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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e093b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62252 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62252) diff --git a/old/62252-0.txt b/old/62252-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 46c9561..0000000 --- a/old/62252-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2861 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Spirit of Japanese Art, by Yone Noguchi - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Spirit of Japanese Art - -Author: Yone Noguchi - -Release Date: May 28, 2020 [EBook #62252] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART *** - - - - -Produced by ellinora, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations -in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and -punctuation remains unchanged. - -Sidenotes, page headings in the original, have been placed at the -beginning of the relevant paragraphs and marked [Sidenote: ....] - -On Page 26 lespedozas has been corrected to lespedezas. - -Italics are represented thus _italic_. - - - - - The Wisdom of the East Series - - EDITED BY - - L. CRANMER-BYNG - Dr. S. A. KAPADIA - - - THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART - - - - - WISDOM OF THE EAST - - THE SPIRIT OF - JAPANESE ART - - BY YONE NOGUCHI - AUTHOR OF “THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE POETRY” - - - [Illustration; Sun rising over ocean] - - - LONDON - JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. - 1915 - - - - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - INTRODUCTION 9 - - - I - - KOYETSU 17 - - - II - - KENZAN 25 - - - III - - UTAMARO 32 - - - IV - - HIROSHIGE 38 - - - V - - GAHO HASHIMOTO 44 - - - VI - - KYOSAI 56 - - - VII - - THE LAST MASTER OF THE UKIYOYE ART 67 - - - VIII - - BUSHO HARA 79 - - - IX - - THE UKIYOYE ART IN ORIGINAL 93 - - - X - - WESTERN ART IN JAPAN 100 - - - APPENDIX I - - THE MEMORIAL EXHIBITION OF THE LATE - HARA 109 - - - APPENDIX II - - THE NERVOUS DEBILITY OF PRESENT - JAPANESE ART 113 - - - - - TO - - EDWARD F. STRANGE - - OF THE SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM - - - - - EDITORIAL NOTE - - -The object of the Editors of this series is a very definite one. They -desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall -be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between East and -West—the old world of Thought and the new of Action. In this endeavour, -and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example -in the land. They are confident that a deeper knowledge of the great -ideals and lofty philosophy of Oriental thought may help to a revival -of that true spirit of Charity which neither despises nor fears the -nations of another creed and colour. - - L. CRANMER-BYNG. - S. A. KAPADIA. - - NORTHBROOK SOCIETY, - 21 CROMWELL ROAD, - S. KENSINGTON, S.W. - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -In the Ashikaga age (1335-1573) the best Japanese artists, like Sesshu -and his disciples, for instance, true revolutionists in art, not mere -rebels, whose Japanese simplicity was strengthened and clarified by -Chinese suggestion, were in the truest meaning of the word Buddhist -priests, who sat before the inextinguishable lamp of faith, and -sought their salvation by the road of silence; their studios were in -the Buddhist temple, east of the forests and west of the hills, dark -without, and luminous within with the symbols of all beauty of nature -and heaven. And their artistic work was a sort of prayer-making, to -satisfy their own imagination, not a thing to show to a critic whose -attempt at arguing and denying is only a nuisance in the world of -higher art; they drew pictures to create absolute beauty and grandeur, -that made their own human world look almost trifling, and directly -joined themselves with eternity. Art for them was not a question of -mere reality in expression, but the question of Faith. Therefore they -never troubled their minds with the matter of subjects or the size -of the canvas; indeed, the mere reality of the external world had -ceased to be a standard for them, who lived in the temple studios. -Laurance Binyon said of them: “Hints of the divine were to be found -everywhere—in leaves of grass, in the life of animals, birds, and -insects. No occupation was too humble or menial to be invested with -beauty and significance.” Through them the Ashikaga period becomes very -important in our Japanese art annals. Binyon says: “The Ashikaga period -stands in art for an ideal of reticent simplicity. A revulsion from the -ornate conventions, which had begun to paralyse the pristine vigour -of the Yamato school, and fresh acquaintance with the masterpieces of -the Sung era, brought about by renewed contact with China, after a -hermit period of exclusion, created a passion for swift, impassioned or -suggestive painting in ink, on silvery-toned paper.” - -People, like myself, who are more delighted at the National Gallery -in Trafalgar Square with, for instance, “A Summer Afternoon after a -Shower,” or a “View at Epsom,” by Constable, and with “Walton Reach,” -or “Windsor from Lower Hope,” by Turner, than with their other bigger -things, will be certainly pleased to see “Temple and Hill above -a Lake,” by Sesshu, or “Travellers at a Temple Gate,” by Sesson, -representing this interesting Ashikaga period, exhibited in the new -wing of the British Museum. You have to go there and spend an hour or -so with the Arthur Morrison collection of Japanese art, if you wish to -feel the real old Japanese humanity and love that our ancient masters -inspired into their work. To be sure, none of the things exhibited -there, small or large, good or poor, are so-called exhibition pictures, -which are often a game of artistic charlatans. In real Japanese art -you should not look for variety of subjects; but when you find an -astonishing richness of execution, certainly it is the time when your -eyes begin to open toward another sort of asceticism in art. How glad I -am that our Japanese art, at least in the olden time, never degenerated -into a mechanical art! - -What a pity Sesson’s “Travellers at a Temple Gate,” this remarkable -little thing, has been mended in two or three spots. If you wish to -see the real power and distinction of great Sesshu, you might compare -his “Daruma” in the exhibition with the other “Daruma” pictures by -Soami and Takuchu also in the exhibition: the point I should like to -bring out is that Sesshu’s “Daruma” is an artistic attempt to proclaim -the spiritual intensity which shines within from the true strength of -consciousness and real economy of force, while the others are rather a -superficial demonstration. - -There is no other Japanese school so interesting, even from the one -point of style in expressive decoration, as the Koyetsu-korin school, -the much-admired branch of Japanese art in the West. Although I was -glad to see a good specimen of Sotatsu in “Descent of the Thunder God -on the Palace of Fujiwara” in the exhibition, I hardly think that such -a figure painting (a really good work in its own way) shows Sotatsu’s -best art; while my memory of the Sotatsu exhibition at Uyeno of Tokyo -a few years ago is still fresh, I am pleased to connect Sotatsu with -the flower-screens and little _Kakemono_ for the tea-rooms, now with -a pair of rabbits nibbling grasses, then with a little bunch of wild -chrysanthemums. You will see what an admirer I am of this school, since -I have dwelt at some length on Koyetsu and Kenzan in this little book -of Japanese art. I regret that I have to beg for some more time before -I make myself able to write on great Korin; I am sure that Hoitsu, one -of the most distinguished decadents of the early nineteenth century, -and the acknowledged successor of the Koyetsu-korin school, would give -us a highly interesting subject to discuss. Oh, those days at Bunkwa -and Bunsei (1804-1830)! Dear, rotten, foolish, romantic old Tokugawa -civilisation and art! - -Two articles on Harunobu and Hokusai are still to be written for the -Ukiyoye school; I know, I believe, that without those two artists the -school would never be complete. I am happy to think that I have Gaho -Hashimoto in the present book as the last great master of the Kano -school; but I cannot help thinking about Hogai Kano, Gaho’s spiritual -brother, who passed away almost in starvation. - -Indeed, Hogai’s whole life of sixty years was a life of hardship -and hunger; when he reached manhood, the whole country of Japan -began to be disturbed under the name of the Grand Restoration. In -those days, the safety of one’s life was not assured; how then could -art claim the general protection? All the artists threw away their -drawing-brushes. Hogai tried to get his living by selling baskets and -brooms; his wife, it is said, helped him by weaving at night; their -lives were hard almost without comparison. Following the advice of a -certain Mr. Fujishima, Hogai drew pictures and gave them to a dealer -at Hikage Cho, Tokyo, to be sold. After three long years, he found -that only one picture had been sold, and so he gave the rest of them, -more than fifty, to Mr. Fujishima, who, by turns, gave them away -to his friends. And those pictures which were given freely by Mr. -Fujishima are now their owners’ greatest treasures. Thus is the irony -of life exemplified. It was thought by Hogai a piece of good fortune -when he was engaged by Professor Fenellosa for twelve yen a month; -this American critic’s eye discerned Hogai’s unusual ability. It is -almost unbelievable to-day that such a small sum should have been -acceptable; but it may have been the usual payment in those days, and -the Professor’s friendship was more to Hogai than money. He received -fifteen yen afterward when he was engaged by the Educational Department -of the Government in 1884; how sad he could not support himself by -art alone. And alas, he was no more when the general appreciation of -his great art began to be told. Quite many specimens of Hogai’s work -are treasured in the Boston Museum at present. How changed are the -conditions now from Hogai’s day! But are these fortunately changed -conditions really helpful for the creation of true art? - -To look at some of the modern work is too trying, mainly from the fact -that it lacks, to use the word of Zen Buddhism, the meaning of silence; -it seems to me that some modern artists work only to tax people’s -minds. In Nature we find peacefulness and silence; we derive from it -a feeling of comfort and restfulness; and again from it we receive -vigour and life. I think so great art should be. Many modern artists -cannot place themselves in unison with their art; in one word, they do -not know how to follow the law or _michi_, that Mother Nature gladly -evolves. It is such a delight to examine the works of Hogai, as each -picture is a very part of his own true self; the only difference is -the difference that he wished to evoke in interest; his desire was -always so clear in the relation between himself and his work, and -accidentally he succeeded as if by magic in establishing the same -relationship for us, the onlookers. It goes without saying that the -pictures of such an artist are richer than they appear; while he used -only Chinese ink in his pictures, our imagination is pleased to see -them with the addition of colour, and even voice. - -The subjects which are treated in the present volume are various, but I -dare say that all the artists whose art I have treated here will well -agree in the point of their expression of the Japanese spirit of art, -which always aims at poetry and atmosphere, but not mere style and -purpose. - - Y. N. - - LONDON, - _May 13, 1914_. - - - - - THE SPIRIT OF - - JAPANESE ART - - - I - - KOYETSU - - -When I left home toward a certain Doctor’s who had promised to show me -his collection of chirography and art, the unusual summer wind which -had raged since midnight did not seem to calm down; the rain-laden -clouds now gathered, and then parted for the torrent of sunlight to -dash down. I was most cordially received by him, as I was expected; -in coming under threat of the weather I had my own reasons. I always -thought that summer was worse than spring for examining (more difficult -to approve than deny) the objects of art, on account of our inability -for concentrating our minds; the heat that calls all the _shoji_ doors -to open wide confuses the hearts of bronze Buddhas or Sesshu’s “Daruma” -or Kobo’s chirography or whatever they be, whichever way they have to -turn, in the rush of light from every side; I thanked the bad weather -to-day which, I am sure, I should have cursed some other day. The -Doctor’s house had an almost winter-sad aspect with the _shoji_, even -the rain-doors all shut, the soft darkness assembling at the very place -it should, where the saints or goddesses revealed themselves; hanging -after hanging was unrolled and rolled before me in quick succession. -“Doctor, tell me quick whose writing is that?” I loudly shouted when -I came to one little bit of Japanese writing. “That is Koyetsu’s,” he -replied. “Why, is it? It seems it is worth more than all the others put -together; Doctor, I will not ask you for any more hangings to-day,” -I said. And a moment later, I looked at him and exclaimed in my -determined voice: - -“What will you say if I take it away and keep it indefinitely?” - -“I say nothing at all, but am pleased to see how you will enjoy it,” -the Doctor replied. - -[Sidenote: YEARNING OF POETICAL SOUL] - -The evening had already passed when I returned home with that hanging -of Koyetsu’s chirography under my arm. “Put all the gaslights out! -Do you hear me? All the gaslights out! And light all the candles -you have!” I cried. The little hanging was properly hanged at the -“tokonoma” when the candles were lighted, whose world-old soft flame -(wasn’t it singing the old song of world-wearied heart?) allured my -mind back, perhaps, to Koyetsu’s age of four hundred years ago—to -imagine myself to be a waif of greyness like a famous tea-master, Rikiu -or Enshu or, again, Koyetsu, burying me in a little Abode of Fancy with -a boiling tea-kettle; through that smoke of candles hurrying like our -ephemeral lives, the characters of Koyetsu’s writing loomed with the -haunting charm of a ghost. They say: - - “Where’s cherry-blossom? - The trace of the garden’s spring breeze is seen no more. - I will point, if I am asked, - To my fancy snow upon the ground.” - -“What a yearning of poetical soul!” I exclaimed. - -It is your imagination to make rise out of fall, day out of darkness, -and Life out of Death; not to see the fact of scattering petals is your -virtue, and to create your own special sensation with the impulse of -art is your poet’s dignity; what a blessing if you can tell a lie to -yourself; better still, not to draw a distinct line between the things -our plebeian minds call truth and untruth, and live like a wreath shell -with the cover shut in the air of your own creation. Praised be the -touch of your newly awakened soul which can turn the fallen petals to -the beauty of snow; there is nothing that will deny the yearning of -your poetic soul. It is not superstition to say that the poet’s life -is worthier than any other life. Some time ago the word loneliness -impressed me as almost divine as Rikiu pledged himself in it; I -wished, through its invocation, to create a picture, as the ancient -ditty has it, of a “lone cottage standing by the autumn wave, under -the fading light of eve.” But I am thankful for Koyetsu to-day. How to -reach my own poetry seems clearly defined in my thought; it will be by -the twilight road of imagination born out of reality and the senses—the -road of idealism baptised by the pain of death. - -[Sidenote: ABODE OF VACANCY] - -What remains of Koyetsu’s life is slight, as his day was not feminine -and prosaic, like to-day, with love of gossip and biography-writing; -he, with the friends of his day, Sambiakuin Konoye, Shokado, both of -them eminent chirographers of all time of Japan, Jozan the scholar, -Enshu the tea-master, and many others, realised the age of artistic -heroism which is often weakened by the vulgarity of thought that aims -at the Future and Fame. The utter rejection of them would be the prayer -itself to strengthen the appreciation of art into a living thing. -Koyetsu made his profession in his younger days the connoisseurship of -swords as well as their whetting; it was for that service, I believe, -that Iyeyasu, the great feudal Prince of Yedo, gave him a piece of -land, then a mere waste, at Taka ga Mine of the lonely suburb of Kyoto, -by the Tanba highway, where he retired, with a few writing brushes and -a tea-kettle, to build his Taikyo An, or Abode of Vacancy, giving his -æsthetic fancy full swing to fill the “vacancy” of abode and life. He -warned his son and family, when he bade them farewell, it is said, that -they should never step into Yedo of the powerful lords and princes, -because the worldly desire was not the way of ennobling a life which -was worth living. We might call it “seihin”, or proud poverty that -Koyetsu most prized, as it never allures one from the chasteness of -simplicity which is the real foundation of art. There is reason to -believe that he must have been quite a collector of works of art, rich -and rare, in his earlier life; but it is said that he most freely gave -them away when he left his city home for his lonely retirement; indeed -he was entering into the sanctuary of priests. What needed he there -but prayer and silence? There is nothing more petty, even vulgar, in -the grey world of art and poetry, than to have a too close attachment -to life and physical luxuries; if our Orientalism may not tell you -anything much, I think it will teach you at least to soar out of your -trivialism. - -[Sidenote: THE STYLE CALLED “GYOSHO”] - -Koyetsu’s must have been a remarkable personality, remarkable -because of its lucidity distilled and crystallised—to use a plebeian -expression, by his own philosophy, whose touch breathed on the spot -a real art into anything from a porcelain bowl to the design on a -lacquer box; I see his transcendental mien like a cloud (that cloud -is not necessarily high in the sky all the time) in his works that -remain to-day, more from the reason that they carry, all of them, -the solitary grace of amateurishness in the highest sense. To return -to the unprofessional independence itself was his great triumph; -his artistic fervour was from his priesthood. I know that he was a -master in porcelain-making, picture-drawing, and also in lacquer-box -designing (what a beautiful work of art is the writing box of raised -lacquer called Sano Funahashi, to-day owned by the Imperial Museum of -Tokyo); but it seems that he often betrayed that his first and last -love was in his calligraphy. Once he was asked by Sambiakuin Konoye, -a high nobleman of the Kyoto Court, the question who was the best -penman of the day; it is said he replied, after a slight hesitation: -“Well, then, the second best would be you, my Lord; and Shokado would -be the third best.” The somewhat disappointed calligraphist of high -rank in the court pressed Koyetsu: “Speak out, who is the first! There -is nothing of ‘Well, then,’ about it.” Koyetsu replied: “This humble -self is that first.” The remarkable part is that in his calligraphy -Koyetsu never showed any streak of worldly vulgarity. Its illusive -charm is that of a rivulet sliding through the autumnal flowers; when -we call it impressive, that impressiveness is that of the sudden fall -of the moon. To return to this hanging of his (thousand thanks to the -Doctor) to which I look up to-day as a servant to his master, with -all devotion. The sure proof of its being no mean art, I venture to -say, is seen in its impressing me as the singular work of accident, -like the blow of the wind or the sigh of the rain; it seems the writer -(great Koyetsu) was never conscious, when he wrote it, of the paper on -which he wrote, of the bamboo brush which he grasped. It is true that -we cannot play our criticism against it; it is not our concern to ask -how it was written, but only to look at and admire it. The characters -are in the style called “gyosho,” or current hand, to distinguish from -the “kaisho,” or square hand; and there is one more style under the -name of “sosho,” or grass hand, that is an abbreviated cursive hand. -As this was written in “gyo” style, it did not depend on elaborate -patience but on the first stroke of fancy. I have no hesitation to say -that, when it is said that the arts of the calligrapher and the painter -are closely allied, the art of the calligrapher would be by just so -much related with our art of living; the question is what course among -the three styles we shall choose—the square formalism of “kaisho” or -the “sosho”-like romanticism? It does no justice to call “gyosho” a -middle road; when you know that your idealism is always born from the -conventionalism of reality of “kaisho”-like materialism, it is not -wrong to say that Koyetsu wisely selected a line of “gyosho”-like -accentuation—not so fantastic as a “sosho” calligraph—with the -tea-kettle and a few writing brushes, to make one best day before he -fell into the final rest. - - - - - II - - KENZAN - - -I used to pass by Zenyoji, a little Buddhist temple by the eastern -side of Uyeno Hill (whose trees, almost a thousand years old, in the -shape of a dragon, perhaps created by a Kano artist, have been ruined -by the smoke that never departs from the railroad terminus), where I -knew, from the calligraphic sign carved on a stone by the temple gate, -that Kenzan Ogata, the famous artist on paper or porcelain, and younger -brother of the great Korin, was buried in the graveyard within; but if -I did not step in, as in fact I did not step in, although I passed by -countless times, as I lived then in the neighbourhood of the temple -in classical Negishi—classical in association with the nightingale -and that wonderful pine-tree called Ogyo no Matsu (here also lived -Hoitsu, the famous decadent of the early nineteenth century)—that was -because I had little interest in any grave, even in Kenzan’s. And the -temple looked so dusty, smoky, and altogether dirty. How sorry I felt -in thinking that Kenzan’s artistic soul must be suffering from the -snoring, growling, and hissing of the engines day and night. Alas, he -could not foresee the future of a few hundred years when he died. But -I welcomed the news when the sudden removal of the grave was reported -as a result, a fortunate result indeed, of the expansion of the railway -track; this time, to be sure, I thought, his grey-loving, solitary -soul would be pleased to find a far better sleeping-place, as he was -to be moved to the large old garden of the Kokka Club (a well-known -artist club), with a deep pond where many gold fish peep underneath the -umbrella-like lotus leaves in early summer, and in later autumn the -_hagi_ or two-coloured lespedezas (Kenzan’s beloved subject) would lean -upon the water to admire their own images; and it is a matter thrice -satisfactory to think that this new place is also in Negishi (which -somehow recalls Hampstead, though there is no natural resemblance -between them). - - * * * * * - -I was invited to attend the memorial exhibition of Kenzan’s work to -commemorate the removal of his grave the other day. With the greatest -anticipation I went there with two friends of mine, a fellow poet -and an artist, both of them great admirers of Kenzan Ogata. When we -entered the ground, we found at once that the Buddhist ceremony, that -is the Sutra-reading called Kuya Nembutsu, around the newly dug grave -by the lotus pond under the trees, was well started already; some ten -or eleven priests, in