale. A modern lighting designer could create a “festival mode” in a contemporary installation; for example, by programming all the lanterns in a park to flicker gently in sync on certain nights, recreating that atmosphere. However, on normal nights, they may burn at a very low and steady light for safety reasons. This dual mode is a way of being context-sensitive: unobtrusive and functional in everyday use (and can be dimmed even further to simulate the flickering of a flame in windy conditions) and celebratory when desired.
Reimagining Tōrō in Contemporary Design: Tradition with Purpose
Beyond Kitsch: In contemporary Japan, stone lanterns sometimes risk being reduced to pastiche—placed in parks or squares as a symbolic “Japanese element” without consideration of their context or function. The challenge for designers is to responsibly reinterpret the tōrō: to use the lantern concept in new environments (urban pocket parks, hospital gardens, memorial grounds, etc.) while respecting its heritage and avoiding Disneyland-style kitsch. The thesis guiding this reimagining is to treat the tōrō not as lawn decoration, but as a spatial tool. This means paying attention to wind, light, tactile quality, and human interaction, just as in traditional settings. In modern terms, we must also consider accessibility (can everyone experience this safely?) and seismic/public safety in new ways.
The Position of Wind in a Modern Context: First, there is airflow and microclimate even in city squares or building courtyards. A contemporary designer can intentionally place lantern-inspired lights in areas with HVAC currents or natural breezes to recreate the flicker effect or create subtle shadow movements. For example, consider an urban pocket park next to a busy street: there is a constant airflow due to the movement of cars. If you place a series of modern tōrō (perhaps LED-flamed) along a wall where this airflow is intense, you can program the LEDs (via sensors) to respond to it, so the light sways with the wind and offers pedestrians a moment of calm away from the traffic chaos. This is a speculative but feasible idea, essentially bringing the concept of “wind choreography” to the city. The important thing is that these lanterns are again placed in meaningful locations – for example, at decision points along the road or to highlight a feature such as a water basin or a bank (just as old lanterns highlighted pools and gates).
Accessibility and Scale: Some criticisms of older lantern installations are that they can pose a hazard – hard stones at knee or head height on a dark night can be an obstacle. Modern projects should be barrier-free. Several strategies can be implemented to achieve this: ensuring that the lights are high or large enough to be detected by the canes of visually impaired people, or keeping the lights away from walkways. Universal design rules state that objects protruding above a certain height (usually 27 inches / 685 mm) on walkways must have something at a height detectable by a cane (below 27 inches) to alert blind pedestrians. For example, a stone lantern may comply with this rule if it has a base that a cane can strike (such as a low pedestal or surrounding garden bed). Alternatively, lights inspired by contemporary lanterns can be integrated into continuous railings or bench elements. A modular lantern system can be designed with a base that also serves as a bench or curb, so the lantern itself does not pose a tripping hazard but becomes part of a low wall that people can sit on. The “cane detection edge height” mentioned in the warning indicates that edges near walkways, etc., must be at least ~150 mm high or surrounded by tactile paving stones. For example, in a hospital healing garden, small recessed guide lights can be placed along the path, emitting diffused light (more like step lights), and larger sculptural lights can be placed on the sides that patients and staff can approach and touch without obstructing the path.
Tactility and Materials: Speaking of touch, stone lanterns invite tactile interaction. In museums or parks, most are roped off, but ideally, especially in therapeutic or commemorative contexts, they should be touchable. People run their hands over the lichen, feel the cool stone, perhaps leave a coin on it (a common practice). Contemporary interpretations can explore stone + metal hybrids: for example, making the main form out of stone, but using a bronze or stainless steel substructure inside to anchor it securely. This way, the profile remains traditional, but it is securely fixed (important for earthquake-prone or high-traffic areas). An example of this could be the lanterns found in the outdoor areas of children’s hospitals. To prevent the risk of tipping over while children play around them, a steel skeleton embedded in the interior and secured with bolts could be used. The exterior can be clad with engineering stone or a lighter material on weight-sensitive roofs. Some designers use cast stone or GFRC (glass fiber reinforced concrete) molded into lantern shapes for roof gardens to reduce the load. Purebred designers may dismiss this, but if done well and given the right texture, these can also develop a similar patina (to accelerate aging, a mud containing moss spores can be applied to their surfaces and seeds sown).
From Mantōrō to Smart Lighting: The idea of “programmable festival modes” touches on how modern technology can expand the use of lanterns. In a public park, lanterns may burn at a fixed low level most nights. However, on certain holidays or events (such as Tanabata, Obon, or even events outside Japan), the system can automatically increase their brightness, flicker, or slightly change the color temperature to mimic a collective lighting event. In a way, this digitally simulates a community where many lanterns are lit. Some parks in Japan host LED lantern festivals where hundreds of LED lanterns are placed by volunteers; a permanent installation could achieve this event more regularly. You can also link the lanterns’ illumination to environmental cues: “dimming based on wind speed”, for example, or (using motion sensors) increasing brightness when people approach to save energy and create an effect where the lanterns “notice” the visitor (a bit animistic!). For example, in the Japanese garden corner of a retirement home, a stone lantern could remain off or very dim until someone approaches during an evening stroll, then gently glow to greet them and perhaps flicker in response to their movements—providing companionship as a poetic, almost interactive element. The key is that any technology should be unobtrusive; fixtures and cables should be concealed to avoid disrupting the traditional appearance during the day. Modern lantern designs have achieved smart integrations—LED strips hidden under eaves cast light downward (so the stone itself is illuminated and appears to be emitting light) or small solar panels carved into recesses that fit onto the jewel’s top or are invisible from normal angles.
