Kyoto National Museum

Listen for a moment. Gravel crunches under your shoes, and pine needles shift in the breeze. Ahead of you, a long building of red brick and pale stone glows warm in the Kyoto light. It looks almost European. That is the first surprise of this place. You came to see the treasures of old Japan, and the first thing that greets you is a palace that would not look out of place in Paris.

This is the Kyoto National Museum, in the eastern part of the city called Higashiyama. The museum opened in 1897, during the Meiji era. That was the period when Japan opened to the outside world and rebuilt itself at great speed. At that time it was called the Imperial Museum of Kyoto. Its purpose was clear. It would protect the art and the sacred objects of the old capital at a moment when many of them were at risk.

Why were they at risk? In the decades before the museum opened, Japan went through deep change. Buddhist temples lost land, money and official support. Some temple treasures were sold, scattered or simply left to decay. A national museum in Kyoto gave these objects a safe home. Even today, many works shown here are not owned by the museum at all. They belong to temples and shrines, which place them here in trust for safekeeping.

Now look again at the red brick building. It is known as the Meiji Kotokan. It was designed by Katayama Tokuma, an architect who worked on several important Western-style buildings for the imperial household. He drew on French Renaissance and Baroque ideas. You can see them in the symmetry, the arched windows and the grey roof. Japan has named this building an Important Cultural Property. It is a treasure in its own right, not only a container for treasures.

Here is a detail that most visitors walk straight past. Look up at the triangular pediment above the central entrance. The figures carved there are not Greek gods, as you might expect on a building like this. They are two figures from the Buddhist tradition, linked with craft and the arts. So the architect took a European form and filled it with an Asian story. It is a small, quiet sign of the whole Meiji project... looking outward, while keeping hold of home.

Walk a little further and you will meet a familiar face. In the garden sits a cast of The Thinker, the famous bronze by the French sculptor Auguste Rodin. He rests his chin on his hand and stares down at the gravel. Many visitors stop here for a photograph. It is a strange and pleasant meeting — a French thinker, in a Japanese garden, in front of a building that dreams of France.

Now turn toward the newer building, with its long, low lines of stone and glass. This is the Heisei Chishinkan Wing, which opened in 2014. It was designed by Yoshio Taniguchi, a Japanese architect also known for his work on the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Where the old building is decorative, this one is calm and spare. A wide, shallow pool sits in front of it. On a still day, the water holds a clear reflection of the sky.

The name of the wing carries an idea. Chishin comes from an old saying about learning new things by studying the old. That idea runs through the whole collection. Inside, the galleries are usually arranged by type. You may find Buddhist sculpture, painting, calligraphy, ceramics, lacquer, metalwork, textiles and archaeological finds. The focus is on pre-modern Japan, with important works from China and Korea as well. The exact pieces on show change often, so every visit can feel different.

Why do the displays change so much? Many of these objects are fragile. Silk, paper and natural pigments fade when they are exposed to light for too long. So the museum rotates its works with care. A famous scroll may appear for a few weeks and then rest in storage for a long time. The light in the galleries is kept low for the same reason. Give your eyes a moment to adjust. The colours will slowly come forward.

If you visit the sculpture gallery, take your time. Buddhist statues were made for temple halls, for worship and for quiet prayer, not for museum rooms. Many were carved from wood, and some still carry traces of gold leaf or paint. Look at the hands. Each gesture has a meaning in Buddhist teaching, such as protection, or giving, or calm meditation. Standing close to them, you can feel how they were made to be seen from below, in flickering candlelight.

One more surprise, and this one is for younger visitors too. The museum has a mascot, a cheerful cartoon tiger called Toraryan. He is based on a tiger in an old painting by Ogata Korin, one of the great painters of the Edo period. Korin probably never saw a living tiger, and his animal has a slightly comic, cat-like face. Toraryan keeps that spirit. You may spot him on signs, in the shop, or even at special events.

The neighbourhood around the museum belongs to the story as well. Just across the road stands Sanjusangendo, the long temple hall famous for its rows of gilded Kannon statues. Kannon is the Buddhist figure of compassion. A short walk takes you toward the slopes of Higashiyama, with its temples, wooden houses and narrow lanes. This part of Kyoto has been a place of worship for many centuries. The museum is not an island. It is one piece of a much older sacred landscape.

Before you leave, stand for a minute between the two buildings. On one side, the red brick of the 1890s. On the other, the clean stone of the twenty-first century. Between them lie more than a hundred years of a nation working out how to honour its past. Listen again to the gravel under your feet. Watch the light move on the water. When you walk back out through the gate, take a slow look over your shoulder... and notice how quiet this place still feels, in the middle of a busy city.