fact the devoted members of the club, but in -long black robes, were seen through the foliage from the distance, -hopping around like the vagarious spirits of a moment (this fantastic -ceremony, Kuya Nembutsu) while reciting the holy book; the voice of the -recitation most musically broke the silence. We did not approach the -grave, but went straight into the exhibition rooms, because we knew -that the best prayer we could offer to Kenzan was to see and rightly -appreciate his works of art. We all of us were unable to speak a word -at the beginning, as our tongues (our heads too) lost their powers -against his peculiarly distinguished art, which is the oldest and -again the newest. When our minds became better composed, we sat in a -corner of the room where the hangings of his flowers or trees, and the -tea-bowls or incense-cases with his favourite designs, had been well -arranged; we felt inclined to talk, even discuss his art. - -[Sidenote: THE OLDEST AND THE NEWEST] - -“What a pleasing egotism,” I ventured to say, “in that picture of -lilies or this picture of fishes; the lilies and fishes are not an -accessory as in many other Japanese pictures, but the lilies and fishes -themselves in their full meaning. Again What a delightful egotism!” - -“You might call flowers feminine,” my artist-friend interrupted me. -“But I should like to know where is a thing more truly egotistic than -the flowers.” - -“That egotism in the picture,” I proceeded, “might be a real result -from the great reverence and intense love of Kenzan for his subjects; -we can see that his mind, when he painted them, was never troubled with -any other thing or thought. You know that such only occurs to a truly -gifted artist. After all, the greatness of Kenzan is his sincerity. -And it goes without saying that the pictures on tea-bowls we see here -are not things which were made to some one’s order. We become at once -sincere and silent in their presence; to say that his art was spiritual -is another way to express it—by that I mean that we are given all -opportunities to imagine what the pictures themselves may not contain. -Our imagination grows deeper and clearer through the virtue or magic of -his work; and again his work appears thrice simplified and therefore -more vital. The art really simple and vital is never to be troubled -with any rhetoric or accessories of unessentials; before you make such -a picture, you must have, to begin with, your own soul simplified and -vital in the true sense. Kenzan had that indeed.” - -[Sidenote: EXPRESSION OF PERSONALITY] - -“To call Kenzan’s work merely beautiful,” my friend-poet said, -evidently in the same mind with myself, “whether it be the picture on -paper or China-bowls, does no justice; what he truly aimed at was the -artistic expression,—and he was most successful when he was most true. -To him, as with the other great artists of East or West, the beauties -only occurred—and Kenzan’s beauties occurred when his simple art was -most decorative; in his decorativeness he found his own artistic -emotion. It was his greatness that he made a perfect union of emotion -and intellect in his work; to say shortly, he was the expression of -personality.” - -“What a personality was Kenzan’s! Again what a personality!” I -exclaimed. I proceeded, as I wished to take up the talk where my friend -poet had left off, “It is his personality by whose virtue even a -little weed or insignificant spray of a willow-tree turns to a real -art; he had that personality, because he had such a love and sympathy. -Indeed the main question of the artist is in his love and sympathy; the -external technique is altogether secondary. When you commune with the -inner meaning, that is the beginning and also the ending. We see here -the picture of a cherry-tree covered by the red blossoms, which might -happen to be criticised as a bad drawing; but since it does appear as -nothing but a cherry-tree, proud and lovely, I think that Kenzan’s -artistic desire was fully answered. He was an artist, not merely either -an illustrator or a designer. He was a true artist, therefore his work -is ever so new like the moon and flowers; and again old, like the -flowers and moon.” - -“If the so-called post-impressionists could see Kenzan’s work!” my -friend-artist suddenly ventured to exclaim, “I am sure that Vincent Van -Gogh would be glad to have this six-leafed screen of poppy-flowers.” - -“Really the picture is the soul of the flowers,” I said, “but not the -external flowers. It is mystic as the flowers are mystic. And imagine -Kenzan’s attitude when he drew that screen! I believe that he had the -same reverence as when he stood in the religion of mysticism to paint -a goddess; indeed his work was prayer and soul’s consolation. Though -the subject was flowers, I have no hesitation to call the picture -religious. I almost feel like lighting a candle and burning incense -before this screen of poppies.” - -[Sidenote: THE BAPTISM OF POVERTY] - -As with other gifted artists, we see Kenzan’s real life behind his -work. Some critic ably said that true art was an episode of life; I -can imagine that, when his artistic fancy moved and his work was done, -he must have thrown it aside into the waves of time, off-hand, most -unceremoniously, and forgotten all about it. We can truly say of his -works that they never owed one thing to money or payment for their -existence—and that is the greatest praise we can give to any work of -art. His material life might be said to have been quite fortunate -in that he was invited to Yedo (present Tokyo) by the Prince of the -Kanyeiji Temple of Uyeno, under whose patronage his art was pleased to -take its own free independent course; but his greatness is that when -the Prince passed away and he was left to poverty, he never trembled -and shrank under its cold cruel baptism; indeed that baptism made his -personality far nobler, like the white flame from which the whiteness -is taken out, and consequently his art was a thing created, as we say -here, by the mind out of the world and dust. The works which to-day -remain and are admired by us are mostly the work he executed after he -reached his seventieth year. We have many reasons to be thankful for -the fact that he left Kyoto, the old city of court nobles and ladies, -somewhat effeminate, and the side of his brother Korin, whose great -influence would have certainly made him a little Korin at the best; -we see no distinction whatever in the work which he gave the world -under Korin’s guidance. His art made a great stride after he appeared -in the Yedo of the warriors and manliness and touched a different -atmosphere from that of his former life; I will point, when you ask -me for the proof, to the now-famous six-fold screen with the picture -of plum-blossom, or the hanging also of the plum-blossom owned by the -Imperial Museum. Oh, what a noble plum-blossom, which reminds us of a -samurai’s heart, simple and brave! - - - - - III - - UTAMARO - - -I feel I scent, in facing Utamaro’s ladies, whether with no -soul or myriad souls (certainly ladies, be they courtesans or -_geishas_, who never bartered their own beauty and songs away), the -rich-soft passionate odour of rare old roses; when I say I hear the -silken-delicate summer breezes winging in the picture, I mean that the -Japanese sensuousness (is it the scent or pang of a lilac or thorn?) -makes my senses shiver at the last moment when it finally turns to -spirituality. It was our Japanese civilisation of soul, at least -in olden time under Tokugawa’s regime, not to distinguish between -sensuousness and spirituality, or to see at once the spiritual in the -sensuous; I once wrote down as follows, upon the woman drawn by lines, -or, more true to say, by the absence of lines, in snake-like litheness -of attitude, I might say more subtle than Rossetti’s Lillith, with such -eyes only opened to see love: - - “Too common to say she is the beauty of line, - However, the line old, spiritualised into odour, - (The odour soared into an everlasting ghost from life and death), - As a gossamer, the handiwork of a dream, - ’Tis left free as it flaps: - The lady of Utamaro’s art is the beauty of zephyr flow. - I say again, the line with the breath of love, - Enwrapping my heart to be a happy prey: - Sensuous? To some so she may appear, - But her sensuousness divinised into the word of love.” - -[Sidenote: THE LADY OF UTAMARO’S ART] - -Although I can enjoy and even criticise Hiroshige or Hokusai at any -time and in any place, let me tell you that I cannot do so with -Utamaro, because I must be first in the rightest mood (who says bodies -have no mood?) as when I see the living woman; to properly appreciate -his work of art I must have the fullness of my physical strength so -that my criticism is disarmed. (Criticism? Why, that is the art for -people imperfect in health, thin and tired.) I feel, let me confess, -almost physical pain—is it rather a joy?—through all my adoration in -seeing Utamaro’s women, just as when with the most beautiful women -whose beauty first wounds us; I do not think it vulgarity to say that I -feel blushing with them, because the true spiritualism would please to -be parenthesised by bodily emphasis. It is your admiration that makes -you bold; again your admiration of Utamaro’s pictures that makes them -a real part of yourself, therefore your vital question of body and -soul; and you shall never be able to think of them separately from -your personal love. When I say that we have our own life and art in his -work, I mean that all Japanese woman-beauty, love, passion, sorrow and -joy, in one word, all dreams now appear, then disappear, by the most -wonderful lines of his art. - -I will lay me down whenever I want to beautifully admire Utamaro and -spend half an hour with his lady (“To-day I am with her in silence -of twilight eve, and am afraid she may vanish into the mist”), in -the room darkened by the candle-light (it is the candle-light that -darkens rather than lights); every book or picture of Western origin -(perhaps except a few reprints from Rossetti or Whistler, which would -not break the atmosphere altogether) should be put aside. How can you -place together in the same room Utamaro’s women, for instance, with -Millet’s pictures or Carpenter’s “Towards Democracy"? The atmosphere I -want to create should be most impersonal, not touched or scarred by the -sharpness of modern individualism or personality, but eternally soft -and grey; under the soft grey atmosphere you would expect to see the -sudden swift emotion of love, pain, or joy of life, that may come any -moment or may not come at all. I always think that the impersonality or -the personality born out of the depth of impersonality was regarded in -older Japan as the highest, most virtuous art and life; now not talking -about life, but the art—Utamaro’s art, the chronicle or history of the -idealised harem or divan. How charming to talk with Utamaro on love and -beauty in the grey soft atmosphere particularly fitting to receive him -in, or to be received by him in. I would surely venture to say to him -on such a rare occasion: “You had no academy or any hall of mediocrity -in your own days to send your pictures to; that was fortunate, as you -appealed directly to the people eventually more artistic and always -just. I know that you too were once imprisoned under the accusation -of obscenity; there was the criticism also in your day which saw the -moral and the lesson, but not the beauty and the picture. When you say -how sorry you were to part with your picture when it was done, I fully -understand your artistic heart, because the picture was too much of -yourself; perhaps you confessed your own love and passion too nakedly. -I know that you must have been feeling uneasy or even afraid to be -observed or criticised too closely.” - -[Sidenote: THE ACCUSATION OF OBSCURITY] - -As a certain critic remarked, the real beauty flies away like an -angel whenever an intellect rushes in and begins to speak itself; the -intellect, if it has anything to do, certainly likes to show up itself -too much, with no consideration for the general harmony that would soon -be wounded by it. Utamaro’s art, let me dare say, is as I once wrote: - - “She is an art (let me call her so) - Hung, as a web, in the air of perfume, - Soft yet vivid, she sways in music: - (But what sadness in her saturation of life!) - Her music lives in intensity of a moment and then dies; - To her, suggestion is her life. - She is the moth-light playing on reality’s dusk, - Soon to die as a savage prey of the moment; - She is a creation of surprise (let me say so), - Dancing gold on the wire of impulse.” - -Some one might say that Utamaro’s ladies are brainless, but is it not, -as I said before, that the sacrifice of individuality or personality -makes them join at once with the great ghosts of universal beauty and -love? They are beautiful, because all the ghosts and spirits of all -the ages and humanity of Japan speak themselves through them; it is -perfectly right of him not to give any particular name to the pictures, -because they are not the reflection of only one woman, but of a hundred -and thousand women; besides, Utamaro must have been loving a little -secrecy and mystification to play with the public’s curiosity. - -[Sidenote: THE UKIYOYE WOMAN] - -We have his art; that is quite enough. What do I care about his life, -what he used to wear and eat, how long he slept and how many hours -he worked every day; in fact, what is known as his life is extremely -slight. It is said that he was a sort of hanger-on to Juzaburo Tsutaya, -the well-known publisher of his day, at the house within a stone’s -throw of Daimon or Great Gate of Yoshiwara, the Nightless City of -hired beauties and lanterns, where, the story says, Utamaro had his -nightly revel of youthful days as a fatal slave to female enchantment; -while we do not know whether he revelled there or not, we know that -as Yoshiwara of those times was the rendezvous of beauty, good looks, -and song, not all physical, but quite spiritual, we can believe that -he must have wandered there for his artistic development. Indeed there -was his great art beautifully achieved when he suddenly entered into -idealism or dream where sensuousness and spirituality find themselves -to be blood brothers or sisters. In the long history of Japanese art we -see the most interesting turn in the appearance of a new personality, -that is the Ukiyoye woman; and who was the artist who perfected them -to the art of arts? He was Utamaro. You may abuse and criticise, if -you will, their unnaturally narrow squint eyes and egg-shaped smooth -face; but from the mask his woman wears I am deliciously impressed -with the strange yet familiar, old but new, artistic personality. The -times change, and we are becoming more intellectual, as a consequence, -physically ugly; is it too sweeping or one-sided to say that? I have, -however, many reasons for my wishing to see more influence of Utamaro’s -art. - - - - - IV - - HIROSHIGE - - -The Sumida River’s blue began to calm down, like that of an old -Japanese colour-print, into the blue, I should say, of silence which -had not been mixed with another colour to make life; that blue, it -might be said, did not exist so much in the river as in my very mind, -which has lately grown, following a certain Mr. Hopper, to cry, -"Hiro—Hiro—Hiroshige the Great!” The time was late afternoon of one day -in last April; the little boat which carried a few souls like mine, -who, greatly troubled by the modern life, were eager to gain the true -sense of perspective towards Nature, glided down as it finished the -regular course of the “Cherry-blossom viewing at Mukojima.” And my mind -entered slowly into a picture of my own creation—nay, Hiroshige’s. -“Look at the view from here. (I was thinking of Hiroshige’s Sumidagawa -Hanasakari among his Yedo pictures.) It may be too late now to agree -with Wilde when he said that Nature imitates Art,” I said to my friend. -He saw at once my meaning, though not clearly, and expanded on how -artistically the human mind has been advancing lately; and I endorsed -him with the fact that I have come to see, for some long time, the -Japanese scenery through Hiroshige’s eye. My friend exclaimed: “Is -it not the same thing, when you think Nature imitates Art, that your -mind itself imitates the Art first?” It is not written in any book -how much Hiroshige was appreciated in his day; but I believe I am not -wrong to say that he is now reaching the height of popularity in both -the East and the West, of popularity in the real sense, and you will -easily understand me when I say that he is the artist of the future in -the same sense that I disbelieve in the birth register of Turner and -Whistler. He is, in truth, greatly in advance, even if I fancy he is -an artist of the present day, your contemporary and mine; I always go -to him to find where Nature is pleased to put her own emphasis. Every -picture of his I see seems to be a new one always; and the last is -ever so surprising as to leave my mind incapable for the time being of -apprehension of his other pictures. One picture of his is enough; there -is the proof of his artistic greatness. - -[Sidenote: NATURE IN HER EMPHASIS] - -We did not know until recently what meant the words realism and -idealism (should we thank the Western critics?) except this: “The -artist, whatever he be, idealist or realist or what not, is good when -he is true to his art. I mean that technique or method of expression -is secondary; even the seeming realistic picture of Oriental art is, -when it is splendid, always subjective.” I have many reasons to call -Hiroshige an idealist or subjective artist, now playing an arbitrary -art of criticism after the Western fashion, as I only see his artistic -wisdom, but nothing else in his being true to Nature; that wisdom, I -admit, helped his art to a great measure, but what I admire in him -is the indefinable quality which, as I have no better word, I will -call atmosphere or pictorial personality. It seems that he learned -the secret from Chinese landscape art how to avoid femininity and -confusion; the difference between his art and that of the Chinese -artist is that where the one drew a _bonseki_, or tray-landscape, -with sand from memory, the latter made a mirage in the sky. When -Hiroshige fails he reminds me of Emerson’s words of suggestion to look -at Nature upside down through your legs; his success, as that of the -Chinese artist, is poetry. And our Oriental poetry is no other kind -but subjectivity. I have right here before me the picture called “Awa -no Naruto,” which is more often credited to be the work of the second -Hiroshige; now let me, for once and all, settle the question that there -were many Hiroshiges. It is my opinion there was only one Hiroshige; -I say this because in old Japan (a hundred times more artistic than -present Japan) the individual personality was not recognised, and -when an artist adopted the name of Hiroshige by merit and general -consent, it meant that he grew at once incarnated with it; what use is -there to talk about its second or third? I prefer to regard Hiroshige -as the title of artistic merit since it has ceased in fact to be -an individuality; indeed, where is the other artist, East or West, -whose life-story is so little known as Hiroshige’s? And I see so many -pictures which, while bearing his signature, I cannot call his work, -because I see them so much below the Hiroshige merit—for instance, -the whole upright series of Tokaido and Yedo, and so many pictures of -the “Noted Places in the Provinces of Japan"—because they are merely -prose, and even as prose they often fail. But to return to this “Awa -no Naruto,” a piece of poem in picture, where the whirlpools of the -strait, large and small, now rising and then falling in perfect rhythm, -are drawn suggestively but none the less distinctly. I see in it not -only the natural phenomenon of the Awa Strait, but also the symbolism -of life’s rise and fall, success and defeat; I was thinking for some -time that I shall write a poem on it, although I could not realise it -yet. - -[Sidenote: HIROSHIGE THE CHINESE POET] - -I have my own meaning when I call Hiroshige the Chinese poet. Upon -my little desk here I see an old book of Chinese prosody; there is -a popular Chinese verse, Hichigon Zekku, or Four Lines with Seven -Words in Each, which is almost as rigid as the English sonnet; and the -theory of the sonnet can be applied to that Hichigon Zekku without any -modification. We generally attach an importance to the third line, -calling it the line “for change,” and the fourth is the conclusion; the -first line is, of course, the commencing of the subject, and the second -is “to receive and develop.” It seems that Hiroshige’s good pictures -very well pass this test of Hichigon Yekku qualification. Let me pick -out the pictures at random to prove my words. Here is the “Bright Sky -after Storm at Awazu,” one of the series called Eight Views of the -Lake Biwa; in it the white sails ready to hoist in the fair breeze -might be the “change” of the versification. That picture was commenced -and developed with the trees and rising hills by the lake, and the -conclusion is the sails now visible and then invisible far away. Now -take the picture of a rainstorm on the Tokaido. Two peasants under a -half-opened paper umbrella, and the _Kago_-bearers naked and hasty, are -the “third line” of the picture; the drenched bamboo dipping all one -way and the cottage roofs shivering under the threat of Nature would be -the first and second lines, while this picture-poem concludes itself -with the sound of the harsh oblique fall of rain upon the ground. You -will see that Hiroshige’s good pictures have always such a theory of -composition; and he gained it, I think, from the Chinese prosody. In -the East, more than in the West, art is allied to verse-making. - -[Sidenote: THE FAREWELL VERSE] - -When we consider the fact he was the artist of only fifty years ago, it -is strange why we cannot know more of his own life story, and how he -happened to leave the words that generally pass as a farewell verse as -follows:— - -“I leave my brush at Azuma, and go on the journey to the Holy West to -view the famous scenery there.” - -I cannot accept it innocently, and I even doubt its origin, as it is -more prosaic than poetical. It is only that he followed after a fashion -of his day if he left it, as the verse is poor and at best humorous. -But when it is taken by the English seriousness, the words have another -effect. Indeed, Hiroshige has had quite an evolution since he was -discovered in the West; he is, in truth, more an English or European -artist than a Japanese in the present understanding. - - - - - V - - GAHO HASHIMOTO - - -[Sidenote: _KOKOROMOCHI_ IN PICTURE] - -The art of Gaho (Hashimoto’s _nom-de-plume_, signifying the “Kingdom -Refined”) is not to discard form and detail, as is often the case -with the artists of the “Japanese school,” while they soar into the -grey-tinted vision of tone and atmosphere. His conventionalism—remember -that he started his artist’s life as a student of the Kano school, -whose absurd classicism, arresting the germ of development, invited -its own ruin—was not an enemy for him by any means. With the magic of -his own alchemy he turned it into a transcendental beauty, bearing the -dignity of artistic authority. I am sure he must have been glad to -have the conventionalism for his magic to work on afterward; and when -he left it, it seems to me, he looked back to it with a reminiscence -of sad longing. Conventionalism is not bad when it does not dazzle. To -make it suggestive is an achievement. To speak of Gaho’s individuality -in his pictures does no justice to him. His thought and conception -are