Posts Tagged ‘ Japanese Art ’

Irises

Irises*

As I walked through my neighborhood yesterday (one of those cool but not cold, tantalizingly Almost Spring days) I spotted something that immediately took my mind to Ogata Korin, the 17th and 18th Century Rimpa Master (I’m sure this happens to us all).  Here’s what I saw yesterday.  You can see the sidewalk running by on the left-hand side of the photo:

Irises. 7th Avenue South. March 9, 2013.

Irises. 7th Avenue South. March 9, 2013.

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This is a detail of one of Korin’s (1658-1716) six-panel screens (byoubu – 屏風), Irises:

Korin (1658-1716). Irises.

Korin (1658-1716). Irises.

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Last month, in the post immediately preceding this one, I went to town with a homage to and much nostalgia about Kamisaka Sekka (1866-1942), also a Rimpa Master, but who brought the school into and modernized it for and with the 20th Century.  Sekka painted irises, too, in the 20th Century.  Here’s one of his “Irises,” which is a photo of a Sekka post card I bought about ten years ago at the Kyoto National Museum of Modern Art:

Sekka (1868-1942). Irises.

Sekka (1866-1942). Irises.

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Almost five years ago, in May 2008, I guided a group of University of Alabama-Birmingham students, a history class, through Kyoto, Nara, Himeji, Hiroshima and elsewhere in southern Japan.  I can’t take all credit because I merely worked together as a team with the class’s excellent professor.  At any rate, we — the professor and I — took the class to Kinkaku-ji, the Temple of the Golden Pavilion, in Kyoto.  One of those “must see” places in Kyoto.  I had been many times before.  Even though the day was a bit overcast, the irises were bang-on beautiful.  It should be noted:  both Korin and Sekka were from Kyoto and would have certainly seen the irises of Kinkaku-ji, as I have and you are about to  .  .  .

Kinkaku-ji. Kyoto. May 2008.

Kinkaku-ji. Kyoto. May 2008.

If you look at the extremely right-hand side, mid-picture, of the photo above, you’ll see irises.  The photos below are of those same irises.

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Irises at Kinkaku-ji, Kyoto. May 2008.

Irises at Kinkaku-ji, Kyoto. May 2008.

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Irises and Kinkaku-ji.  Kyoto.  May 2008.

Irises and Kinkaku-ji. Kyoto. May 2008.

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*There are both wet and dry-land iris varieties.

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Sekka (雪佳神坂) – Ten Years Since Kyoto・L.A.・Bhm

光陰矢のごとし

Time flies like an arrow . . .

Late August 2003  —  Our day started in Birmingham, Alabama.  A flight to Detroit. Then Northwest (back when there was a Northwest) Flight 69 to Kansai International Airport, out in Osaka Bay. Then the Haruka Line:  fifty-five minutes by train from the airport, through Osaka and inland to Kyoto.  That ended our day’s trip.  It was her fourth or fifth visit to Japan, my eighth or ninth (though my first to trips were to live in Japan, years before). We were there on an antiquities buying trip for our business.  We were also there to be on hand at the Kyoto National Museum of Modern Art‘s August 29 opening of the Kamisaka Sekka exhibition.  A retrospective of the artist’s work that would almost mirror the journey we had just made.  In other words, it would begin in Kyoto and wind up in Birmingham.  I was to make a speech at the opening, just some remarks, actually.  On behalf of the Birmingham Museum of Art‘s Asian Art Society, which my then-wife and I served as co-presidents.  I would make my remarks in Japanese.

Sekka Exhibition Poster. Train near Kyoto. 2003.

Sekka Exhibition Poster. Train near Kyoto. 2003.

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After several months in Kyoto the Sekka Exhibition traveled to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and, then it came to Birmingham, where its Asian Art Curator had originated the idea for a comprehensive Sekka Retrospective.

Ticket. Birmingham Museum of Art Sekka Exhibition. 2004.

Ticket. Birmingham Museum of Art Sekka Exhibition. 2004.