Anti-Kitsch Aesthetics: Avoiding kitsch also means simplicity of form. A “contemporary” stone lantern can abstract traditional shapes. Instead of ornate carvings or animal motifs (which look cheap when poorly executed), a designer could take the basic proportions of a Kasuga lantern and add a minimalist touch: for example, a plain cylindrical body and a smooth, featureless spherical top ornament, yet still referencing the classical style. There are also art installations that incorporate such abstractions. One example is the modern stone lighting project “Global Tourou,” created by stone craftsman Takaki Saida and his collaborators, inspired by lantern parts representing the six continents. They took the basic six-part structure of the lantern (base, pole, etc.) and reinterpreted it as a contemporary sculpture that still serves a lighting function, and this work has been exhibited internationally. This points to a path: using the structure and concept of the tōrō (basic stacking, the idea of light in the “fire” section, the tendency of the form to extend upward) to create something new, referencing, for example, global unity. Another approach is to use local materials: consider a region in Japan known for a specific stone or even recycled materials. A modern lantern could be made from recycled concrete or brick to fit in with the urban context, but shaped in a way that references its older form. This could be consistent with environmental goals (recycling) and still evoke the guiding light of a lantern.
Safety and Reliability: As mentioned earlier, new applications in public spaces must be safe. In Japan, stone lantern manufacturers began taking measures to ensure their products would not harm people following accidents. Industry news reported pressure on stone shops to take precautions after a lantern accident. What can be done? In addition to securing them, possibly material changes: using slightly lighter tops or internal supports could prevent a falling piece from being fatal, but this is difficult due to the nature of stone. Another approach is education – signs or subtle design cues to discourage climbing (like planting thorny plants around the base of the lighthouse to gently keep children away). For earthquake zones, perhaps even base isolation could be applied: a modern lantern could be mounted on a hidden base isolation bed that allows it to sway without tipping over in an earthquake – high tech for a humble lantern! Or simply ensure the center of gravity is as low as possible (perhaps by making the base sturdy and the upper parts as hollow as possible).
Contextual Integration: Next to skyscrapers in an urban temple, a new stone lantern can be appropriately scaled up or down. There are precedents for this: some modern lanterns are built on a large scale as public art, while others are miniaturized for indoor use (for example, a small stone lantern could be a water feature in a hospital lobby). The important thing is to maintain the proportion and balance that gives the lantern its authentic look. If the lantern is scaled down too much, it may look like a garden ornament; if it is enlarged too much, neglecting the details, it can create an oppressive effect. Therefore, it is very important to work with skilled craftsmen. Fortunately, skilled stone carvers who keep this craft alive still exist and are discovering new designs. Saida’s work is another example of this: she blends traditional and modern sensibilities and even engages in international collaborations. Noting the decline in domestic demand for classic lanterns, Saida believes new forms can sustain the tradition and is exploring the “potential of stone abroad.” This global perspective means we can see tōrō not only in Japanese gardens, but also, for example, in a park in Paris or a hospital in Dubai, adapted to those climates and cultures. In any case, the design ethic must remain unchanged: context first. It is not right to simply place a replica of the Kasuga lantern in front of an office and consider the job done; a tōrō-like lighting design must be created that is compatible with the architecture and surroundings of that office. Perhaps a series of vertical light columns made of stone and glass, reflecting the rhythm of the lantern’s layers, could be placed on either side of a corporate plaza and designed to sway gently in the wind (imagine long, slender stone “flames” containing light, swaying gently). This could capture the spirit of tradition without imitating its letter.
The purpose of this section is to instill optimism about the potential for tōrō to evolve. These need not be museum pieces; they can inspire new designs that establish a deep connection with their context. By focusing on the fundamental principles discussed in previous sections—wind sensitivity, structural integrity, graceful aging, and soft illumination—contemporary designers can create lanterns or lantern-like installations that reflect the spirit of this tradition. Whether each lantern is placed in a memorial garden dedicated to a life (combining the function of light with the symbolism of remembrance) or in a futuristic eco-park where lanterns monitor and reflect air quality (imagine a lantern whose flame color changes when air pollution increases – a modern “beacon”), the possibilities are rich. The important thing is that these are never simple copies of an old form, but rather a continuation of an idea: a small sign that connects the earth (stone) and the sky (light), interacts with the natural elements around it, and invites people to experience a moment of tranquil illumination.