the highest, and at the least different from many another artist -in the West. It is not his aim at all to express the light and colour -of his individuality. I believe that he even despised it. He had -the volumes of the Oriental philosophy in himself; and his idea, I -believe, was much influenced by the Zen sect Buddhism, whose finality -in teaching is to forget your ego. Gaho often talked on _Kokoromochi_ -in picture, to use his favourite expression, which, I am sure, means -more than “spirit.” “Now what is it?” he was frequently asked. “Is -it in its nature subjective or objective? Or is it something like a -combination of the two?” He was never explanatory in speech in his -life. He thought, as a Zen priest, that silence was the best answer. -Let me explain his _Kokoromochi_ in picture by my understanding. - -It is life or vital breath of the objective character, which is -painted by one who has no stain of eye or subjectivity. To lose your -subjectivity against the canvas, or, I will say, here in Japan, the -silk, is the first and last thing. And the perfect assimilation -with the object which you are going to paint would be the way of -emancipation. You have to understand that you are called out by a -divine voice only to be a medium, but nothing else. I am afraid that -the phrase, “Let Nature herself speak,” has been over-used. However, -it is peculiarly true in Gaho’s case. I think Gaho thought that to -flash the rays of his individuality in his picture was nothing but a -blasphemy against Nature. In that respect he is the humblest artist, -and at the same time his humility is his own pride. Indeed, it is only -through humility you are admitted to step into the inner shrine of -Nature. Art for Gaho was not the matter of a piece of silk and Chinese -ink, but a sacred thing. And to be an artist is a life’s greatest -triumph, and I am sure that Gaho was that. - -I have been for some long time suspecting the nature of development -of artistic appreciation of the Western mind, when only Hokusai’s -and Hiroshige’s pictures, let me say, of red and green in tone of -conception, called its special attention, and I even thought that our -Japanese art, with the silence of blue and grey, would be perfectly -beyond its power of reach. When Nature soars higher, she turns at once -to the depth of dreams, whose voice is silence. To express the grey -stillness of atmosphere and tone is the highest art, at least, to the -Japanese mind. Not only in the picture, but in the “tea house” or -incense ceremony, or in the garden, the appreciation of silence is the -highest æsthetics. It gives you a strong but never abrupt thrill of the -delight which is nobly touched by the hands of sadness, and lets you -lose yourself in it, and slowly grasp something you may be glad to call -ideal. And the same sensation you can entertain from Gaho’s art, which -you might think to be reminiscent of a certain artistic paradise or -Horai, the blest—one of his favourite subjects—enwrapped in silent air. -You may call it idealism if you will, but it was nothing for him but -the realisation. While you think it was his fancy, he saw it with his -own naked eyes. It is true that he had been delivered from idealism. -And I should say that dream, too, is not less real than you and I. - -[Sidenote: NOTHING BUT THE REALISATION] - -He never jars you. His art is a grey ghost of melody born from the -bosom of depth and distance, like a far-off mountain. And it gives -you a thrill of large space that binds you with eternity, and you -will understand that what you call reality is nothing but a shiver of -impulse of great Nature. His art, indeed, is the highest art of Japan, -which, I believe, will be also the highest art of the West. It quite -often stirs me with a Western suggestion, which, however, springs from -the soil of his own bosom. I know that there is a meeting-point of the -East and West, and that, after all, they are the same thing. He found -the secret of art, which will remind any highly developed mind of both -the East and West of some memory, and let it feel something like an -emotion and fly into a higher realm of beauty. (Gaho’s beauty is the -beauty of silence.) It goes without saying that his art is simple, and -his vision not complex. However, it is not only an Oriental philosophy -to say that the greatest simplicity is the greatest complexity, and I -will say that Gaho holds both extremes. The elements of his art embrace -something older than art, larger than life, something which inspires -you with the sense of profundity. They give us strange and positive -pulses of age and nature, and the sudden rapture of dream, for which -we will gladly die. They give us the feeling of peace and silence, and -suggest something which we wish to grasp. The delight we gain from Gaho -is purely spiritual. His pictures are living as a ghost which vanishes -and again appears. - -His conception of Buddhism was not sad, although this religion is -generally said to be a pessimism, but joyous and sympathetic. I am -sure that to associate Buddhism with something of grief and tears -is not a proper understanding at all. (See Gaho’s pictures of the -Buddha and _Rakans_, the Buddha disciples. They do not inspire any -awfulness.) Tenderness and joy, with a touch of sorrow, which is -poetry, are the road toward the Nirvana. For Gaho, silence meant the -highest state of peacefulness. The sad joy, which is the highest joy, -is an evolution which never breaks the euphony of life, while tears and -grief are rebellious. His art inspires in us a great reverence, which -is religious, and it is always justified. And it reveals a light of -faith under which he was born as an artist, and he was glad to fulfil -his appointed work. Then his aspiration is never an accident, but the -force which he cherished and has made grow. - -[Sidenote: GAHO’S THREE PERIODS] - -Gaho’s life of seventy-five years, which had closed in the month of -January, 1907, can be divided into three periods. The first is that in -which he was engaged in the pursuit of the ancient method by copying -the models after the fashion of the Kano school; the second was that in -which he slowly broke loose from the trammels of the Kano school, and -ventured out to make a thorough exploration of the conspicuous features -of various other schools; and the final was that in which he revealed -himself nobly, with all the essence of art which he had earned from his -tireless journey of previous days. In one word, he was the sum total -of the best Japanese art. It is said that his long life was but one -long day of study and work. He shut himself in his silent studio from -early morning till evening, from evening till midnight, sitting before -a piece of spread silk, with a Chinese brush in hand, as if before a -Buddhistic altar where the holy candles burn. Now his research went -deep in the Chinese schools of the ages of Sung, Yuen, and Ming, and -then his thoughts lingered by the glimmer of the Higashiyama school’s -reminiscences. He confessed that he received no small influence from -the Korin school, and I have more than one reason to believe that his -knowledge of the Western art also was considerable. His catholicity of -taste severely discriminated them, and his philosophy or conception of -art stood magnificently above them, and never allowed them to disturb -it under any circumstances. His great personality made him able to sing -the song of triumph over his boundless artistic knowledge which had -no power to oppress him. You might call his art a work of inspiration -if you wish; but I am sure that he hated the word inspiration. It was -through the religious exaltation of his mind that he could combine -himself with Nature, and he and the subject which he was going to -paint were perfectly one when the picture was done. His artist’s magic -is in his handling of lines. He believed that Japanese painting was -fundamentally one of lines. What a charm, what a variety he had with -them! See the difference between the lines he used for the pictures -of a tiger or a dragon in clouds, the Oriental symbol of power and -exaltation, and a bird or other delicate subject. The lines themselves -are the pictures. However, that does not mean to undervalue his equal -pre-eminence in his art of colour. - -[Sidenote: HIS FOUR YEARS OF PUPILAGE] - -Gaho—or Gaho Hashimoto—was born in the fifth year of Tempo (1832) at -Kobikicho, in Yedo, now Tokyo. From his seventh year he was taught how -to draw and paint; at thirteen he became for the first time a pupil -of Shosen Kano. It is said that Gaho was from an artistic family; we -can trace back to Yeiki Hashimoto, who lived some time in the Meiwa -(1764), and from whom the family line has continued unbroken down to -the present. Yeiki was originally a native of Kyoto; and there he -happened to be known to Suwonokami Matsudaira, the Shogun’s minister, -who took him into his service; and on the lordship’s return to Yedo -Mr. Hashimoto accompanied his master. And he happened to settle -at Kobikicho, where the Kano family lived, and soon gained Kano’s -friendship. Since that time the family line was continued by Ikyo, -Itei, and Yoho. Gaho was Yoho’s son. The year after he became a student -of the Kano school he lost his father and also his mother. It is said -to be extraordinary that he was called upon to act, after only four -years of pupilage, as an assistant to his master Shosen in painting -personal figures on the cedar door of the Shogun palace. At twenty -years of age he was made head pupil. When he married he was twenty-six -years old, and he began to lead his independent life, which turned -tragic immediately. While the problem of getting his subsistence was -not easy, his wife, whom he married with hope, became insane. - -Mrs. Hashimoto was obliged to withdraw to the Higuchi village in -Saitama prefecture, where was an estate of her husband’s master, to -avoid danger in the city; but she grew worse, and ran mad. And it -is said that such a sad turn was from the reason that she was often -tormented by some country ruffians. She was soon taken back to the -city again, where she was put under her husband’s sole protection. -Thus, when poor Gaho’s mind was completely engrossed with his family -trouble, the great restoration of Meiji (1866) was announced, and the -feudalism which had prospered for some three hundred years fell to the -ground. Whole Japan was thrown at once in the abyss of social tumult -and change; under the speedily felt foreign invasion she lost herself -entirely. What she did was to destroy old Japan; she thought it proper -and even wise. It was the darkest age for art; when people did not -know of the safety of their own existence, it goes without saying that -they had no time to admire art and spend money for it. It is perfectly -miraculous to think how the artists managed to live; there are, of -course, many heart-rending stories about them. - -[Sidenote: TWENTY SEN FOR HIS THREE DAYS] - -Gaho’s is sad enough, although it may not be saddest of all. He gave up -his own painting temporarily, and tried to get a pittance by painting -pictures on folding fans which were meant for exportation to China. -And it is said that he was often scorned by his employer for his -clumsy execution and, sadder still, he was told to leave his job. Is -it Heaven’s right to treat one who was destined to be a great artist -like that? He now resorted to a manual work of linking metal rings -for making a sort of net-work; this chain-work, when finished, it is -said, was made into something to be worn as an undergarment. Then he -turned to take up the handicraft of making “koma,” or bridges (a kind -of small wooden or bamboo pillow inserted between the body of a musical -instrument and its strings), of the _shamisen_, a Japanese guitar; and -he was paid, I am told, one sen for a single piece of that koma, and -to make twenty it took him three days. Fancy his earning of twenty -sen for his steady work of three days! To recollect it in his later -days must have been for him the source of tears. And fancy again his -immense wealth when he died, the wealth which, not his greed, but his -single-minded devotion to art invited! In fact, there was no person -so unconcerned of money as this Gaho. It was his greatness to believe -amid the sudden falling of art that the Japanese art which had grown -from the very soil a thousand years old could not die so easily, and -that the people’s mind would open to it in a better condition; it was -his prophetic foresight to behold the morning light in the midnight -star. He was patiently waiting for his time when he should rise with -splendour; and he never left himself to be ruined among the sad whirl -of society and the nation’s unsympathetic commotion. He walked slowly -but steadily toward the star upon which he set his lofty eyes. He -stood aloof above the age. His life, not only in his art, was the song -of triumph too. - -To his relief, his insane wife died; and his appointment as a -draughtsman at the Imperial Naval Academy meant for him a substantial -help. He kept it up till the eighteenth year of Meiji, when the revival -of Japanese art began to be chronicled, as Gaho expected, in the -formation of art societies like the Kanga Kwai or Ryuchi Kwai. When he -left the Naval Academy he was called to do service at the Investigation -Bureau of Drawing and Painting in the Department of Education. His -fellow-workers were the most lamented Hogai Kano, another great artist -of modern Japan, and the late Mr. Okakura, that able art critic, in -whose guidance Kano trusted. And those three men at the start are the -true life-restorers of Japanese art. When the Tokyo School of Art -was founded (22nd year of Meiji), Gaho was first made warden of the -school, and then its director. And he was appointed professor when his -investigation bureau happened to close up. However, he voluntarily -resigned his professorship when Mr. Okakura, then the president of the -school, was obliged to resign his office. Gaho took the principal’s -chair of the Nippon Bijitsu when Okakura established it afterwards; but -this school soon became a story of the past. - -[Sidenote: GAHO’S SUCCESSORS] - -Gaho has left his successors perhaps in those artists like Kwanzan -Shimomura, Taikwan Yokoyama, Kogetsu Saigo and others, who are doing -some noteworthy work. And I believe that he died at the right time if -he must. - - - - - VI - - KYOSAI - - -[Sidenote: THE WINE AND ARTISTS’ MINDS] -[Sidenote: THE ILLUSTRATED AUTOBIOGRAPHY] - -I acknowledged my friend’s characterisation, after some reluctance, of -our Kyosai Kawanabe as a Japanese Phil May; as the artist of _Punch_ -has often received the appellation of an English Hokusai, I do not -see much harm, speaking generally, in thus falling into the feminine -foible of comparison-making. Putting aside the question of the material -achievement in art of those artists of the East and West, in truth so -different (Kyosai surpassing the other, let me say, in variety), one -will soon see that their innermost artistic characters are closely -related; their seeming difference is the difference of education and -circumstances from which even their original minds could hardly escape. -I do not know much of the bacchanalianism of Phil May, but I know -well enough that its sway is not so expansive in England as in Japan, -at least old Japan, where the fantastic artists like Kyosai revelled -around the ghosts they created in the sweet cup of _saké_. When we see -Kyosai writing in front of his name the epithet Shojo, applied to the -half-human red-haired bacchanals of Chinese legend, we might say he -betrayed, beside his full-faced confession of the love of the cup, the -fact of his natural attachment to Toba Sojo, that apostle of humour, -whose pictorial wantonness may have given him many a hint; indeed he -might have, like Phil May, adorned the pages of _Punch_, although -many an admirer of his, like Josiah Conder in _Paintings and Studies -by Kyosai Kawanabe_, a sumptuous book on the artist containing the -representative work of his last eight years, sees only the serious side -of his work. And when he changed the Chinese character of his name from -that of “dawn” to that of “madness,” I think that he was laughing, at -his own expense, over the lawless excitement he most comically acted -when the excess of wine deceived him away from the imaginative path of -inspiration, while, like Hokusai in the well-known epithet Gwakyo Rojin -or Old Man Crazy at Painting, he sanctified to himself his own craze -for painting. It is an interesting psychological study to speculate -on the possible relation between the Japanese wine and our artists’ -minds; I think it was a superstition or faith, I might say, founded -on tradition, that they called the wine an invoker of inspiration, -as I see the fact to-day that many of them find the divine breath in -something else. However, I am thankful to the Japanese liquid with its -golden flash, if it really acted as the medium through which Kyosai’s -many pictures came into existence, while his many other works, for -instance the frontispiece woodcut of Professor Conder’s Kyosai book, -the elaborate picture of a Japanese beauty of the eleventh century, -or the famous courtesan, Jigoku-dayu, in company with a demon, also -the highly finished work owned by Mrs. William Anderson, or the other -pictures I have seen more or less by accident, prove that he can be -an equally splendid artist in a different direction while in perfect -sobriety. He was born in the year 1831, that is about thirty years, -roughly speaking, before the fall of the Tokugawa feudalism, when the -age was fast decaying into loose morality and _saké_-drinking; and -when he became a man, he found that the art’s dignity under whose kind -shadow he had studied as a student of Tohaku Kano, the leading artist -of that famous Kano family in those days, had fallen flat, and that -his ability made no satisfactory impression on people who had likely -forgotten their artistic appreciation in the tumult of the Restoration; -and I think it was natural enough for Kyosai to call upon the wine, as -we say here, to sweep away the grievance, and to invoke, through it, a -divine influence upon his art. And it is the old Japanese way to speak -of wine-drinking and general revel with innocent gusto, as I find in -_Kyosai Gwaden_, an illustrated autobiography here and there humorously -exaggerated but none the less sincere, from which all the writers on -Kyosai, Professor Conder included, draw the materials of his life; -he is often in danger of being criticised for his self-advertising -audacity, this artist of fine madness. He often reminds me of Hokusai, -not so much in his artistic expression as in temperament. The books, I -mean _Kyosai Gwaden_, cannot be said, I think, to be more interesting -in text than the pictures themselves; these are a series of off-hand -sketches showing the actual scenes of his arrest and imprisonment, the -story of which Professor Conder’s English propriety excluded, although -it seems perfectly harmless as it was, on his part, merely the conduct -arising out of merriment from excess of wine; beside, his sketches show -us the sickening gloominess of prison life in those days when one’s -freedom and right were denied rather than protected. Kyosai drank most -terribly at a party held at a restaurant in Uyeno Park; he made on -the spot the caricatures—while overhearing the talk of a foreigner on -horseback who, being asked by a tea-house maid at Oji if he came alone, -replied that he came accompanied by “a pair of fools"—in which he drew -the picture of two people tying the shoe-strings of one man with the -longest legs, and also the picture of men of the longest arms pulling -out the hairs of Daibutsu’s nostrils. The authorities, though it is not -clear how the matter came to their knowledge, stepped into the place -and arrested him on the ground of insulting the officials; we must be -thankful for the “enlightenment” of to-day when nobody would possibly -get, as Kyosai got in 1870, ninety days in the cell from such pictures. -The real meaning of Kyosai’s impromptu in art is rather vague; but it -is in my mind a satirical love to understand them as a huge laughter -over Japan’s slavishness to the West. And I often wonder if they are -not caricatures which could be used to-day. Where is another Kyosai -who could raise such a striking brush of scorn and sneer as to startle -authority? - -[Sidenote: THE PROUD PLEBEIANISM] - -Kyosai used to absorb his spare time, while a young student at Kano’s -atelier, in the study of the _No_ drama—out of natural love, I believe, -combined with zeal to find an artistic secret in its heterogeneity, -unlike the other students who sought their outside amusement nightly -in popular halls of music and song; and it was an elderly lady of the -Kano family who encouraged him by furnishing funds for teacher and -costumes, being impressed, as a _No_ admirer herself, by the young -man’s noble intention. It seems that Kyosai had not been able to fulfil -the old lady’s desire to see him in one of her favourite pieces called -_Sambaso_, whether from his imperfect mastering of it then or from some -other reason, when she suddenly fell ill and died; doubtless, Kyosai -took the matter to his heart of hearts. It was on the day of her third -anniversary that he gathered all the musician accompanists of flute -and drum before her lonely grave at Uyeno, and he, of course in the -full costume of the character, performed the whole piece of the said -_Sambaso_. Fancy the scene in the graveyard damp with mosses, dark with -the falling foliage; and the actor is no other but fantastic Kyosai. -Where could be found a more gruesome sight than that? This story among -others we find in _Kyosai Gwaden_ is most characteristic in that no -other artist of the long Japanese history, perhaps with the possible -exception of Hokusai, could make it fit for himself; the story reveals -Kyosai’s honesty almost to a fault, that sounds at once childish or -madman-like, a temperament, unlike that of Southern Japan of female -refinement and voluptuousness, which only the proud plebeianism of the -Yedo civilisation (what an ultra-European imbecility of present Tokyo!) -could create, the temperament, uncompromising, most difficult to be -neutral. If we call Icho Hanabusa the most proper representative of old -Yedo’s Genroku Age, the time when people found spirituality through -the consecration of materialism, I think we can well call Kyosai the -representative of the later Tokugawa Age (although his life extended a -good many years into the present Meiji era) which, again like his own -art, fell with the abruptness of an oak-tree. I have some reason when I -beg your attention to the above characteristic story of Kyosai. - -The love of the _No_ drama, the classic of lyrical fascination -exclusively patronised by nobles and people of taste, would never be -taken as strange in Kyosai who stayed sixteen long years with that -master of the old Kano art, Tohaku Kano, till he parted from it in his -twenty-seventh year perhaps for an art wider and truer, or, let me say, -to find his own artistic soul all by his own impulse and strength; and -when we see what attachment, even reverence, he had, during his whole -life, toward the name of Toiku given him by the old master, the name -we find in _Kyosai Gwaden_ and other books, we can safely say that his -classic passion in general must have been quite strong. The question -is where his plebeianism could find room to rise and fall. That is the -point where, not only in his art, also in his personality, he showed in -spite of himself a tragi-comic oddity, mainly from the rupture between -the two extremes of temperament. I am told by his personal friend who -survives to-day that he was rather