How Seiko’s “The Gift of Time” short documentary has made me appreciate my most prized watch even more

Zach Blass

This past weekend, Grand Seiko held its annual GS9 Club USA Experience event in New York City, where a vast range of Grand Seiko creations were on display, various insightful panels were held, and, of course, exceptional food (courtesy of panellist Ivan Orkin known for his world-renowned ramen) and drinks (courtesy of Suntory) were served. But, amongst the large event packed with devout Grand Seiko collectors and prestigious guests, the thing I really took away with me once the festivities ended was the premiere of Seiko’s new short documentary The Gift of Time, directed by Paula Chowles.

In our horological hooliganism, I have seen the watch community poke fun at Grand Seiko’s romantic interpretations and expressions of time now and again. Regretfully, I may have been guilty of this myself in the past. The brand’s motto, The Nature of Time, and its consistent leverage of nature to inspire its dials can, at times, be the brunt of jests – in particular, the communication around them. With repetition, the Western world may generate scepticism, reducing a meticulous detailing of a bamboo forest to a romantic excuse or dollar-driven marketing effort to drum up interest in a new dial.

While I understand how the poetic communication of Grand Seiko’s muses can cause some to think it is simply a mere marketing tactic, I do not feel that strong, genuine intention and strong marketing are mutually exclusive. To understand how these seemingly opposing things run parallel, and are perhaps why Seiko and Grand Seiko have developed such a cult following, I highly recommend watching the 25-minute documentary that showcases various Japanese cultural icons sharing the importance of time within their lives and professions. The thoughts they share and express ultimately show that the romantic interpretation and thoughtful consideration of time we often see communicated by the Seiko Corporation is not derived from the brand nor born out of commercial motives. Rather, it is an ingrained way of life and mindset woven in each artist or individual through Japanese culture – which, as an American, I could not help but envy as I watched.

While I found many insights shared during the film very interesting, I would like to share one concept, integral within Japanese culture, that really stood out to me to give you a taste of what is explored in the film.

“Ma“: The space between things

Ma refers to the space between things, and artists utilise these spaces and gaps to create meaning, experiences, and more, For example, architect Kengo Kuma, who notably designed Grand Seiko Studio Studio Shizukuishi, introduces the concept of ma in the film as he explains his strategic implementation of gaps in a temple he designed in Minato, Japan: Zuishō-ji. In the film, you can see that each element within the space has ample breathing room between them.

“The spaces surrounding the pond and gravel were intentionally designed with a lot of breathing room,” Kengo Kuma explains. “To have such deliberate emptiness right in the midst of a city is incredibly rare… Ma is revered as a crucial element, valued both for its presence and its absence. It is central to Japanese culture.”

As a result of these gaps and spaces, Kuma believes Zuishō-ji exudes the most serenity of any temple he has designed. The emptiness allows the mind to be empty, clear, and present, in stark contrast to the bustling city surrounding it – packed with buildings and objects and people racing to get to the next destination. As a result, time, in a certain respect, slows in serene spaces like Zushō-Ji to best support mindfulness. This serenity is born out of Kuma’s mindfulness of space and his cadence and frequency for placing things within the space he created. There is a reason why clean and open spaces are more conducive to creativity and productivity, regardless of the type of task at hand – whether prayer or preparing documents in an office.

The film then transitions away from ma as it pertains to architecture, with Japanese singer MISIA conveying its prevalence in music and the power of silence (gaps) between notes.

“The human ear is fascinating. We can hear the flapping of an insect’s wings. Their wings can flap 1,000 times in a second, which means we can perceive a thousandth of a second. That’s how sensitive we are to ma,” MISIA explains. “As musicians, when we are in sync with one another’s ma, it feels wondrous. Slow music has a long ma, and fast music has a short ma. In these pauses or spaces, a musician expresses their feelings, thoughts, and groove, all of which play a significant role in their style. Songs with beautifully designed ma are masterpieces.”

In the same manner the cadence of objects introduced into an architectural design can change how someone engages with a physical space, the cadence of notes and the gaps between them bear great effect on how we interpret music and sound. Short, abrupt sounds are associated with actions, while longer, drawn-out sounds are associated with emotion and passion. The silences between them create emphasis, and when introduced at the right time it makes a given piece of music that much more powerful. The devilish chime of Bulgari’s latest tritone minute repeaters is a wonderful example of such musicality in practice within watchmaking. Swiss conductor Lorenzo Viotti, through introducing the tritone, made a traditionally innocent sound more tense – creating a new experience for a wearer to engage with a chiming watch.

Closer to home, as Grand Seiko nerds will likely already know, the constant-force tourbillon mechanism within the Grand Seiko ‘Kodo’ produces a sound akin to a musical 16th note – creating a more vivid sense of a heartbeat (which Kodo translates to in English).

To tie it all back further to watchmaking and watch design, my introduction to the concept of ma , through both Kuma and MISIA words in the film, gave me a better understanding of why I am so drawn to my Credor Eichi II – the most coveted watch in my collection. The Eichi II is, aesthetically, the embodiment of simplicity, and I have always been very appreciative of its calm and serene quality. The vast majority of the dial is a crisp white porcelain, with minimal interruptions to its deep, largely empty surface.

As someone who likes to precisely set his watch in synchronisation with a reference clock, like my iPhone, the Eichi II, limited to just hour indices with no index for each minute/second, means I have to set the watch on a 5th minute or the hour to synchronise. You can picture me pulling out the crown upon the second hand at zero, lining the minutes hand perfectly with the appropriate hour index, and then having to wait minutes before I can push the crown back in.

It is a very small price to pay for such a stunning dial, but my newfound understanding of ma has left me looking at these gaps with a new sense of appreciation. The ritual of setting the time perfectly, in effect, slows me down. Calms me. And, with Spring Drive powering the watch, the gaps between the index best showcase the serene glide of the second’s hand – allowing the passage of time to be centre stage rather than having a very clear-cut discernable minute. As the hand hits each index, it is as if the hand is calmly and precisely arriving at its destination. Not too fast, nor too slow. Moving at just the right thoughtful pace.

The empty space, or, rather, the vast calming porcelain backdrop, also allows the full shadow of the passing central seconds hand, the crescent-shaped counterweight of the hand in particular, to clearly be seen on the dial – a visual quality I appreciate more and more with each wear.

It is a bit ironic that a watch, with no outer minutes track and minimal indexes, is so precise – in my experience, gaining at most a second any given month. In the past, I simply associated the serenity of the Eichi II with its plain white dial and Spring Drive movement. In learning about ma, however, I now have an appreciation for the gaps between the indices that once were seen as a neusance born as a casualty of design rather than a source of appreciation and heightened serenity.

I hope this has been far more indicative of the benefit of learning about Japanese culture regarding better understanding Seiko’s design and philosophy rather than a sermon delivered at a cyph. If, to you, it seemed more so the latter, then I encourage you to watch The Gift of Time with even greater enthusiasm. I promise it is well worth it.