Design Considering Wind, Light, and Time
Stone lanterns, in both their ancient and modern forms, teach a design ethic rooted in nature’s choreography. We set out to explore how wind, structure, material patina, flame, and contemporary needs intersect in the tōrō, and a clear theme emerged: contextual sensitivity is paramount. The optimal placement of traditional lanterns was not random decoration; it was guided by wind patterns, sightlines, and ritual use. The lanterns’ durability came not from being fixed with brute force, but from proportions and intelligent details that embraced natural forces (swaying in earthquakes, cutting wind). Their surfaces were deliberately left rough, inviting time and the environment to complete the design, softening the lanterns and allowing them to blend into their surroundings. And the illumination they provided was intentionally subtle, working in harmony with the darkness rather than eliminating it, creating an atmosphere rather than merely providing visibility.
For today’s designers, the lantern serves as both a metaphor and a model. It reminds us that small-scale interventions in a space, when carefully executed, can create a significant experiential impact. A single lantern flickering in a quiet corner can transform the atmosphere of an entire garden. However, to achieve this, instead of resorting to invasive technologies or generic forms, one must consider the space’s primary constraints (wind, darkness, human movement within the space). In short, when adapting heritage elements like the tōrō, “we must allow wind, not watts, to be the primary constraint.” This means prioritizing natural ventilation and environmental conditions to shape the design (just as one would determine the position of a lantern based on the wind’s breeze before deciding which bulb to install inside it). This is a call to design by prioritizing climate and sensory experience, using technology not as an end in itself, but only in service to these. A modern LED lantern that does not flicker, age, or change could be a street lamp in a stone costume—it misses its true purpose. Conversely, a high-tech installation that moves and adapts with the delicacy of a living lantern preserves tradition at its core.
In a broader sense, this research highlights the dual structure of Japanese design thinking: meticulousness and poetry. We analyzed wind speeds, friction coefficients, and light flow, but always kept the poetic outcome in mind—the rustle of leaves, the shimmer of moss, the light of the night temple path. For an audience of architects and landscape designers, these findings encourage an integrative approach. Anyone who incorporates a culturally significant element such as Tōrō into their design must be an engineer, an ecologist, and a storyteller at the same time. For example, an interview with a Kyoto stone craftsman might reveal that a lantern’s 5-degree tilt toward a waterfall is no accident, but rather designed so that a specific wind splashes water onto the lantern, moistening it and accelerating moss growth, thus “belonging to the waterfall.” Such anecdotes reveal the deep thought behind things that many people see as mere decorative elements.
Practical implications for design are clear: conduct microclimate studies for your site (using anemometers for wind and CFD, as we explained—these tools can prevent you from placing a delicate feature in a wind tunnel or dead air where it might be misshaped), examine previous examples in context (Why has the X-type lantern always been used near water? There may be aesthetic reasons, but perhaps it is to prevent freezing or to create a double effect by reflecting the light off the water) and create prototypes with feedback from both people and nature. For example, making a lantern model and observing how the flame behaves on your site can determine whether you need to change the size or direction of the opening. In contemporary projects, pay attention to universal access and safety, but view these not as ugly barriers (such as erecting a large fence around the lantern) but as elements that encourage creativity (such as integrating the lantern into a bench or making it so sturdy that it can also be used as a leaning post).
Culturally, the transition of stone lanterns to modern design should be carried out with respect and expression. Our target audience of Japanese architects, landscape architects, and heritage specialists will appreciate an analytical and poetic approach. This means that when proposing a modern lantern in a design, it is important to convey not only its technical characteristics but also its story: how it fits into the philosophy of the site, and even how it can inform users about tradition. A plaque (in Japanese and English) could be placed in a hospital with a lantern, stating that the lantern’s light is a symbol of hope and flickers in the breeze to remind us of the outside world – a small narrative that enriches the user experience.
As our world grapples with sustainability and efforts to reconnect with nature, these ancient elements serve as a source of inspiration. The lantern is a small light source, human-scale, that utilizes natural energy flows (wind, flame) – a far cry from the dazzling, energy-consuming lights of modern cities. The redesigned tōrō could be part of low-energy lighting plans and biophilic design strategies. Imagine cities where, at night, instead of bright projector lights, there are soft pools of lantern-like light in their parks, encouraging people to slow down and notice the wind in the trees. This is an inviting vision.
Stone lanterns endure not merely for nostalgic reasons, but because they embody timeless design wisdom: designing with nature rather than against it. Wind, water, stone, fire, and void—the five elements represented in the lantern’s form—are also the components of a holistic design approach. In a temple lantern, earth (the base) anchors it, water (the platform) and air (the roof) protect the flame (fire), and void (the top) symbolizes the unseen. In any project, addressing the elements of “earth” (context and foundation), “water” (microclimate and life), “air” (environmental flows), “fire” (energy/light), and “void” (meaning or spirit) can yield harmonious and vibrant results. The modest tōrō demonstrates that even a 1.5-meter stone lamp can achieve this when carefully guided. As we carry these lessons forward, every new lantern lit with a candle or LED can be more than just a light source; it can be a continuation of the dialogue between people, their creations, and the breathing world around them.