pleased to shock and frighten the -most polite society which reverently congregated in the silent house -of the _No_ drama, to begin with, by his informal dress only suitable -for the street shopkeeper or mechanic, then with his occasional shout -of praise over the beautiful turn of the acting, in a voice touched -with vulgar audacity; he exclaimed, “Umei!” Yedo slang for “splendid,” -which was at least unusual for a _No_ appreciator. Nobody seemed, I am -told, to criticise him when his good old heart was well recognised. -So in his own art. I can point out, even from Professor Conder’s -collection alone, many a specimen where the aristocratic aloofness of -air is often blurred by his plebeianism—for example in the pictures of -“Daruma,” “The Goddess Kwannon on a Dragon,” “Carp swimming in a Lake,” -and others; the meaning I wish to impress on your mind will become -clear directly when you compare them with the work of Sesshu, Motonobu, -and Okyo on similar subjects. And again I have enough confidence to -say that his elaborate pictures of red and green, after the Ukiyoye -school, were more often weakened by the classic mist; although he -did not wish to be looked upon as of that school, I think it was the -main reason that he rather failed as an Ukiyoye artist. I endorse my -friend to whom I praised and abused Kyosai lately only to get his true -estimation, when he declared that Kyosai could not become one of the -greatest artists of Japan simply from his inability to sacrifice his -versatility; that versatility was the kind we can only find in Hokusai. -He was the most distinguished example of one who failed, if he failed, -from excess of artistic power and impulse. - -[Sidenote: WEAKENED BY THE CLASSIC MIST] - -Any one who sees _Kyosai Gwaden_ will certainly be astonished by his -extraordinary persistence of study displayed in the first two volumes, -in which he shows encyclopedically the delicate shades of variety of -nearly all Japanese artists acknowledged great, from Kanaoka down to -Kuniyoshi, also specimens of Chinese masters inserted at intervals. -When I say that his artistic study was thorough even in the modern -sense, I mean he always went straight to Nature and reality to fulfil -what the pictures of old masters failed to tell him. _Kyosai Gwaden_ -tells, as an early adventure in Nature study, how he hid in a cupboard -a human head which he picked up from a swollen river and horrified -the family with his attempt to sketch it in his ninth year; when fire -broke out and swept away even his own house, he became an object of -condemnation, as he acted as if it were the affair of somebody else, -and was seen serenely sketching the sudden clamour of the fire scene. -The books contain somewhere a page or two of unusually amusing sketches -of his students at work on different living objects, from a frog and -turtle to cocks and fishes; Kyosai’s love of fun in exaggeration -(indeed exaggeration is one of the traits conspicuous even in his most -serious work) again is seen in the sketches, when he made a monkey -play at gymnastics and pull the hair of the earnest student with the -brush. I often ask myself the question of the real merit of realism -in our Japanese art, and further the question how much Kyosai gained -from his realistic accuracy; I wonder what artistic meaning there is, -for instance, when people, even acknowledged critics, speak with much -admiration of the anatomical exactness of those skeletons fantastically -dancing to the ghost’s music in that famous Jigoku-dayu picture. Let -me ask again what the picture would lose, supposing, for instance, the -most whimsical dancers around the courtesan’s gorgeous robe had two or -three joints of bone missing; is not Kyosai’s realistic minuteness, -which the artist was perhaps proud of displaying, in truth, rather a -small subordinate part in his pictures? He was already in the present -age, many years before his death, when many a weak artistic mind of -Japan only received, from the Western art, confusion and reasoning, but -not strength and passion. Now let me ask you: was it Kyosai’s artistic -greatness to accept the Western science of art? - -[Sidenote: THE REALISTIC MINUTENESS] - -He was never original in the absolute understanding as Sesshu, Korin, -in a lesser degree Harunobu and Hokusai were; it might be that he -was born too late in the age, or is it more true to say that his -astonishing knowledge of the old Japanese art acted to hold him back -from striking out an original line? Education often makes one a coward. -When I say that he was himself the sum total of all Japanese art, I do -not mean to undervalue him, but rather to do justice to his versatility -and the swing of his power. And it was his personality, unique and -undefinable, that made his borrowing such an impression as we feel it -in fact in his work. After all, he has to be judged, in my opinion, as -an artist of technique. - -I do not know what picture of his the Victoria and Albert Museum and -the British Museum have, except a few reproductions in books, which -impressed me as poor examples. It is not too much to say that Professor -Conder’s Kyosai book is the first and may be the last; there is no more -fit man than he, who as Kyosai’s student knew him personally during the -last eight years of his life. The book contains some good specimens -which belong to that period; but what I most wish to see, are the -pictures he produced in his earlier age. He is one of the artists who -will gain much from selection; who will ever publish a book of twenty -or thirty best pieces of his life’s production? - - - - - VII - - THE LAST MASTER OF THE UKIYOYE ART - - -Yoshitoshi Tsukioka, as Kuniyoshi’s home student of high talent in his -younger days, it is said, had a key to the storehouse entrusted to -his care, where Kuniyoshi treasured foreign colour-prints of saints -or devils strayed from a Dutch ship, Heaven’s gift most rare in those -days, which made him pause a little and think about a fresh turn for -his work. When we know that vulgarity always attracts us first and -most, provided it is new to us, we cannot blame Yoshitoshi much when -he reproduced in his work, indeed, stealing a march on his master, -an immediate response to the Western art, whose secret he thought he -could solve through varnishing. Doubtless it was no small discovery -for Yoshitoshi. And the general public were equally simple when -“Kwaidai Hyaku Senso,” his first attempt after the new departure, quite -impressive as he thought, was well received by them; when he went too -far in this foreign imitation through his little knowledge, as in his -“Battle at Uyeno,” he varnished the whole picture. We have another -instance that time is, after all, the best judge, as we know that -those pictures of Yoshitoshi’s early days, when he had not yet found -his own art, are most peacefully buried under the blessed oblivion and -heavy dusts to-day. You cannot make an art only by wisdom and prayer, -and it is better to commit youthful sin when one must, like Yoshitoshi, -with his period of foreign imitation, since his later work would become -intensified, chastened, and better balanced by his repentance. - -[Sidenote: THE SUCCESS OF FAILURE] - -To speak most strictly, Kuniyoshi should be called the last master -of the Ukiyoye school, this interesting branch of Japanese art -interpreting the love and romance of the populace, peculiarly developed -through the general hatred of the aristocratic people; but I have -reason to call Yoshitoshi Tsukioka the very last master of that school, -in the same sense that we call Danjuro or Kikugoro the last actors, -not less by the fact of the age, already heterogeneous, naturally -weakened for holding up the old Japanese purity, against which he -struggled hard to find an artistic compromise, than by his own gift. -I have often thought that, if he had been born earlier, he might have -proved himself another Hokusai, or, better still, if the time were -still earlier, when love and sensuality were the same word in peace and -prosperity, he would not have been much below Utamaro. If he failed, as -indeed he failed, now, looking back from to-day, it was the failure of -his age. Although it may sound paradoxical, I am pleased to say that -his failure was his success, because I see his undaunted versatility -glorified through his failure; he helps, more than any other artist, -the historian of Japanese art to study the age psychologically—in fact, -he serves him more than Hokusai or Utamaro. He is an interesting study, -as I said before, as the last master, indeed, as much so as Moronobu -Hishikawa as the recognised first master. I say Yoshitoshi failed, but -I do not mean that he was a so-called failure in his lifetime; on the -contrary, he was one of the most popular artists of modern Japan—at -least, in the age of his maturity; what I should like to say is that -the artistic success of one age does never mean the success of another -age, and Yoshitoshi’s success is, let me say, the success of failure -when we now look back upon it. I can distinctly remember even to-day -my great disappointment, now almost twenty-five years ago, as a most -ardent admirer of Yoshitoshi, when, appearing before the publisher’s -house as early as seven o’clock the morning after I had read the -announcement of his new picture of a dancer, I was told that the entire -set of copies was exhausted; his popularity was something great in my -boyhood’s days. It was in 1875 that he first took the public by storm -with his three sheets of pictures called “Ichi Harano,” an historical -thing which showed Yasumasa, a court noble, playing a bamboo flute -under the moonlight, perfectly unconscious of a highwayman, Hakama -Dare by name, following him, stepping softly upon the autumn grasses, -ready to stab the noble with his sword. The popularity of this picture -was heightened by the fact that Danjuro, the greatest tragedian of -the modern Japanese stage, wanted to reproduce the pictorial effect -in a play, and have Shinsuke Kawatake write up one special scene to -do honour to Yoshitoshi, under the title “Ichi Harano, by Yoshitoshi, -Powerful with his Brush.” It was a great honour indeed, such as no -artist to-day could expect to receive. We have many occasions, on the -other hand, when Yoshitoshi served the actors and his bosom friends, -Danjuro and Kikugoro, to popularise their art. Since the day of the -First Toyokuni, it had been the custom for the artists of this popular -school to work together with the stage artists. - -[Sidenote: THE CARVER AND PRINTER] - -Yoshitoshi brought out the series of three called “Snow, Moon, and -Flower,” two of them commemorating Danjuro in his well-known rôle -of Kuyemon Kezuri, and one Kikugoro in Seigen, whose holy life of -priesthood was disturbed by love beyond hope. Although I hesitate to -say they are the best specimens—yes, they are in their own way—they -have few companions in the long Ukiyoye annals as theatrical posters, -for which exaggeration should not be much blamed. The striking point -of emphasis in design, hitting well the artistic work, make them -worthy. I have them right before me while writing this brief note on -Yoshitoshi. I recall what I heard about the Kezuri picture; it is said -that the artist spent fully three days to draw this “hundred-days -wig,” to use the theatrical phrase. What an astonishing wig that rôle -had to wear. And what painstaking execution of the artist; and again -what wonderful dexterity of the Japanese carver and printer. At the -time when these pictures were produced it is not too much to say that -the arts of carving and printing had reached the highest possible -point—that is to say, they had already begun to fall. I am pleased to -attach a special value to them as the past pieces which well combined -those three arts. By the way, the name of the carver of those pictures -is Wadayu. Now, returning to Yoshitoshi and his actors-friends. The -former was always regarded by the latter as an artistic adviser whose -words were observed as law; Yoshitoshi was the first person Danjuro -used to look up when in trouble with the matter of theatrical design -in dress. I have often heard how the artist helped Kikugoro. This -eminent actor once had a great problem how to appear as Shini Gami, -or the Spirit of Death, in the play called _Kaga Zobi_, and asked -Yoshitoshi for a suggestion; and it is said that a rough sketch he drew -at once enlightened Kikugoro’s bewildered mind, and, as a result, -he immortalised the rôle. It was the age when realism, of course, in -more vague, doubtful meaning than the present usage, had completely -conquered the stage, the old idealistic stage art having fallen off -the pedestal. Certainly Danjuro, the first of all to be absorbed in -that realism which prevailed here twenty or twenty-five years ago, -did never serve the stage art for advancement, but, on the contrary, -it was the realism, if anything, that cheapened, trivialised, and -vulgarised the time-honoured Japanese art; but it seemed that there -was nobody to see that point of wisdom. It is ridiculous to know how -Danjuro insisted, as Tomonori, in the play of _Sembon Sakura_, that -the blood upon his armour should be painted as real as possible, and -troubled the great artistic brush of Yoshitoshi on each occasion -during the whole run of the play; but how serious the actor was in his -thought and determination! Again that realism was the main cause why -Yoshitoshi’s art failed to compete with the earlier Ukiyoye artists -like Shunsho, Utamaro, and even Hokusai; it was an art borrowed from -the West doubtless, when I observe how Yoshitoshi, unlike the earlier -artists, was delighted to use the straight, forceful lines as the -modern Western illustrators; the picture called “Daimatsuro” is a fit -example in which he carried out that tendency or mannerism with most -versatility. I daresay that his pictures, whether of historical heroes -or professional beauties, which were least affected by the so-called -realism or Western perspectives and observed carefully the old Ukiyoye -canons, limiting themselves in the most artistic shyness, would be only -prized as adorning his name as the last master; for the ninety per -cent. we have no grief for their hastening into blessed dusts. I have -in my collection the three-sheet picture called “Imayo Genji,” showing -the view of Chigoga Fuchi at Yenoshima, with the romantic posture of -four naked fisherwomen, which is dated very early in Yoshitoshi’s -artistic life, no doubt being the work of the time when he was still -a home student at Kuniyoshi’s studio or workshop; you can see the -artist’s allegiance to his teacher in those somewhat stooping woman -figures; there is no mistake to say that Yoshitoshi, at least in this -picture, had studied Hiroshige and Hokusai to advantage for the general -effect of rocks and fantastic waves. - -[Sidenote: “IMAYO GENJI"] - -Although it is clear that it is not a specimen of his developed art, -I have in mind to say that it will endure, perhaps as one of the best -Ukiyoye pictures of all ages, through its youthful loyalty to the -traditional old art and the painstaking composition for which the best -work is always marked. How artistically troubled, even lost, are his -later works, though once they were popular and even admired! - -[Sidenote: THE FAINT ECHO OF OKYO] - -Although he was, as I said above, most popular in the prime of his -life (by the way he died in his fifty-fourth year in June of 1892), -he had many years of poverty and discouragement when he complained -of the fact that he was born rather too late; his hardship, not only -spiritual, but material, soon followed after the happy period of -student life with Kuniyoshi, when his artistic ambition forced on -him independence. It was the time most inartistic, if there was ever -such a time in any country, when the new Meiji Government had hardly -settled itself on the sad ruins of the Tokugawa feudalism, under which -all prosperity and peace, even art and humanity, were buried, and the -people in general even thought the safety of their lives was beyond -reach, now with the so-called Civil War of Meiji Tenth, and then with -that or this. How could the artists get the people’s support under such -a condition of the times; indeed, Yoshitoshi fought bitterly for his -bare existence then. It was the time when he was extremely hard-up that -his home-students, Toshikage and Toshiharu, bravely served him in the -capacity of cook or for any other work; we cannot blame him that he -tried, with such pictures as the series called “Accident of the Lord -Ii,” to amuse and impress the people’s minds, which grew, in spite of -themselves, to love battle and blood. And the best result he received -from such work, happy to say for his art, was the realisation of -failure. But he was quite proud, I understand, when he published it, -and even expected a great sale. And when he could not sell it at all, -it is said, he determined that he would run away alone from Tokyo for -good, leaving his students behind. Although there is no record of its -sale to-day, I am sure that it did not sell well, or, in another way -of saying, it sold well enough to save him from the shame of running -away. Doubtless the people demanded pictures of such a nature, perhaps -to illustrate the time’s happening, as it was the time before the -existence of any graphic or illustrated paper, and to fill that demand -Yoshitoshi brought out a hundred pictures of battles and historical -heroes, more or less in bloody scenes, which are mostly forgotten. It -was in 1885 that he fairly well found his own art (good or bad) with -the historical picture, “Kiyomori’s Illness”; the chief character, the -Lord Kiyomori, suffered from fever and dream, as we have it in legend, -as a destiny brought from his endless brutality and covetousness; -the fact that Yoshitoshi’s mind was much engaged in the study of the -Shijoha school at that time will be seen, particularly in this picture, -of which the background is filled with the faint echo of great Okyo in -the drawing of the Emma, or Judge of Hades, the green demon, and other -things of awful demonstration. “Inaka Genji,” a picture to commemorate -the occasion of Ransen’s changing his name to Tanehiko, and “Ukaino -Kansaku,” a picture of the spirit of a dead fisherman being saved by -the holy prayer of the priest Nichiren, are the work of about the same -time. When Yoshitoshi began to publish his series of one hundred pieces -under the name of “Tsuki Hyakushi,” or “One Hundred Views of the Moon,” -his popularity almost reached high-water mark; I can recollect with -the greatest pleasure how delighted I was to be given a few of these -moon pictures as a souvenir from Tokyo when I was attending a country -grammar school, and I can assure you that my artistic taste and love, -which already began to grow, expressed a ready response to value. -Among the pictures, I was strongly attracted by one thing, which was -the picture of a crying lady alone in a boat, with a _biwa_ instrument -upon her knees; from admiration I pasted the picture on a screen, which -remained as it was during these twenty years, unspoiled, spotless, -and perfect, and I had the happy occasion to see it with renewed eyes -lately when I returned to my country home. I felt exactly the same -impression, as good as at the first sight of twenty years ago. Although -the series carry the title of moon, nearly all of the pictures have -no moon at all; it was the artistic merit of the artist to suggest -that they were all views of the moonlight. We can point out many -shortcomings in his work as a pure Ukiyoye artist; but, after all, -I think that nobody will deny his rare and versatile talent. If only -he had been born at the better and proper time! And if we must blame -his degeneration, I think it is quite safe to say that the general -public has to share equally in the criticism. He was an interesting -personality, full of stories and anecdotes, which the English people -would be glad to hear about when they are well acquainted with his -work; but I will keep them for some other occasion, because I wish at -present to introduce him simply through his work. Let it suffice to say -that he was humane and lovable, having a great faith in his own class -of people—that is, the plain street-dwellers; when I say he was, too, -the artist or artizan of Tokyo or Yedo, like Utamaro, Hokusai, and -Kuniyoshi, I mean that he was gallant and chivalrous, always a friend -of the lowly, and a hater of sham. - -[Sidenote: THE HATER OF SHAM] - -He was born in 1839, to use the Japanese name of the era, the Tenth -of Tempo, at Shiba of Yedo, present Tokyo. When a little boy, he was -adopted by the family of Tsukioka; his own name was Yonejiro. Like -other Japanese artists, he had quite many _gago_ or _noms de plume_; to -give a few of them, Ikkasai, Sokatei, Shiyei, and others. Although he -did not change his dwelling-place as Hokusai did, he moved often from -one house to another; it was at Miyanaga Cho of Hongo where he married -Taiko. He bought a house at Suga Cho, Asakusa, in 1885; but his -sensitive mind was disturbed when he was told by a fortune-teller that -the direction of his house was unlucky, and was again obliged to move -to Hama Cho of Nihonbashi, when he was taken ill with brain disease. -As I said before, he died in June of 1892. The students he left behind -include many artists already dead; to give the best known, Keishu -Takeuchi; Keichu Yamada and Toshihide Migita are the names of artists -still active to-day. - - - - - VIII - - BUSHO HARA[A] - - -[A] See the Appendix - -Often I tried to write about Busho Hara the artist (I use the term in -the most eclectic Japanese conception, because his art served more -frequently to make his personality distinguished through its failure -rather than through its success); that my attempt turned to nothing -was perhaps because my mind, solitary and sad like that of Hara, did -not like to betray the secret of the recluse whose silence was his -salutation. Besides, my heart and soul and all were too much filled -with this Busho Hara from the fact of his recent unexpected death—(by -the way, he was in his forty-seventh year, that interesting age for an -artist, as it would be the beginning of a new page, good or bad); and -I am, in one word, perfectly confused on the subject. When I wish to -think of his art alone, and even to measure it, if possible, through -the most dangerous, always foolish way of comparison with others, I -find always, in spite of myself, that my mind, even before it has -fairly started on his art, is already carried away by the dear, sweet, -precious memory of his rare personality. “Above all, he was rarest -as friend,” my mind always whispers to me every two minutes from the -confusion of my thought, this and that, and again that and this, on -him. To say that I think of him too much and for too many things would -be well-nigh the same as to say that I am unfitted to tell about him -intelligibly. I confess that I had a little difference with him on the -subject of his own art here and there, while I was absorbed in his -conversation or criticism (I always believed and said—did he dislike me -when I said that?