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Kamisaka Sekka (1866-1942).  Sekka was a native of Kyoto.  His life spanned four Japanese Eras:  the last couple years of the Edo Period (1603-1867), the Meiji Period (1868-1911), the Taisho Period (1912-1925), and the couple decades of the Showa Period (1926-1989).  The Edo Period was marked by the multi-generational reign of the Tokugawa Shoguns, with a succession of Emperors “ruling” as virtual captives of the Tokugawa Generalissimos.  Japan was almost entirely closed off, isolated from the rest of the exploring and developing world during this 250-plus year period.  But art and artists and artisans thrived.  When the Emperor was “restored” to the throne in 1868 and a new era of Constitutional Monarchy began in Japan, the country exploded with foreign ideas and influences — from political, to technological and industrial, to military, to fashion and design, to social, to artistic.  This was the era, the Meiji Period, Kamisaka Sekka came of age in.  However, he was an artist steeped in 1,000 years of quite Japanese expressive traditions; traditions of form, style, technique, iconography.  Sekka’s was the Kyoto-based Rimpa School (tradition, or style), which flourished during the latter two-thirds of the preceding Edo Period.  Many Rimpa School works define to both Japanese and foreigners alike a great part of the “look” Japanese art.  The Rimpa School often borrowed from both ancient Japanese (Heian Era — 794-1185)  and Chinese styles, then modernized and updated (to the 17th through 19th Centuries) the classic techniques and subjects.  Much of what is considered “classic” Rimpa style is bold, sweeping, dramatic and often near-abstract, though the subject of the painting (whether on screens, sliding doors, fans, or boxes) is never in doubt.

Here’s Korin’s “Irises,” a classic Rimpa work:

Irises. Korin Ogata (1658-1716).

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Working within the general Rimpa style, Sekka took that Rimpa “look” and made it his own, updated it again, often gave it a touch or whimsy, irony or humor that was rarely employed by earlier Rimpa Masters (but, in fact, harkened back to an artistic mindset not uncommon back in the 12th and 13th Centuries — see, for example, the “Chōjū-jinbutsu-giga”).  Whether in painting, woodblock carving, screens, textiles, ceramics, furniture or other media, Sekka took a style that was of  17th and 18th Century Japan and made it accessible to and of the 20th Century.  And that’s what made Sekka so important as a master, perhaps the Master, or at least, as the exhibition called him, “Pioneer,” of modern design in and for Japan.

Sekka’s Puppies and Snail (1920):

Puppies and Snail. 1920. Kamisaka Sekka.

A few more Sekka images .   .   .

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Sekka_Sparrow&Bamboo

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Sekka_12

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Kyoto Opening, August 29, 2003 —  The exhibition’s first stop was the Kyoto National Museum of Modern Art (京都国立近代美術館). Along with the Birmingham Museum of Art’s Curator, I and my then-wife represented the BMA and City of Birmingham at the opening.  According to my contemporaneous notes, the opening crowd numbered 534 Sekka enthusiasts.  According to this article in ArtDaily.com, the exhibition “opened to record crowds” that night in Kyoto.  I had been asked to offer a few remarks to the crowd during the short opening ceremony, which I did in Japanese, although I’m ashamed to say that it was one of my less-stellar performances.  Still, the crowd was polite and they came for the art, not to test my Japanese speech-making skills.  What was sort of funny was that about nine months later, when the exhibition opened at the Birmingham Museum of Art, my wife and I were just two people in the crowd; our “VIP” status long gone.  Immediately below is a photo featuring several of the six people (myself included) whom the Kyoto National Museum of Modern Art treated to an exceptional dinner follow the August 2003 opening.

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Post- Exhibition Opening Party, Kyoto. August 29, 2003. faces purposefully cropped-out.

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Kamisaka Sekka Exhibition Poster. Yanagi Antiques, Kyoto. 2003.

Kamisaka Sekka Exhibition Poster. Yanagi Antiques, Kyoto. 2003.

Josetsu’s “Catching a Catfish with a Gourd”

An Iconic Painting. . .