—he was a better and greater critic than artist), now -by the cozy fire of a winter evening, then with the trees and grasses -languid with summer’s heat; he was the first and last man to whom I -went when I felt particularly ambitious and particularly tired, and I -dare say that he was pleased to see me. My own delight to have him as -my friend was in truth doubled, when I thought that his personality -and art, remarkable as they are honest, true, and sympathetic, were -almost unknown at home except in a little narrow community; as I said -before, he was a recluse. In England, many readers of Mr. Markino’s -book, _A Japanese Artist in London_, will remember Hara’s name, as it -is frequently repeated in the book; and a certain well-known English -critic had an occasion once or twice to mention his name and kindly -comment on his work in the _Graphic_. That was in 1906, when he was -about to leave London after a few years’ stay there. “Shall I go to -England again for a change or to take a few pictures of mine?” he often -exclaimed. England was his dream, as she is mine. How unfalteringly our -talk ran; every time the subject was England and her art. - -[Sidenote: HIS DREAM OF ENGLAND] - -“Now is it settled, let us suppose,” Hara would say in the course of -talk, slightly twisting his sensitive mouth, holding up straight back -his well-poised head (what a philosopher’s eyes he had, gentle and -clear), “that we shall go to England some time soon in the future. -Yes, we shall go there even if we are not begged by Japan to leave -the country. The most serious question is, however, where we shall -sleep and dine. I have had enough experience of a common English -boarding-house; I am haunted even to-day by the ghosts of Yorkshire -pudding and cold ham. And suppose that a daughter or a son of that -boarding-house might sing aloud a popular song every Saturday evening; -I should like to know if there is anything more sad than that. Still, -suppose that one next to you at table will ask you every evening how -your work might sell; certainly that will be the moment when you think -you will leave England at once for good. But it is England’s greatness -that she has art appreciators as well as buyers. Oh, where is the true -art appreciator in Japan, even while we admit that we have the buyers? -I will take a few pictures with me when I go to England next, and show -them to the right sort of people; really, truly, only London of all -the cities of the world has the right sort of people in any line of -profession. Besides, I should like to examine the English art again and -let the people there listen to my opinion; I was not enough prepared -for such a work when I went there last.” - -[Sidenote: THE ENEMY IN HIS OWN SELF] - -But I believe that his own self-education in art, which he most -determinedly started at the National Gallery, where he was forcibly -attracted by Rembrandt and Velasquez, must have been happily developed, -when the same _Graphic_ critic spoke of his “sensitive and searching -eyes,” and (printing Hara’s intelligent rendering of Rembrandt’s -“Jewish Merchant” on the page) said that it proved the painter was at -the root of the matter, and declared that the critic had rarely seen -better or more intelligent copy, and again to prove that Hara was not -merely a copyist or imitator, he also reproduced on the same page his -original work called “The Old Seamstress.” And I am doubly pleased to -find that the same English critic mentioned him somewhere as a “keen -and acute critic, but generous withal”; I was so glad to have Hara as -my friend for the rare striking power of his critical enlightenment -(Oh, where is another sane artist like himself?), even when he failed -to make a strong impression on me with his art. It was his immediate -question on his return home how to apply the technique of oil painting -he learned in London to Japanese subjects; if he failed in his art, as -he always believed and I often thought he did, it was from the reason, -I dare think, that he had indeed too clear a view of self-appraisal -or self-criticism under whose menace he always took the attitude of -an outsider towards his own work. How often I wished he were wholly -without that critical power, always hard to please, altogether too -fastidious! His artistic ambition and aim were so absolute and most -highly puritanic; as a result, he was ever so restless and sad with -his art, and often even despised himself. He had a great enemy, that -was no other but his own self; he was more often conquered by it than -conquering it. I have never seen in my life a more sad artist with the -brush, facing a canvas, than this Busho Hara. Besides, his poor health, -which had been failing in the last few years, only worked to make his -critical displeasure sharper and more peculiar; and he utterly lost the -passion and foolishness of his younger days. How often we promised, -when we parted after a long chat, which usually began with Yoshio -Markino, dear friend of his and mine in London, and as a rule ended -with reminiscences of our English life, that we would hereafter return -to our younger age, if possible to our boys’ days, and even commit the -innocent youthful sins and be happy; but when we met together again, -we were the same unhappy mortals, Hara with a brush, I with a pen. He -always looked comforted by my words when I told him my own tragedy -and difficulties to write poetry; both of us exclaimed at once with -the same breath and longed for life’s perfect freedom. How he wished -to cut away from himself and bid a final farewell to many portrait -commissions, and become a lone pilgrim on Nature’s great highway with -only his brush and oil; that was his dream. - -[Sidenote: AT THE HOSPITAL] - -Let me repeat again that he was sad with his brush only to make his art -still sadder; when he was most happy, it was the time when he left his -own studio to forget his unwilling brush and send his love imaginations -under the new foliage of spring trees and make them ride on the freedom -of the summer air. How he planned for future work while contemplating -great Nature; he was a dreamer in the true sense. And dream was to him -more real as he thought it almost practicable. I do not mix any sarcasm -in my words when I say that he was a greater artist when he did not -paint; he rose to his full dignity only when out of his studio; and it -was most unfortunate that I found him always ill when he was out of it. -But I will say that I never saw one like himself so well composed, even -satisfied, on a sick bed; that might have been from the reason that -his being absorbed in Nature, his thought and contemplation on her, -did not give an opportunity for bodily illness to use its despotism. -He gave me in truth even such an impression that he was glad to be -ill so he could lay himself right before the thought of great Nature. -Once in the spring of 1911 I called on him at the hospital, when -he successfully underwent a surgeon’s knife (he was suffering from -typhlitia); although he was quite weak then, he was most ambitious and -happy to talk on the beauty of Nature; and he said: “I almost wonder -why I did not become ill and lay me down on this particular bed of this -hospital before, and (pointing to the blue sky through the window with -his pale-skinned slender hand that was unmistakably an artist’s) see -how the eastern sky changes from dusk to milky grey, again from that -grey to rosy light. How often I wished you, particularly you, might -be here with me all awakening in this room, perhaps at halfpast three -o’clock; that is the time exactly when the colours of the sky will -begin to evolve. Thank God all the other people are sleeping then. At -such a moment I feel as if all Nature belonged to me alone in the whole -world, and I alone held her secrets and her beauty; I am thankful for -my illness, as it has made me thus restful in mind and allowed me to -carefully observe Nature, and build my many future plans. I can promise -you that I will whistle my adieu to the commissioned work, all of it, -when I grow stronger again, and become a real artist, the real artist -even to satisfy you. Oh, how I could paint the mysterious changes of -the sky which I have been studying for the last week!” - -Again I saw him in his sick-bed at his little home one afternoon; we -grew, as a matter of course, quite enthusiastic and passionate as our -talk was on art and artists; it was the foundation of his theory, -when he expanded on it, not to put any difference between the arts of -the East and the West; he seemed to agree with me on that day when I -compared even recklessly Turner with our Sesshu. Although he entered -into his art through the technique, I observed that he was speedily -turning to a Spiritualist; I often thought that he was a true Japanese -artist even of the Japanese school, while he adopted the Western -method. (It was the _Graphic_ critic who said that he was “perhaps the -ablest Japanese painter in our method who has visited our shores.”) -He and I saw that time the famous large screen by Goshun belonging -to the Imperial Household called “Shosho no Yau,” or “The Night Rain -at Shosho”; as our minds were still absorbed in its soft mellow -atmosphere and grey flashes of sweeping rain, we often repeated our -great admiration for that Goshun. “It’s not merely an art, but Nature -herself,” he exclaimed. The afternoon of the summer day was slowly -falling; the yellow sunbeams, like an elf or fairy, were playing -almost fantastically with the garden leaves; Hara was looking on them -absent-mindedly, and when he awoke from his dream, he said: “Suppose -you cut off a few of those leaves, even one leaf, with that particular -sunlight on them; they are indeed a great art. Who can paint them as -exactly they are? To prove it is a real art, when the artist is great -and true, a large canvas and big subject are not necessary at all; -one single leaf would be enough for his subject. I recall my first -impression of Turner’s work; I thought then that even one inch square -of any picture of his in the National Gallery would be sufficient to -prove his great art. I always vindicated his mastery of technique to -the others who had the reverse opinion; what made Turner was never his -technique. To talk about technique. I believe that even I have a better -technique than is shown in most of the pictures drawn by Rossetti; but -there is only one Rossetti in the world.” On my way home after leaving -him, I could not help wondering if he were not turning to a pessimist: -I was afraid that he was in his heart of hearts denying his own ability -and art. - -[Sidenote: TURNER’S GREAT ART] - -One day last September, when my soul felt the usual sadness with the -first touch of autumn, I received a note from Hara saying that his -stomach had been lately troubled, and he wished I would call on him as -he wanted to be brightened by my presence. I could not go then to see -him on account of one thing and another; and when I was told by one of -his friends and mine that Hara’s illness was said to be cancer, even in -its acute form, and that he was eagerly expecting my call, I hurried at -once to his house. He was very pale and thin. As I was begged by Mrs. -Hara at the door not to let him talk too much, as it was the doctor’s -command, I even acted as if I hated conversation on that day; it was -Hara (bless his sympathetic gentle soul) who, on the contrary, wished -to make me happy and interested by his talk. He talked as usual on -various arts and artists; when he slowly entered into his own domestic -affairs, he said: “I have decided to sell all my works of the last ten -years, good or bad, among my rich friends, and raise a sufficient fund -to provide for my old mother and wife; to have no child is at least a -comfort at this moment. I think I call myself fortunate since such a -scheme appears to be quite practicable; but if I could have even one -picture which I could proudly leave for posterity—that might be too -great an ambition for an artist of my class. Will you laugh at me when -I say how I wish to live five years more, if not five years, two years -at least, if not two years, even one year? It might be better, after -all, for me to die with hope than to live and fail.” With a sudden -thought he changed the subject; he thought, doubtless, he had no right -to make me unnecessarily sad, and resumed the talk on Hokusai and -Utamaro where he had left off a little while before. “I wish that you -will see Utamaro’s picture in my friend’s possession; it is, needless -to say, the picture of a courtesan. How that lovely woman sits! (Here -Hara changed his attitude and imitated the woman in the picture.) Oh, -these charming bare feet! That is where Utamaro put his best art; I -cannot forget the feeling that I felt with the most attractive naked -heels of the picture.” - -[Sidenote: HARA GONE TO HIS REST] - -I gave him many instances of doctors’ mistakes to encourage him, before -I left his house. I called on him two weeks or ten days later; but I -was not admitted to his presence, as the doctor had already forbade any -outside communication. At my third call I was told that he was growing -still worse; it was on October 29 that I made my fourth call, and I -found at once that the house had been somewhat upset. Alas, my friend -Busho Hara had gone already to his eternal rest! I rushed up to the -upstairs room where the cold body of the artist was lying; he could not -see or hear his friend. I cried. I was told by one of Hara’s friends, -who saw his last moment, how sorry he was that he did not see me when -his final end approached, and that he had begged him to tell me that he -was wrong in what he told me before about art. Now, what did he mean by -that? I already suspected, as I said before, that he was growing to -deny his own art; now I should like to understand by that final special -message to me that he wished to wholly deny all the human art of the -world against great Nature before his death. When he grew weaker and -weaker, I think that he found it more easy to dream of Nature; whether -conscious or unconscious, he must have been in the most happy state, -at least for his last days, as he was going to join himself with her. -I never saw such a dead face so calm, so sorrowless, like Hara’s; it -reminded me of a certain Greek mask which I saw somewhere; indeed, he -had a Greek soul in the true meaning. - -We six or seven friends of his kept a _tsuya_, or wake, before his -coffin, as is the custom, on the night of the 29th; the night rapidly -advanced when the reminiscences of this passed great artist were told -to keep us from falling asleep. One man was speaking of the story of -Hara’s friendship with Danjuro Ichikawa, the great tragedian of the old -_kabuki_ school of the modern Japanese stage. Once he played the rôle -of Benkei in “Adaka ga Seki,” which he wished Hara to draw; it was a -most unusual treat on the actor’s part to give the artist one whole -box at the Kabuki Theatre during fifteen days only for that purpose, -where he appeared every day not to draw, but to look at the acting. But -Hara very quickly sketched him one day at the moment when he thought -that the actor was prolonging his acting at a certain place to make him -easy to sketch; in fact, Danjuro made his acting in some parts stand -still for fifteen minutes. Strangely enough, the other actors who were -playing with him did not know that, while Hara rightly read the actor’s -intention and thought. Danjuro said afterwards that Mr. Hara understood -him through the power of his being a great artist. Did he draw the -picture and finish it? That is the next question. He did not, as was -often the case with Hara; he wrote the actor bluntly he was sorry that -this spirit was gone, making it impossible to advance. The one who told -the story exclaimed: “I never saw an artist like Hara so slow to paint, -or who found it so difficult to paint.” - -[Sidenote: SITTING AT THE SHOP FRONT] - -Among us there was a well-known frame manufacturer, Yataya by name, -who, it is said, was Hara’s very first friend in Tokyo, where he came -thirty years before from his native Okayama; he spoke next on his dear -friend: “He made his call on me at my store in Ginza almost every -night; he never came up into the room, but sat always at the shop -front. And there he gazed most thoughtfully on the passing crowd of -the street with his fixed eyes; he made himself quite an unattractive -figure especially for the shop front. ‘Who is that sinister-looking -fellow?’ I was often asked. I am sure that he must have been there -studying the people; his interest in anything was extremely intent. He -was a great student.” - -While I am now writing upon Hara, I feel I see that he is sitting at a -certain shop front, perhaps of Hades. Is he not studying the action of -the dead souls clamorous as in their living days? - - - - - IX - - THE UKIYOYE ART IN ORIGINAL - - -I often think the general impression that the best Ukiyoye art -reveals itself in colour-print has to be corrected in some special -cases, because the Ukiyoye art in original _kakemono_, though not so -well appreciated in the West, is also a thing beautiful; and I feel -proud to say that I have often seen those special cases in Japan. On -such occasions I always say that I am impressed as if the art were -laughing and cursing fantastically over the present age, whose prosaic -regularity completely misses the old fascination of romanticism -which Japan of two or three hundred years ago perfected by her own -temperament. Whenever I see it (mind you, it should be the best Ukiyoye -art in original) at my friend’s house by accident, or in the exhibition -hall, my heart and soul seem to be turning to a winged thing fanned by -its magic; and when my consciousness returns, I find myself narcotised -in incense, before the temple of art where sensuality is consecrated -through beauty. - -It is not too much to say that Shunsho Katsukawa, who died in 1792 -at the age of ninety-seven, gained more than any other artist from -the originals, through his masterly series of twelve pieces, “A -Woman’s Year,” owned by Count Matsura, a most subtle arrangement of -figures whose postures reach the final essence of grace perhaps from -the delicate command of artistic reserve, the decorative richness of -the pictures heightened by life’s gesticulation of beauty; whilst -the harmony of the pictorial quantity and quality is perfect. Behind -the pictures we read the mind of the artist with the critic’s gift -of appraising his own work. When we realise the somewhat exaggerated -hastiness of later artists, for example, artists like Toyokuni the -First, or Yeizan (the other artists being out of the question, of -course), Shunsho’s greatness will be at once clear. It may have been -his own thought to modify the women’s faces from the artless roundness -of the earlier artists to the rather emphatic oblong, from simplicity -to refinement, although I acknowledge it was Harunobu’s genius to make -the apparent want of effort in women’s round faces flow into the sad -rhythm of longing and passion, a symbol of the white, weary love; in -Harunobu we have a singular case of the distinction between simplesse -and simplicité. It was the old Japanese art to portray delicacy only -in the women’s hands and arms; but certainly it was the distinguished -art of Shunsho, with many other contemporary Ukiyoye artists, to make -the necks, especially the napes, the points of almost tantalising -grace; what a charm of abandon in those shoulders! And what a beautiful -elusiveness of the slightly inclined faces of the women! I am always -glad to see Shunsho’s famous picture, “Seven Beauties in a Bamboo -Forest,” owned by the Tokyo School of Art, in which the romantic group -of chignons leisurely promenade, one reading a love-letter, another -carrying a shamisen instrument, through the shade of a bamboo forest. -Not only in this picture, but in many other arrangements of women -and sentiment, Shunsho reminds me of the secret of Cho Densu of the -fifteenth century in his elaborate Rakan pictures, particularly in the -point that the figures, while keeping their own individual aloofness, -perfectly well fuse themselves in the alembic of the picture into a -composition most impressive. And you will soon find that when the -sense of monotony once subsides, your imagination grows to see their -spiritual variety. - -[Sidenote: “BEAUTIES IN A BAMBOO FOREST"] [Sidenote: THE WITHDRAWAL -FROM SOCIETY] - -It is rather difficult to see a best specimen of the originals of -Harunobu or even of Utamaro. I think there is some reason, however, to -say in the case of Utamaro that he did not leave many worthy pictures -in original, because he made the blocks, fortunately or unfortunately, -a castle to rise and fall with; while I see the fact on the one side -that, while he was not accepted in the polite society of his time, -he gained as a consequence much strength through his restriction of -artistic purpose. There was nothing more ridiculous for the Ukiyoye -artists of those days than to intrude their work of the so-called -“Floating World” into the aristocratic _tokonoma_, the sacred alcove -of honour for the art of a Tosa or a Kano, and to attempt to call -themselves Yamato Yeshi, whatever that means. What wisdom is there -to become neutral, like Yeishi or in some degree Koryusai, who never -created any distinct success either as Ukiyoye artist or as so-called -polite painter. I can easily read the undermeaning how they were even -insulted, by the cultured class, when they tried to satisfy their own -resentment by such an assumption of Yamato Yeshi (“the Yamato artist,” -Yamato being the classic name of Japan); I see more humiliation in it -than pride. The contempt displayed toward them, however, was not so -serious till the appearance of Moronobu, who created his own art out of -their sudden descent; his realism accentuated itself in the portrayal -of courtesans and street vagrants of old Yedo, for the popular -amusement, at the huge cost of being criticised as immoral. The artists -before his day, even those to-day roughly termed the Ukiyoye artists, -were the self-same followers. To begin with Matabei, after the Kano, -Tosa, and Sumiyoshi schools successively, their work was strengthened -or weakened according to the situation by the irresistibility of -plebeianism; it is clear that the final goal for their work was, of -course, the _tokonoma_ of the rich man and the nobles. And it seems -that they must have found quite an easy access into that scented daïs, -if I judge from the pictures of the “Floating World” (what an arbitrary -name that!) that remain to-day. They had, in truth, no necessity to -advertise themselves as Yamato Yeshi, like some artists of the later -age who were uneducated and therefore audacious; and in their great -vanity wished to separate themselves from their fellow-workers; while -their work has a certain softness—though it be not nobility—at least -not discordant with the grey undertone of the Japanese room, doubtless -they lack that strength distilled and crystallised into passionate -lucidity which we see in the best colour-prints. When I say that -Moronobu was the founder of Ukiyoye art, I mean more to call attention -to the fact that the Japanese block print was well started in its -development from his day, into which process the artists put all sorts -of spontaneity, at once cursing creed and tradition. As for the Ukiyoye -artists, I dare say their weakness in culture and imagination often -turned to force; they gained artistic confidence in their own power -from their complete withdrawal from polite society. Such was the case -with Utamaro and Hiroshige. I wonder what use there was to leave poor -work in the original like that of Toyokuni and Yeizan, whose works -often serve only to betray their petty ambition. - -[Sidenote: HEREDITY SUPERSTITION] - -I have seen enough of the originals of this interesting Ukiyoye art, -beginning with Matabei and Katsushige; Naganobu Kano, the former’s -contemporary, is much admired in the series of twelve pictures, -“Merry-making under the Flowers,” with the illogical simplicity natural -to the first half of the seventeenth century. The fact that the name -“Floating World” did not mean much in those days can be seen in the -work of Rippo Nonoguchi or Gukei Sumiyoshi, whose classical respect -weakened the pictorial impression. Mr. Takamine, who is recognised as -the keenest collector of Ukiyoye art in Japan, has quite an extensive -collection of the works of Ando Kwaigetsudo (1688-1715), Anchi Choyodo, -Dohan Kwaigetsudo (early eighteenth century), Doshu Kwaigetsudo, Doshin -Kwaigetsudo, Nobuyuki Kameido, Rifu Tosendo, Katsunobu Baiyuken, and -Yeishun Baioken, all of them contemporaries of Doshu. Although their -merit is never so high, even when not questionable, we can imagine that -their work must have been quite popular, even in high quarters; among -them Dohan might be the cleverest, but as a Japanese critic says, his -colour-harmony is marred by ostentatious imprudence. I have seen the -best representation of Sukenobu Nishikawa in “Woman Hunting Fireflies,” -soft and delicate. The other artists I came to notice and even admire -are Choshun Miyakawa, Masanobu Okumura, Shigemasa Kitawo, and other -names. I think that the time should come when the original Ukiyoye -art, too, should be properly priced in the West; we are still sticking -to our hereditary superstition that no picture is good if we cannot -hang it in the _tokonoma_, where we burn incense and place the flowers -arranged to invoke the greyness of the air. But I wonder why we cannot -put an Utamaro lady here on the Japanese _tokonoma_. - - - - - X - - WESTERN ART IN JAPAN - - -The Japanese works of Western art are sometimes beautiful; but I can -say positively that I have had no experience of being carried away by -them as by good old Japanese art. There is always something of effort -and even pretence which are decidedly modern productions. I will say -that it is at the best a borrowed art, not a thing inseparable from -us. I ask myself why those artists of the Western school must be loyal -to a pedantry of foreign origin as if they had the responsibility for -its existence. It would be a blessing if we could free ourselves in -some measure, through the virtue of Western art, from the world of -stagnation in feeling and thought. I have often declared that it was -the saviour of Oriental art, as the force of difference in element is -important for rejuvenation. But what use is it to get another pedantry -from the West in the place of the old one? I have thought more than -once that our importation of foreign art is a flat failure. It may be -that we must wait some one hundred years at least before we can make -it perfectly Japanised, just as we spent many years before thoroughly -digesting Chinese art; but we have not a few pessimists who can prove -that it is not altogether the same case. Although I have said that -the foreign pedantry greatly troubles the Japanese work of Western -art, I do not mean that it will create the same effect as upon Western -artists. I am told the following story: - -[Sidenote: THE TAIHEIYO GAKWAI CLUB] - -A year or two ago a certain Italian, who had doubtless a habit of -buying pictures (with little of real taste in art, as is usually the -case with a picture-buyer), went to see the art exhibition of the -Taiheiyo Gakwai Club held at Uyeno Park, and bought many pictures on -the spot, as he thought they were clever work of the Japanese school. -Alas, the artists meant them to be oil paintings of the Western type! -The Italian’s stupidity is inexcusable; but did they indeed appear to -him so different from his work at home? The saddest part is that they -are so alien to our Japanese feeling in general; consequently they have -little sympathy with the masses. It is far away yet for their work to -become an art of general possession; it can be said it is not good art -when it cannot at once enter into the heart. It is not right at all to -condemn only the Western art in Japan, as any other thing of foreign -origin is equally in the stage of mere trial. I often wonder about -the real meaning of the modern civilisation of Japan. Imitation is -imitation, not the real thing at all. - -There are many drawbacks, as I look upon the material side, to the -Western art becoming popular; for instance, our Japanese house—frail, -wooden, with the light which rushes in from all sides—never gives it an -appropriate place to look its best. And the heaviness of its general -atmosphere does not harmonise with the simplicity that pervades the -Japanese household; it always appears out of place, like a chair before -the _tokonoma_, a holy dais. Besides, the artists cannot afford to -sell their pictures cheap, not because they are good work, but because -there are only a few orders for them. I believe we must undertake the -responsibility of making good artists; there is no wonder that there is -only poor work since our understanding of Western art is little, and we -hardly try to cultivate the Western taste. If we have no great art of -the Western school, as is a fact, one half the whole blame is on our -shoulders. - -[Sidenote: PERCEPTION OF REALISM] - -Here my mind dwells in more or less voluntary manner upon the contrast -with the Japanese art, while I walk through the gallery of Western -art of the Taiheiyo Gakwai Club of this year in Uyeno Park. There are -exhibited more than two hundred, or perhaps three hundred pieces—quite -an advance in numbers over any exhibition held before; but I am not -ready to say how they stand on their merit. I admit, at the outset, -that the artists of the Western school have learned well how to make -an arrangement no artist of the pure Japanese school ever dreamed to -attain; and I will say that it is sometimes even subtle. But I have -heard so much of the artistic purpose, which could be best expressed -through the Western art. Are they not, on the other hand, too hasty and -too direct to describe them? Some of their work most nakedly confesses -their artistic inferiority to their own thought. What a poor and even -vulgar handling of oil! I have no hesitation to say that there is -something mistaken in their perception of realism. (Quite a number -of artists in this exhibition make mistakes in this respect.) Indeed -there is no word like realism (perhaps better to say naturalism) which, -in Japan’s present literature, has done such real harm; it was the -Russian or French literature that taught us the meaning of vulgarity, -and again the artists, some artists at least, received a lesson from -these writers. It is never good to see pictures overstrained. Go to the -true Japanese art to learn refinement. While I admit the art of some -artist which has the detail of beauty, I must tell him that reality, -even when true, is not the whole thing; he should learn the art of -escaping from it. That art is, in my opinion, the greatest of all arts; -without it, art will never bring us the eternal and the mysterious. -If you could see some work of Nakagawa or Ishii exhibited here, you -would see my point, because they are somehow wrong for becoming good -work, while they impress with line and colour. I spoke before of effort -and pretence; such an example you will find in Hiroshi Yoshida’s -canvases, big or small, most of them being nature studies. (By the way, -this Yoshida is the artist who exhibited two great canvases, called -“Unknown,” or “World of Cloud,” painted doubtless from Fuji mountain, -overlooking the clouds at one’s feet, and “Keiryu,” or “The Valley,” at -the Government exhibition with some success some years ago.) I am ready -to admit that the artist has well brought out his purpose, but the true -reality is not only the outside expression. His pictures are executed -carefully; but what a forced art! This is the age when all Japanese -artists, those of the Japanese school not excepted, are greatly cursed -by objectivity. Some one has said that the Japanese dress, speaking of -Japanese woman as a picture, does serve to make the distance greater. -I thought in my reflection on art that so it is with the Japanese art. -And again how near is Western art, at least the Japanese work of the -Western school! Such a nearness to our feeling and mind, I think, is -hardly the best quality of any art. I have ceased for some time to -expect anything great or astonishing from Wada or Okada or even Kuroda; -we most eagerly look forward to the sudden appearance of some genius -at once to frighten and hypnotise and charm us and make the Western art -more intimate with our minds. - -[Sidenote: THE SPIRITUAL INSULARITY] - -I amused myself thinking that it was Oscar Wilde who said that Nature -imitates art; is not the nature of Japan imitating the poor work of -the Western method? Art is, indeed, a most serious thing. It is the -time now when we must jealously guard our spiritual insularity, and -carefully sift the good and the bad, and protect ourselves from the -Western influence which has affected us too much in spite of ourselves. -Speaking of the Western art in Japan, I think I have spoken quite -unconsciously of the general pain, not only in art, but in many other -things, from which we wish we could escape. - -After I have said all from my uncompromising thought, my mind, which -is conscious to some extent of a responsibility for Japan’s present -condition in general, has suddenly toned down to thinking of the -short history of Western art in Japan, that is less than fifty years. -What could we do in such a short time? It may even be said that we -did a miracle in art as in any other thing; I can count, in fact, -many valuable lessons (suggestions too) from the Western art that we -transplanted here originally from mere curiosity. Whether good or bad, -it is firmly rooted in Japan’s soil; we have only to wait for the -advent of a master’s hand for the real creation of great beauty. It -seems to me that at least the ground has been prepared. - -Charles Wirgman, the special correspondent sent to the Far East from -the _Illustrated London News_, might be called the father of Western -art in Japan; he stayed at Yokohama till he died in 1891 in his -fifty-seventh year. He was the first foreign teacher from whom many -Japanese learned the Western method of art; Yoshiichi Takahashi was one -of his students. Before Takahashi, Togai Kawakami was known for his -foreign art in the early eighties; but it is not clear where he learned -it. Yoshimatsu Goseda was also, besides Takahashi, a well-known student -of Wirgman, and Shinkuro Kunizawa was the first artist who went to -London in 1875 for art study, but he died soon after his return home in -1877 before he became a prominent figure in the art world. - -When the Government engaged Antonio Fentanesi, an Italian artist of -the Idealistic school, in 1876, as an instructor, the Western school -of art had begun to establish itself even officially. This Italian -artist is still to-day respected as a master. He was much regretted -when he left Japan in 1878. Ferretti and San Giovanni, who were -engaged after Fentanesi, did not make as great an impression as their -predecessor. However, the time was unfortunate for art in general, as -the country was thrown into disturbance by the civil war called the -Saigo Rebellion. The popularity which the Western art seemed to have -attained had a great set-back when the pictures were excluded from the -National Exhibition in 1890. But in the reaction the artists of the -Western school gained more vigour and determination; Shotaro Koyama, -Chu Asai, Kiyowo Kawamura, and others were well-known names in those -days. Kiyoteru Kuroda and Keiichiro Kume, the beloved students of -Raphael Collin, returned home when the China-Japan war was over; they -brought back quite a different art from that with which we had been -acquainted hitherto. And they led vigorously the artistic battle; the -present popularity at least in appearance is owing to their persistence -and industry. The Government again began to show a great interest -in Western art; it sent Chu Asai and Yeisaku Wada to Paris to study -foreign art. Not only these, many others sailed abroad privately or -officially to no small advantage; you will find many Japanese students -of art nowadays wherever you go in Europe or America. - -[Sidenote: THE GOVERNMENT’S INTEREST] - -We were colour-blind artistically before the importation of Western -art, except these who had an interest in the so-called colour-print; -but the colour-print was less valued among the intellectual class, as -even to-day. Our artistic eye, which was only able to see everything -flat, at once opened through the foreign art to the mysteries of -perspective, and though they may not be the real essence of art, -they were at least a new thing for us. There are many other lessons -we received from it; it seems to me that the best and greatest value -is its own existence as a protest against the Japanese art. If the -Japanese art of the old school has made any advance, as it has done, -it should be thankful to the Western school; and at the same time the -artists of foreign method must pay due respect to the former for its -creation of the “Western Art Japonised.” It may be far away yet, but -such an art, if a combination of the East and West, is bound to come. - - - - - APPENDIX I - - THE MEMORIAL EXHIBITION OF THE LATE HARA - - -The memorial exhibition of Busho Hara, a Japanese artist of the Western -school, held recently in Tokyo to raise a fund for his surviving family -as one of its objects (Hara passed away in October, 1913, in his -forty-seventh year), had many significances, one of which, certainly -the strongest, was in contradiction of the general understanding that -Western paintings will never sell in Japan; even a trifling sketch -in which the artist only jotted down his momentary memory fetched -the most unusual price. Hara is a remarkable example of one who -created his own world (by that I mean at least the buyers, though not -real appreciators) among his friends through his personality, which -strengthened his work; paradoxically we shall say he was an artist well -known and utterly unknown; and when I say he was an utterly unknown -artist, I have my thought that he never even once exhibited his work to -the public, and his often defiant spirit and high aim made him scorn -and laugh over people’s ignorance on art. How he hated the Japanese art -world where real merit is no passport at all. But Hara’s friends are -pleased to know from this exhibition the fact that even the public he -ever so despised are not so unresponsive to his art, whose secret he -learned in London. - -Hara was, sad to say, also an artist whose Western art-work, like -that of some other Japanese artists to whom quite an excellent credit -was given in their European days, much declined or, better to say, -missed somehow the artistic thrill since he left England in 1906. Why -was that? What made him so? Was it from the fact that there is no -gallery of Western art old or new in Japan where your work will only be -belittled after you have received a good lesson there? or is it that -our Japanese general public never have a high standard in the matter -of art, especially of Western art? I think there are many reasons to -say that the passive, even oppressive air of Japan, generally speaking, -may have a perfectly disintegrating effect on an artist trained in the -West; it would not be wholly wrong to declare that the real Western -art founded on emotion and life cannot be executed in Japan. Hara made -quite many portraits by commission since that 1906, some of which -were brought out in this exhibition. As they are work more or less -forced, we must go to his other works for his best, which he executed -with mighty enthusiasm and faith under England’s artistic blessing. -He writes down in his diary, the reading of which was my special -privilege, on January 2nd of 1905, the following words: “At last -Port Arthur has fallen. When the war shall be done that will be the -time for our battle of art against Europe to begin. Oh, what a great -responsibility for Japanese artists!” - -Hara made a student’s obeisance toward Watts among the modern masters, -whose influence will be most distinctly seen in one of his pictures -in this exhibition called “The Young Sorrow” (the owner of this -picture is Mr. Takashi Matsuda, one of a few great art collectors in -Japan), in which a young sitting nude woman shows only her beautiful -back, her face being covered by her hands. What a sad, visionary, -pale clarification in colour and tone! Hara writes down when his -mind was saturated with Watts at Tate’s or somewhere else: “What an -indescribable sense of beauty! Art is indeed my only world and life. -Again look at the pictures. How tender, how soft, and how warm in tone -and atmosphere! And how deep is the shadow of the pictures! And that -deep shadow is never dirty.” Again he writes down on his visit to -Tate’s on a certain day: “It was wrong that I attempted to bring out -all the colours from the beginning at once, and even tried to finish -the work up by mending. There is no wonder my colours were dead things. -We must have the living beauty and tone of colours; by that I do never -mean showy. I must learn how to get the deep colour by light paint.” -While he was saturated with Watts, he on the other hand was copying -Rembrandt at the National Gallery. Hara’s copy of “The Jewish Merchant” -is now owned by the Imperial Household in Tokyo. This copy and a few -other copies of Rembrandt were in the exhibition. And Hara was a great -admirer of Turner. Markino confesses in his book or books that it was -Hara who first opened his spiritual eyes to Turner. At this memorial -exhibition Turner is represented by Hara’s copy of Venice. There was in -the exhibition “The Old Seamstress,” which I was pleased to say was -one of Hara’s best pictures. Whenever I see Hara’s pictures of any old -woman, not only this “Old Seamstress,” I think at once that what you -might call his soul sympathy immediately responded to the old woman, -since Hara’s heart and soul were world-wearied and most tender. - -Markino has somewhere in the book the following passages: “First few -weeks I used to take him round the streets, and whenever we passed some -picture shops he stopped to look through the shop window, and would -not move on. I told him those nameless artists’ work was not half so -good as his own. But he always said: ‘Oh, please don’t say so. Perhaps -my drawings are surer than those, and my compositions are better too. -But the European artists know how to handle oils so skilfully. I learn -great lessons from them.’” - -Indeed when he returned home he had fully mastered the technique of -handling oils from England, where he stayed some four years. It is -really a pity that Hara passed away without having fully expressed his -own art in his masterly technique, which he learned with such sacrifice -and patience. His death occurred suddenly at the time when he was about -to break away from his former self and to create his own new art ten -times stronger, fresher, and more beautiful. - -I wish to call the readers’ attention to Yoshio Markino’s _My -Recollections and Reflections_, which contains the most sympathetic -article on Busho Hara. - - - - - APPENDIX II - - THE NERVOUS DEBILITY OF PRESENT JAPANESE ART - - -When I say that I received almost no impression from the annual -Government Exhibition of Japanese Art in the last five or six years, -I have a sort of same feeling with the tired month of May when the -season, in fact, having no strength left from the last glory of bloom -(what a glorious old Japanese art!), still vainly attempts to look -ambitious. Although it may sound unsympathetic, I must declare that the -present Japanese art, speaking of it as a whole, with no reference to -separate works or individual artists, suffers from nervous debility. -Now, is it not the exact condition of the Japanese life at present? -Here it is the art following after the life of modern Japan, vain, -shallow, imitative, and thoughtless, which makes us pessimistic; the -best possible course such an art can follow in the time of its nervous -debility might be that of imitation. - - * * * * * - -When the present Japanese art tells something, I thank God, it is from -its sad failure; indeed, the present Japanese art is a lost art, since -it explains nothing, alas, unlike the old art of idealistic exaltation, -but the general condition of life. It is cast down from its high -pedestal. - - * * * * * - -I do not know exactly what simplicity means, when the word is used -in connection with our old art; however, it is true we see a peculiar -unity in it, which was cherished under the influence of India and -China, and always helped to a classification and analysis of the -means through which the artists worked. And the poverty of subjects -was a strength for them; they valued workmanship, or the right use of -material rather than the material itself; instead of style and design, -the intellect and atmosphere. They thought the means to be the only -path to Heaven. But it was before the Western art had invaded Japan; -that art told them of the end of art, and laughed at the indecision of -æsthetic judgment and uncertainty of realism of Japanese art. It said: -“It is true that you have some scent, but it is already faded; you -have refinement, but it is not quite true to nature and too far away.” -Indeed, it is almost sad one sees the artists troubled by the Western -influence which they accepted, in spite of themselves; I can see in -the exhibitions that many of them have long ago lost their faith by -spiritual calamity, and it is seldom to see them able to readjust their -own minds under such a mingled tempest of Oriental and Occidental. Is -it not, after all, merely a waste of energy? And how true it is with -all the other phenomena of the present life, their Oriental retreat and -Occidental rush. - - * * * * * - -The present Japanese art has sadly strayed from subjectivity, the only -one citadel where the old Japanese art rose and fell; I wonder if it is -not paying a too tremendous price only to gain a little objectivity of -the West. - - - _Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury, - England._ - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Spirit of Japanese Art, by Yone Noguchi - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART *** - -***** This file should be named 62252-0.txt or 62252-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/2/5/62252/ - -Produced by ellinora, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Spirit of Japanese Art - -Author: Yone Noguchi - -Release Date: May 28, 2020 [EBook #62252] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART *** - - - - -Produced by ellinora, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="transnote"> -<h3>Transcriber’s Notes</h3> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations -in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and -punctuation remains unchanged.</p> - -<p>On Page 26 lespedozas has been corrected to lespedezas.</p> - -<p>The cover image was prepared by the transcriber and is placed within -the public domain.</p> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - - -<p>The Wisdom of the East Series<br /> - -<span class="smcap"><small>Edited by</small></span><br /> - -L. CRANMER-BYNG<br /> -Dr. S. A. KAPADIA</p> - - -<p class="center spaced">THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - - -<p class="center">WISDOM OF THE EAST</p> - -<h1>THE SPIRIT OF<br /> -JAPANESE ART</h1> - -<p class="center">BY YONE NOGUCHI<br /> -<small>AUTHOR OF “THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE POETRY”</small></p> - -<div class="figcenter" > -<img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="Sunrise" /> -</div> - -<p class="center">LONDON<br /> -JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.