It’s called Catching a Catfish with a Gourd (in Japanese it’s called the Hyonenzu / 瓢鮎図). It was painted c. 1413 (during the Muromachi Period, 1336-1573 – depending on who’s counting) by Zen Priest Josetsu (如拙) of Kyoto’s Taizo-in Temple.  Its current home is the Kyoto National Museum of Art although it’s still considered temple property.

I was introduced to Catching a Catfish with a Gourd in September 1984, in a Japanese Art History class at Kansai Gaidai in Hirakata, Japan.  I’m just one of 100s and 100s of thousands (probably millions) who over the past 600 years have fallen for this painting, and its sublime and profound lessons.  Catching a Catfish with a Gourd offers what we today call a “teaching moment.”

It’s not only a beautiful painting, it’s humorous, mischievous, inspirational and offers-up a wince-making pun and perhaps even mildly scolds us when we tell ourselves something just can’t be done.  It’s sort of a pictorial koan.  Here’s a link to just the painting so you can study it and the question of how can one catch a catfish with a gourd.

. . . from an Emperor’s Riddle

The story behind Catching a Catfish with a Gourd begins with Emperor Ashikaga Yoshimochi’s enjoyment of koans and patronage of Kyoto’s monastic arts.  It was the Emperor who commissioned Josetsu to paint the somewhat nonsensical riddle, “How does one catch a catfish with a gourd?”  The result of that commission is Josetsu’s iconic work of art and spiritual punnery.

What’s more, Emperor Yoshimochi directed Josetsu’s fellow priests to weigh-in on the question, to bend their brains and imaginations to answer the question.  And the result of that directive was  31 poems from 31 Zen Buddhist priests from Kyoto’s most acclaimed Zen temples, each poem taking a stab at answering the riddle.  There’s no perfect answer.  I have my favorite one, though.  A hintperspective can make the difference in virtually everything.  Originally the painting, when presented to the Emperor, was mounted onto a small, Chinese-style standing screen, with the poems affixed to the screen’s reverse side.  Soon thereafter the painting and complementary poems were remounted onto a single hanging scroll.  

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The Hyonenzu in scroll form  — 43 7/8 x 29 7/8 in (111.5 x 75.8 cm) —  with the 31 “answer poems” mounted above.  Note the red seal of each priest at the bottom of his poem:

Detail in black and white:

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Post Script: another hint to my favorite answer to the riddle is found in a Grateful Dead song, “Scarlet Begonias” . . .

“Once in a while you can get shown the light

In the strangest of places, if you look at it right.”

True, that.

Tag – this theme’s “it” for a while.

Earlier today LetsJapan.Wordpress.Com updated its appearance.  Those new to this site won’t know the difference.  For those who’ve visited over the past 10 months, since this site’s/blog’s launch, will notice right away that this “Monochrome” format (that’s what it’s called:  Monochrome), with its clean gray-black borders, really helps the photography stand out a whole lot better than the all-white site.

=  Note to those who found there way here via a Tag:  Feel free to use the site Search Engine (bottom right-hand side) and enter the term/tag/post/info you’re looking for.  One or more posts/stories/galleries, etc. should pop up for you. =

Also quite different (than just 24 hours ago):  the top of the page has very few tabs.  Now each photo gallery is clickable through the drop-down tab (GALLERIES) at the page top, as are the stories, via the STORIES drop-down tab.

Finally, I ought to note that a couple of weeks ago I made a Facebook page for LetsJapan.Wordpress.Com to keep Facebook aficionados updated on posts and featured galleries and stories here.  I’ve also started posting a few Facebook-only comments, features and photos on the LetsJapan.Wordpress.Com Facebook page.

A photo apropos to nothing in this post.  I took in in Kyoto this past November and, well, I like it.

Finally, I’m “tagging” this post with many of my photo gallery and story themes and post topics (below and in prior pages) in hopes that this or that random googler will stumble upon this site and what it has to — and will — offer.

Hope you enjoy . . .