<br /> -1915</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">All Rights Reserved</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span></p> - - -<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<col width="50%" /><col width="30%" /><col width="20%" /> -<tr> - <td colspan="2"></td> - <td class="tdr"><span class="small">PAGE</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td> - <td></td> - <td class="tdr">9</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#I">I</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Koyetsu</span></td> - <td class="tdr">17</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#II">II</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Kenzan</span></td> - <td class="tdr">25</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#III">III</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Utamaro</span></td> - <td class="tdr">32</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#IV">IV</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Hiroshige</span></td> - <td class="tdr">38</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#V">V</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Gaho Hashimoto</span></td> - <td class="tdr">44</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#VI">VI</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span><span class="smcap">Kyosai</span></td> - <td class="tdr">56</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#VII">VII</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Last Master of the Ukiyoye Art</span></td> - <td class="tdr">67</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#VIII">VIII</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Busho Hara</span></td> - <td class="tdr">79</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#IX">IX</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Ukiyoye Art in Original</span></td> - <td class="tdr">93</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#X">X</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Western Art in Japan</span></td> - <td class="tdr">100</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#APPENDIX_I">APPENDIX I</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Memorial Exhibition of the Late -Hara</span></td> - <td class="tdr">109</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td></td> - <td><a href="#APPENDIX_II">APPENDIX II</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Nervous Debility of Present -Japanese Art</span></td> - <td class="tdr">113</td> -</tr> -</table></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span></p> - - -<p class="center spaced">TO<br /> - -<big>EDWARD F. STRANGE</big><br /> - -OF THE SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span></p> - - -<h2 id="EDITORIAL_NOTE">EDITORIAL NOTE</h2> - - -<p>The object of the Editors of this series is a very -definite one. They desire above all things that, -in their humble way, these books shall be the -ambassadors of good-will and understanding -between East and West—the old world of Thought -and the new of Action. In this endeavour, and -in their own sphere, they are but followers of the -highest example in the land. They are confident -that a deeper knowledge of the great ideals and -lofty philosophy of Oriental thought may help to -a revival of that true spirit of Charity which -neither despises nor fears the nations of another -creed and colour.</p> - -<p class="psig"> -L. CRANMER-BYNG.<br /> -S. A. KAPADIA.</p> - -<p class="pdate"><span class="smcap">Northbrook Society,<br /> -21 Cromwell Road,<br /> -S. Kensington, S.W.</span></p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span></p> - - -<h2 id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</h2> - - -<p>In the Ashikaga age (1335-1573) the best Japanese -artists, like Sesshu and his disciples, for instance, -true revolutionists in art, not mere rebels, whose -Japanese simplicity was strengthened and clarified -by Chinese suggestion, were in the truest meaning -of the word Buddhist priests, who sat before -the inextinguishable lamp of faith, and sought -their salvation by the road of silence; their -studios were in the Buddhist temple, east of the -forests and west of the hills, dark without, and -luminous within with the symbols of all beauty -of nature and heaven. And their artistic work -was a sort of prayer-making, to satisfy their own -imagination, not a thing to show to a critic whose -attempt at arguing and denying is only a nuisance -in the world of higher art; they drew pictures to -create absolute beauty and grandeur, that made -their own human world look almost trifling, and -directly joined themselves with eternity. Art for -them was not a question of mere reality in expression, -but the question of Faith. Therefore they -never troubled their minds with the matter of -subjects or the size of the canvas; indeed, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span> -mere reality of the external world had ceased to -be a standard for them, who lived in the temple -studios. Laurance Binyon said of them: “Hints -of the divine were to be found everywhere—in -leaves of grass, in the life of animals, birds, and -insects. No occupation was too humble or menial -to be invested with beauty and significance.” -Through them the Ashikaga period becomes very -important in our Japanese art annals. Binyon -says: “The Ashikaga period stands in art for -an ideal of reticent simplicity. A revulsion from -the ornate conventions, which had begun to -paralyse the pristine vigour of the Yamato school, -and fresh acquaintance with the masterpieces of -the Sung era, brought about by renewed contact -with China, after a hermit period of exclusion, -created a passion for swift, impassioned or suggestive -painting in ink, on silvery-toned paper.”</p> - -<p>People, like myself, who are more delighted at -the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square with, -for instance, “A Summer Afternoon after a -Shower,” or a “View at Epsom,” by Constable, -and with “Walton Reach,” or “Windsor from -Lower Hope,” by Turner, than with their other -bigger things, will be certainly pleased to see -“Temple and Hill above a Lake,” by Sesshu, or -“Travellers at a Temple Gate,” by Sesson, representing -this interesting Ashikaga period, exhibited -in the new wing of the British Museum. You -have to go there and spend an hour or so with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span> -Arthur Morrison collection of Japanese art, if -you wish to feel the real old Japanese humanity -and love that our ancient masters inspired into -their work. To be sure, none of the things -exhibited there, small or large, good or poor, are -so-called exhibition pictures, which are often a -game of artistic charlatans. In real Japanese -art you should not look for variety of subjects; -but when you find an astonishing richness of -execution, certainly it is the time when your -eyes begin to open toward another sort of asceticism -in art. How glad I am that our -Japanese art, at least in the olden time, never -degenerated into a mechanical art!</p> - -<p>What a pity Sesson’s “Travellers at a Temple -Gate,” this remarkable little thing, has been -mended in two or three spots. If you wish to -see the real power and distinction of great Sesshu, -you might compare his “Daruma” in the exhibition -with the other “Daruma” pictures by -Soami and Takuchu also in the exhibition: -the point I should like to bring out is that -Sesshu’s “Daruma” is an artistic attempt to -proclaim the spiritual intensity which shines -within from the true strength of consciousness -and real economy of force, while the others are -rather a superficial demonstration.</p> - -<p>There is no other Japanese school so interesting, -even from the one point of style in expressive -decoration, as the Koyetsu-korin school,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span> -the much-admired branch of Japanese art in the -West. Although I was glad to see a good specimen -of Sotatsu in “Descent of the Thunder God -on the Palace of Fujiwara” in the exhibition, -I hardly think that such a figure painting (a -really good work in its own way) shows Sotatsu’s -best art; while my memory of the Sotatsu -exhibition at Uyeno of Tokyo a few years ago -is still fresh, I am pleased to connect Sotatsu -with the flower-screens and little <i>Kakemono</i> for -the tea-rooms, now with a pair of rabbits nibbling -grasses, then with a little bunch of wild chrysanthemums. -You will see what an admirer I -am of this school, since I have dwelt at some -length on Koyetsu and Kenzan in this little -book of Japanese art. I regret that I have to -beg for some more time before I make myself -able to write on great Korin; I am sure that -Hoitsu, one of the most distinguished decadents -of the early nineteenth century, and the acknowledged -successor of the Koyetsu-korin school, -would give us a highly interesting subject to -discuss. Oh, those days at Bunkwa and Bunsei -(1804-1830)! Dear, rotten, foolish, romantic -old Tokugawa civilisation and art!</p> - -<p>Two articles on Harunobu and Hokusai are -still to be written for the Ukiyoye school; I know, -I believe, that without those two artists the -school would never be complete. I am happy -to think that I have Gaho Hashimoto in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> -present book as the last great master of the Kano -school; but I cannot help thinking about Hogai -Kano, Gaho’s spiritual brother, who passed away -almost in starvation.</p> - -<p>Indeed, Hogai’s whole life of sixty years was -a life of hardship and hunger; when he reached -manhood, the whole country of Japan began to -be disturbed under the name of the Grand -Restoration. In those days, the safety of one’s -life was not assured; how then could art claim -the general protection? All the artists threw -away their drawing-brushes. Hogai tried to get -his living by selling baskets and brooms; his -wife, it is said, helped him by weaving at night; -their lives were hard almost without comparison. -Following the advice of a certain Mr. Fujishima, -Hogai drew pictures and gave them to a dealer -at Hikage Cho, Tokyo, to be sold. After three -long years, he found that only one picture had -been sold, and so he gave the rest of them, more -than fifty, to Mr. Fujishima, who, by turns, gave -them away to his friends. And those pictures which -were given freely by Mr. Fujishima are now their -owners’ greatest treasures. Thus is the irony of -life exemplified. It was thought by Hogai a -piece of good fortune when he was engaged by -Professor Fenellosa for twelve yen a month; this -American critic’s eye discerned Hogai’s unusual -ability. It is almost unbelievable to-day that -such a small sum should have been acceptable;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> -but it may have been the usual payment in those -days, and the Professor’s friendship was more -to Hogai than money. He received fifteen yen -afterward when he was engaged by the Educational -Department of the Government in 1884; -how sad he could not support himself by art alone. -And alas, he was no more when the general -appreciation of his great art began to be told. -Quite many specimens of Hogai’s work are -treasured in the Boston Museum at present. How -changed are the conditions now from Hogai’s -day! But are these fortunately changed conditions -really helpful for the creation of true art?</p> - -<p>To look at some of the modern work is too -trying, mainly from the fact that it lacks, to -use the word of Zen Buddhism, the meaning of -silence; it seems to me that some modern artists -work only to tax people’s minds. In Nature we -find peacefulness and silence; we derive from it -a feeling of comfort and restfulness; and again -from it we receive vigour and life. I think so -great art should be. Many modern artists cannot -place themselves in unison with their art; in -one word, they do not know how to follow the -law or <i>michi</i>, that Mother Nature gladly evolves. -It is such a delight to examine the works of -Hogai, as each picture is a very part of his -own true self; the only difference is the -difference that he wished to evoke in interest; -his desire was always so clear in the relation be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span>tween -himself and his work, and accidentally he -succeeded as if by magic in establishing the same -relationship for us, the onlookers. It goes -without saying that the pictures of such an artist -are richer than they appear; while he used only -Chinese ink in his pictures, our imagination is -pleased to see them with the addition of colour, -and even voice.</p> - -<p>The subjects which are treated in the present -volume are various, but I dare say that all the -artists whose art I have treated here will well -agree in the point of their expression of the -Japanese spirit of art, which always aims at -poetry and atmosphere, but not mere style and -purpose.</p> - -<p class="psig">Y. N.</p> - -<p class="pdate"><span class="smcap">London</span>,<br /> -<i>May 13, 1914</i>.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span></p> - - -<p class="half-title">THE SPIRIT OF<br /> - -JAPANESE ART</p> - - -<h2><a name="I" id="I">I</a><br /> - -KOYETSU</h2> - - -<p>When I left home toward a certain Doctor’s who -had promised to show me his collection of chirography -and art, the unusual summer wind which -had raged since midnight did not seem to calm -down; the rain-laden clouds now gathered, and -then parted for the torrent of sunlight to dash -down. I was most cordially received by him, -as I was expected; in coming under threat of -the weather I had my own reasons. I always -thought that summer was worse than spring for -examining (more difficult to approve than deny) -the objects of art, on account of our inability -for concentrating our minds; the heat that calls -all the <i>shoji</i> doors to open wide confuses the -hearts of bronze Buddhas or Sesshu’s “Daruma” -or Kobo’s chirography or whatever they be, -whichever way they have to turn, in the rush<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span> -of light from every side; I thanked the bad -weather to-day which, I am sure, I should have -cursed some other day. The Doctor’s house had -an almost winter-sad aspect with the <i>shoji</i>, -even the rain-doors all shut, the soft darkness -assembling at the very place it should, where -the saints or goddesses revealed themselves; -hanging after hanging was unrolled and rolled -before me in quick succession. “Doctor, tell -me quick whose writing is that?” I loudly -shouted when I came to one little bit of Japanese -writing. “That is Koyetsu’s,” he replied. -“Why, is it? It seems it is worth more than all -the others put together; Doctor, I will not ask -you for any more hangings to-day,” I said. -And a moment later, I looked at him and exclaimed -in my determined voice:</p> - -<p>“What will you say if I take it away and keep -it indefinitely?”</p> - -<p>“I say nothing at all, but am pleased to see -how you will enjoy it,” the Doctor replied.</p> - -<p>The evening had already passed when I returned -home with that hanging of Koyetsu’s -chirography under my arm. “Put all the gaslights -out! Do you hear me? All the gaslights -out! And light all the candles you have!” I -cried. The little hanging was properly hanged -at the “tokonoma” when the candles were -lighted, whose world-old soft flame (wasn’t it -singing the old song of world-wearied heart?)<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span> -<span class="sidenote">YEARNING OF POETICAL SOUL</span> -allured my mind back, perhaps, to Koyetsu’s -age of four hundred years ago—to imagine myself -to be a waif of greyness like a famous tea-master, -Rikiu or Enshu or, again, Koyetsu, burying me -in a little Abode of Fancy with a boiling tea-kettle; -through that smoke of candles hurrying -like our ephemeral lives, the characters of Koyetsu’s -writing loomed with the haunting charm -of a ghost. They say:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Where’s cherry-blossom?</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The trace of the garden’s spring breeze is seen no more.</div> - <div class="verse">I will point, if I am asked,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To my fancy snow upon the ground.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>“What a yearning of poetical soul!” I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>It is your imagination to make rise out of fall, -day out of darkness, and Life out of Death; not -to see the fact of scattering petals is your virtue, -and to create your own special sensation with the -impulse of art is your poet’s dignity; what a -blessing if you can tell a lie to yourself; better -still, not to draw a distinct line between the -things our plebeian minds call truth and untruth, -and live like a wreath shell with the cover shut -in the air of your own creation. Praised be the -touch of your newly awakened soul which can -turn the fallen petals to the beauty of snow; -there is nothing that will deny the yearning of -your poetic soul. It is not superstition to say -that the poet’s life is worthier than any other -life. Some time ago the word loneliness impressed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> -me as almost divine as Rikiu pledged himself -in it; I wished, through its invocation, to create -a picture, as the ancient ditty has it, of a “lone -cottage standing by the autumn wave, under the -fading light of eve.” But I am thankful for -Koyetsu to-day. How to reach my own poetry -seems clearly defined in my thought; it will -be by the twilight road of imagination born out -of reality and the senses—the road of idealism -baptised by the pain of death.</p> - -<p>What remains of Koyetsu’s life is slight, as his -day was not feminine and prosaic, like to-day, -with love of gossip and biography-writing; he, -with the friends of his day, Sambiakuin Konoye, -Shokado, both of them eminent chirographers of -all time of Japan, Jozan the scholar, Enshu the -tea-master, and many others, realised the age of -artistic heroism which is often weakened by the -vulgarity of thought that aims at the Future -and Fame. The utter rejection of them would -be the prayer itself to strengthen the appreciation -of art into a living thing. Koyetsu made his -profession in his younger days the connoisseurship -of swords as well as their whetting; it was -for that service, I believe, that Iyeyasu, the great -feudal Prince of Yedo, gave him a piece of land, -then a mere waste, at Taka ga Mine of the lonely -suburb of Kyoto, by the Tanba highway, where -he retired, with a few writing brushes and a -tea-kettle, to build his Taikyo An, or Abode of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span> -<span class="sidenote">ABODE OF VACANCY</span> -Vacancy, giving his æsthetic fancy full swing -to fill the “vacancy” of abode and life. He -warned his son and family, when he bade them -farewell, it is said, that they should never step -into Yedo of the powerful lords and princes, -because the worldly desire was not the way of -ennobling a life which was worth living. We -might call it “seihin”, or proud poverty that -Koyetsu most prized, as it never allures one from -the chasteness of simplicity which is the real -foundation of art. There is reason to believe -that he must have been quite a collector of works -of art, rich and rare, in his earlier life; but it is -said that he most freely gave them away when he -left his city home for his lonely retirement; -indeed he was entering into the sanctuary of -priests. What needed he there but prayer and -silence? There is nothing more petty, even -vulgar, in the grey world of art and poetry, than -to have a too close attachment to life and physical -luxuries; if our Orientalism may not tell you -anything much, I think it will teach you at least -to soar out of your trivialism.</p> - -<p>Koyetsu’s must have been a remarkable personality, -remarkable because of its lucidity distilled -and crystallised—to use a plebeian expression, -by his own philosophy, whose touch breathed -on the spot a real art into anything from a -porcelain bowl to the design on a lacquer box; -I see his transcendental mien like a cloud (that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> -cloud is not necessarily high in the sky all the -time) in his works that remain to-day, more from -the reason that they carry, all of them, the -solitary grace of amateurishness in the highest -sense. To return to the unprofessional independence -itself was his great triumph; his artistic -fervour was from his priesthood. I know that -he was a master in porcelain-making, picture-drawing, -and also in lacquer-box designing (what -a beautiful work of art is the writing box of raised -lacquer called Sano Funahashi, to-day owned by -the Imperial Museum of Tokyo); but it seems -that he often betrayed that his first and last love -was in his calligraphy. Once he was asked by -Sambiakuin Konoye, a high nobleman of the -Kyoto Court, the question who was the best -penman of the day; it is said he replied, after a -slight hesitation: “Well, then, the second best -would be you, my Lord; and Shokado would be -the third best.” The somewhat disappointed -calligraphist of high rank in the court pressed -Koyetsu: “Speak out, who is the first! There -is nothing of ‘Well, then,’ about it.” Koyetsu -replied: “This humble self is that first.” The -remarkable part is that in his calligraphy Koyetsu -never showed any streak of worldly vulgarity. -Its illusive charm is that of a rivulet sliding -through the autumnal flowers; when we call it -impressive, that impressiveness is that of the -sudden fall of the moon. To return to this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE STYLE CALLED “GYOSHO”</span> -hanging of his (thousand thanks to the Doctor) -to which I look up to-day as a servant to his -master, with all devotion. The sure proof of its -being no mean art, I venture to say, is seen in -its impressing me as the singular work of accident, -like the blow of the wind or the sigh of the rain; -it seems the writer (great Koyetsu) was never -conscious, when he wrote it, of the paper on -which he wrote, of the bamboo brush which he -grasped. It is true that we cannot play our -criticism against it; it is not our concern to -ask how it was written, but only to look at and -admire it. The characters are in the style called -“gyosho,” or current hand, to distinguish from -the “kaisho,” or square hand; and there is -one more style under the name of “sosho,” or -grass hand, that is an abbreviated cursive hand. -As this was written in “gyo” style, it did not -depend on elaborate patience but on the first -stroke of fancy. I have no hesitation to say -that, when it is said that the arts of the calligrapher -and the painter are closely allied, the -art of the calligrapher would be by just so much -related with our art of living; the question is -what course among the three styles we shall -choose—the square formalism of “kaisho” or -the “sosho”-like romanticism? It does no -justice to call “gyosho” a middle road; when -you know that your idealism is always born -from the conventionalism of reality of “kaisho”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span>-like -materialism, it is not wrong to say that -Koyetsu wisely selected a line of “gyosho”-like -accentuation—not so fantastic as a “sosho” -calligraph—with the tea-kettle and a few writing -brushes, to make one best day before he fell into -the final rest.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="II" id="II">II</a><br /> - -KENZAN</h2> - - -<p>I used to pass by Zenyoji, a little Buddhist -temple by the eastern side of Uyeno Hill (whose -trees, almost a thousand years old, in the shape -of a dragon, perhaps created by a Kano artist, -have been ruined by the smoke that never departs -from the railroad terminus), where I knew, from -the calligraphic sign carved on a stone by the -temple gate, that Kenzan Ogata, the famous artist -on paper or porcelain, and younger brother of -the great Korin, was buried in the graveyard -within; but if I did not step in, as in fact I did -not step in, although I passed by countless -times, as I lived then in the neighbourhood of -the temple in classical Negishi—classical in association -with the nightingale and that wonderful -pine-tree called Ogyo no Matsu (here also lived -Hoitsu, the famous decadent of the early nineteenth -century)—that was because I had little -interest in any grave, even in Kenzan’s. And -the temple looked so dusty, smoky, and altogether -dirty. How sorry I felt in thinking that Kenzan’s -artistic soul must be suffering from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> -snoring, growling, and hissing of the engines day -and night. Alas, he could not foresee the future -of a few hundred years when he died. But I -welcomed the news when the sudden removal of -the grave was reported as a result, a fortunate -result indeed, of the expansion of the railway -track; this time, to be sure, I thought, his grey-loving, -solitary soul would be pleased to find a -far better sleeping-place, as he was to be moved -to the large old garden of the Kokka Club (a -well-known artist club), with a deep pond -where many gold fish peep underneath the umbrella-like -lotus leaves in early summer, and in -later autumn the <i>hagi</i> or two-coloured lespedezas -(Kenzan’s beloved subject) would lean upon the -water to admire their own images; and it is a -matter thrice satisfactory to think that this new -place is also in Negishi (which somehow recalls -Hampstead, though there is no natural resemblance -between them).</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I was invited to attend the memorial exhibition -of Kenzan’s work to commemorate the removal -of his grave the other day. With the greatest -anticipation I went there with two friends of -mine, a fellow poet and an artist, both of them -great admirers of Kenzan Ogata. When we -entered the ground, we found at once that the -Buddhist ceremony, that is the Sutra-reading -called Kuya Nembutsu, around the newly dug<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span> -grave by the lotus pond under the trees, was well -started already; some ten or eleven priests, in -fact the devoted members of the club, but in -long black robes, were seen through the foliage -from the distance, hopping around like the vagarious -spirits of a moment (this fantastic ceremony, -Kuya Nembutsu) while reciting the holy book; -the voice of the recitation most musically broke -the silence. We did not approach the grave, -but went straight into the exhibition rooms, -because we knew that the best prayer we could -offer to Kenzan was to see and rightly appreciate -his works of art. We all of us were unable to -speak a word at the beginning, as our tongues -(our heads too) lost their powers against his -peculiarly distinguished art, which is the oldest -and again the newest. When our minds became -better composed, we sat in a corner of the room -where the hangings of his flowers or trees, and -the tea-bowls or incense-cases with his favourite -designs, had been well arranged; we felt inclined -to talk, even discuss his art.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">THE OLDEST AND THE NEWEST</div> - -<p>“What a pleasing egotism,” I ventured to say, -“in that picture of lilies or this picture of fishes; -the lilies and fishes are not an accessory as in -many other Japanese pictures, but the lilies and -fishes themselves in their full meaning. Again -What a delightful egotism!”</p> - -<p>“You might call flowers feminine,” my artist-friend -interrupted me.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span> “But I should like to -know where is a thing more truly egotistic than -the flowers.”</p> - -<p>“That egotism in the picture,” I proceeded, -“might be a real result from the great reverence -and intense love of Kenzan for his subjects; we -can see that his mind, when he painted them, was -never troubled with any other thing or thought. -You know that such only occurs to a truly gifted -artist. After all, the greatness of Kenzan is his -sincerity. And it goes without saying that the -pictures on tea-bowls we see here are not things -which were made to some one’s order. We become -at once sincere and silent in their presence; to -say that his art was spiritual is another way to -express it—by that I mean that we are given all -opportunities to imagine what the pictures themselves -may not contain. Our imagination grows -deeper and clearer through the virtue or magic -of his work; and again his work appears thrice -simplified and therefore more vital. The art -really simple and vital is never to be troubled -with any rhetoric or accessories of unessentials; -before you make such a picture, you must have, -to begin with, your own soul simplified and vital -in the true sense. Kenzan had that indeed.”</p> - -<p>“To call Kenzan’s work merely beautiful,” my -friend-poet said, evidently in the same mind -with myself, “whether it be the picture on paper -or China-bowls, does no justice; what he truly -aimed at was the artistic expression,—and he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span> -<span class="sidenote">EXPRESSION OF PERSONALITY</span> -most successful when he was most true. To him, -as with the other great artists of East or West, -the beauties only occurred—and Kenzan’s beauties -occurred when his simple art was most decorative; -in his decorativeness he found his own artistic -emotion. It was his greatness that he made a -perfect union of emotion and intellect in his work; -to say shortly, he was the expression of personality.”</p> - -<p>“What a personality was Kenzan’s! Again -what a personality!” I exclaimed. I proceeded, -as I wished to take up the talk where my friend -poet had left off,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> “It is his personality by whose -virtue even a little weed or insignificant spray of -a willow-tree turns to a real art; he had that -personality, because he had such a love and sympathy. -Indeed the main question of the artist is -in his love and sympathy; the external technique -is altogether secondary. When you commune -with the inner meaning, that is the beginning -and also the ending. We see here the picture -of a cherry-tree covered by the red blossoms, -which might happen to be criticised as a bad -drawing; but since it does appear as nothing but -a cherry-tree, proud and lovely, I think that -Kenzan’s artistic desire was fully answered. He -was an artist, not merely either an illustrator or -a designer. He was a true artist, therefore his -work is ever so new like the moon and flowers; -and again old, like the flowers and moon.”</p> - -<p>“If the so-called post-impressionists could see -Kenzan’s work!” my friend-artist suddenly -ventured to exclaim, “I am sure that Vincent -Van Gogh would be glad to have this six-leafed -screen of poppy-flowers.”</p> - -<p>“Really the picture is the soul of the flowers,” -I said, “but not the external flowers. It is -mystic as the flowers are mystic. And imagine -Kenzan’s attitude when he drew that screen! I -believe that he had the same reverence as when -he stood in the religion of mysticism to paint a -goddess; indeed his work was prayer and soul’s -consolation. Though the subject was flowers, I -have no hesitation to call the picture religious. -I almost feel like lighting a candle and burning -incense before this screen of poppies.”</p> - -<p>As with other gifted artists, we see Kenzan’s -real life behind his work. Some critic ably said -that true art was an episode of life; I can imagine -that, when his artistic fancy moved and his work -was done, he must have thrown it aside into the -waves of time, off-hand, most unceremoniously, -and forgotten all about it. We can truly say of -his works that they never owed one thing to -money or payment for their existence—and that -is the greatest praise we can give to any work -of art. His material life might be said to have -been quite fortunate in that he was invited to -Yedo (present Tokyo) by the Prince of the Kanyeiji -Temple of Uyeno, under whose patronage his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE BAPTISM OF POVERTY</span> -art was pleased to take its own free independent -course; but his greatness is that when the Prince -passed away and he was left to poverty, he -never trembled and shrank under its cold cruel -baptism; indeed that baptism made his personality -far nobler, like the white flame from -which the whiteness is taken out, and consequently -his art was a thing created, as we say -here, by the mind out of the world and dust. -The works which to-day remain and are admired -by us are mostly the work he executed after he -reached his seventieth year. We have many -reasons to be thankful for the fact that he left -Kyoto, the old city of court nobles and ladies, -somewhat effeminate, and the side of his brother -Korin, whose great influence would have certainly -made him a little Korin at the best; we see no -distinction whatever in the work which he gave -the world under Korin’s guidance. His art made -a great stride after he appeared in the Yedo of -the warriors and manliness and touched a different -atmosphere from that of his former life; I will -point, when you ask me for the proof, to the now-famous -six-fold screen with the picture of plum-blossom, -or the hanging also of the plum-blossom -owned by the Imperial Museum. Oh, what a -noble plum-blossom, which reminds us of a -samurai’s heart, simple and brave!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="III" id="III">III</a><br /> - -UTAMARO</h2> - - -<p>I feel I scent, in facing Utamaro’s ladies, whether -with no soul or myriad souls (certainly ladies, be -they courtesans or <i>geishas</i>, who never bartered -their own beauty and songs away), the rich-soft -passionate odour of rare old roses; when I say -I hear the silken-delicate summer breezes winging -in the picture, I mean that the Japanese sensuousness -(is it the scent or pang of a lilac or thorn?) -makes my senses shiver at the last moment when -it finally turns to spirituality. It was our -Japanese civilisation of soul, at least in olden time -under Tokugawa’s regime, not to distinguish -between sensuousness and spirituality, or to see -at once the spiritual in the sensuous; I once wrote -down as follows, upon the woman drawn by lines, -or, more true to say, by the absence of lines, in -snake-like litheness of attitude, I might say more -subtle than Rossetti’s Lillith, with such eyes -only opened to see love:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span></p><div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Too common to say she is the beauty of line,</div> - <div class="verse">However, the line old, spiritualised into odour,</div> - <div class="verse">(The odour soared into an everlasting ghost from life and death),</div> - <div class="verse">As a gossamer, the handiwork of a dream,</div> - <div class="verse">’Tis left free as it flaps:</div> - <div class="verse">The lady of Utamaro’s art is the beauty of zephyr flow.</div> - <div class="verse">I say again, the line with the breath of love,</div> - <div class="verse">Enwrapping my heart to be a happy prey:</div> - <div class="verse">Sensuous? To some so she may appear,</div> - <div class="verse">But her sensuousness divinised into the word of love.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="sidenote">THE LADY OF UTAMARO’S ART</div> - -<p>Although I can enjoy and even criticise -Hiroshige or Hokusai at any time and in any -place, let me tell you that I cannot do so with -Utamaro, because I must be first in the rightest -mood (who says bodies have no mood?) as when -I see the living woman; to properly appreciate -his work of art I must have the fullness of my -physical strength so that my criticism is disarmed. -(Criticism? Why, that is the art for people -imperfect in health, thin and tired.) I feel, let -me confess, almost physical pain—is it rather -a joy?—through all my adoration in seeing -Utamaro’s women, just as when with the most -beautiful women whose beauty first wounds us; -I do not think it vulgarity to say that I feel -blushing with them, because the true spiritualism -would please to be parenthesised by bodily -emphasis. It is your admiration that makes -you bold; again your admiration of Utamaro’s -pictures that makes them a real part of yourself, -therefore your vital question of body and soul; -and you shall never be able to think of them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span> -separately from your personal love. When I say -that we have our own life and art in his work, -I mean that all Japanese woman-beauty, love, -passion, sorrow and joy, in one word, all dreams -now appear, then disappear, by the most wonderful -lines of his art.</p> - -<p>I will lay me down whenever I want to beautifully -admire Utamaro and spend half an hour -with his lady (“To-day I am with her in silence -of twilight eve, and am afraid she may vanish -into the mist”), in the room darkened by the -candle-light (it is the candle-light that darkens -rather than lights); every book or picture of -Western origin (perhaps except a few reprints -from Rossetti or Whistler, which would not break -the atmosphere altogether) should be put aside. -How can you place together in the same room -Utamaro’s women, for instance, with Millet’s -pictures or Carpenter’s “Towards Democracy"? -The atmosphere I want to create should be most -impersonal, not touched or scarred by the sharpness -of modern individualism or personality, but -eternally soft and grey; under the soft grey -atmosphere you would expect to see the sudden -swift emotion of love, pain, or joy of life, that may -come any moment or may not come at all. I -always think that the impersonality or the personality -born out of the depth of impersonality -was regarded in older Japan as the highest, most -virtuous art and life; now not talking about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span> -life, but the art—Utamaro’s art, the chronicle -or history of the idealised harem or divan. How -charming to talk with Utamaro on love and beauty -in the grey soft atmosphere particularly fitting to -receive him in, or to be received by him in. I -would surely venture to say to him on such a -rare occasion: “You had no academy or any hall -of mediocrity in your own days to send your -pictures to; that was fortunate, as you appealed -directly to the people eventually more artistic -and always just. I know that you too were once -imprisoned under the accusation of obscenity; -there was the criticism also in your day which -saw the moral and the lesson, but not the beauty -and the picture. When you say how sorry you -were to part with your picture when it was done, -I fully understand your artistic heart, because -the picture was too much of yourself; perhaps -you confessed your own love and passion too -nakedly. I know that you must have been -feeling uneasy or even afraid to be observed or -criticised too closely.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">THE ACCUSATION OF OBSCURITY</div> - -<p>As a certain critic remarked, the real beauty -flies away like an angel whenever an intellect -rushes in and begins to speak itself; the intellect, -if it has anything to do, certainly likes to show -up itself too much, with no consideration for the -general harmony that would soon be wounded -by it. Utamaro’s art, let me dare say, is as I once -wrote:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“She is an art (let me call her so)</div> - <div class="verse">Hung, as a web, in the air of perfume,</div> - <div class="verse">Soft yet vivid, she sways in music:</div> - <div class="verse">(But what sadness in her saturation of life!)</div> - <div class="verse">Her music lives in intensity of a moment and then dies;</div> - <div class="verse">To her, suggestion is her life.</div> - <div class="verse">She is the moth-light playing on reality’s dusk,</div> - <div class="verse">Soon to die as a savage prey of the moment;</div> - <div class="verse">She is a creation of surprise (let me say so),</div> - <div class="verse">Dancing gold on the wire of impulse.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Some one might say that Utamaro’s ladies are -brainless, but is it not, as I said before, that the -sacrifice of individuality or personality makes -them join at once with the great ghosts of universal -beauty and love? They are beautiful, -because all the ghosts and spirits of all the ages -and humanity of Japan speak themselves through -them; it is perfectly right of him not to give -any particular name to the pictures, because they -are not the reflection of only one woman, but of a -hundred and thousand women; besides, Utamaro -must have been loving a little secrecy and mystification -to play with the public’s curiosity.</p> - -<p>We have his art; that is quite enough. What -do I care about his life, what he used to wear -and eat, how long he slept and how many hours -he worked every day; in fact, what is known -as his life is extremely slight. It is said that he -was a sort of hanger-on to Juzaburo Tsutaya, the -well-known publisher of his day, at the house -within a stone’s throw of Daimon or Great Gate -of Yoshiwara, the Nightless City of hired beauties<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE UKIYOYE WOMAN</span> -and lanterns, where, the story says, Utamaro -had his nightly revel of youthful days as a fatal -slave to female enchantment; while we do not -know whether he revelled there or not, we know -that as Yoshiwara of those times was the rendezvous -of beauty, good looks, and song, not all -physical, but quite spiritual, we can believe that -he must have wandered there for his artistic -development. Indeed there was his great art -beautifully achieved when he suddenly entered -into idealism or dream where sensuousness and -spirituality find themselves to be blood brothers -or sisters. In the long history of Japanese art -we see the most interesting turn in the appearance -of a new personality, that is the Ukiyoye -woman; and who was the artist who perfected -them to the art of arts? He was Utamaro. -You may abuse and criticise, if you will, their -unnaturally narrow squint eyes and egg-shaped -smooth face; but from the mask his woman -wears I am deliciously impressed with the strange -yet familiar, old but new, artistic personality. -The times change, and we are becoming more -intellectual, as a consequence, physically ugly; -is it too sweeping or one-sided to say that? I -have, however, many reasons for my wishing to -see more influence of Utamaro’s art.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="IV" id="IV">IV</a><br /> - -HIROSHIGE</h2> - - -<p>The Sumida River’s blue began to calm down, -like that of an old Japanese colour-print, into the -blue, I should say, of silence which had not been -mixed with another colour to make life; that -blue, it might be said, did not exist so much in -the river as in my very mind, which has lately -grown, following a certain Mr. Hopper, to cry, -"Hiro—Hiro—Hiroshige the Great!” The time -was late afternoon of one day in last April; the -little boat which carried a few souls like mine, -who, greatly troubled by the modern life, were -eager to gain the true sense of perspective towards -Nature, glided down as it finished the regular -course of the “Cherry-blossom viewing at Mukojima.” -And my mind entered slowly into a -picture of my own creation—nay, Hiroshige’s. -“Look at the view from here. (I was thinking -of Hiroshige’s Sumidagawa Hanasakari among -his Yedo pictures.) It may be too late now to -agree with Wilde when he said that Nature -imitates Art,” I said to my friend. He saw at -once my meaning, though not clearly, and ex<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span>panded -on how artistically the human mind has -been advancing lately; and I endorsed him with -the fact that I have come to see, for some long -time, the Japanese scenery through Hiroshige’s -eye. My friend exclaimed: “Is it not the same -thing, when you think Nature imitates Art, that -your mind itself imitates the Art first?” It is -not written in any book how much Hiroshige was -appreciated in his day; but I believe I am not -wrong to say that he is now reaching the height -of popularity in both the East and the West, of -popularity in the real sense, and you will easily -understand me when I say that he is the artist -of the future in the same sense that I disbelieve -in the birth register of Turner and Whistler. He -is, in truth, greatly in advance, even if I fancy he -is an artist of the present day, your contemporary -and mine; I always go to him to find where -Nature is pleased to put her own emphasis. -Every picture of his I see seems to be a new one -always; and the last is ever so surprising as to -leave my mind incapable for the time being of -apprehension of his other pictures. One picture -of his is enough; there is the proof of his artistic -greatness.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">NATURE IN HER EMPHASIS</div> - -<p>We did not know until recently what meant -the words realism and idealism (should we thank -the Western critics?) except this:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span> “The artist, -whatever he be, idealist or realist or what not, -is good when he is true to his art. I mean that -technique or method of expression is secondary; -even the seeming realistic picture of Oriental art -is, when it is splendid, always subjective.” I -have many reasons to call Hiroshige an idealist -or subjective artist, now playing an arbitrary art -of criticism after the Western fashion, as I only -see his artistic wisdom, but nothing else in his -being true to Nature; that wisdom, I admit, -helped his art to a great measure, but what I -admire in him is the indefinable quality which, -as I have no better word, I will call atmosphere -or pictorial personality. It seems that he learned -the secret from Chinese landscape art how to -avoid femininity and confusion; the difference -between his art and that of the Chinese artist -is that where the one drew a <i>bonseki</i>, or tray-landscape, -with sand from memory, the latter made -a mirage in the sky. When Hiroshige fails he -reminds me of Emerson’s words of suggestion to -look at Nature upside down through your legs; -his success, as that of the Chinese artist, is poetry. -And our Oriental poetry is no other kind but -subjectivity. I have right here before me the -picture called “Awa no Naruto,” which is more -often credited to be the work of the second -Hiroshige; now let me, for once and all, settle -the question that there were many Hiroshiges. -It is my opinion there was only one Hiroshige; -I say this because in old Japan (a hundred times -more artistic than present Japan) the individual<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> -personality was not recognised, and when an -artist adopted the name of Hiroshige by merit -and general consent, it meant that he grew at -once incarnated with it; what use is there to -talk about its second or third? I prefer to regard -Hiroshige as the title of artistic merit since it -has ceased in fact to be an individuality; indeed, -where is the other artist, East or West, whose life-story -is so little known as Hiroshige’s? And I -see so many pictures which, while bearing his -signature, I cannot call his work, because I see -them so much below the Hiroshige merit—for -instance, the whole upright series of Tokaido -and Yedo, and so many pictures of the “Noted -Places in the Provinces of Japan"—because they -are merely prose, and even as prose they often -fail. But to return to this “Awa no Naruto,” a -piece of poem in picture, where the whirlpools of -the strait, large and small, now rising and then -falling in perfect rhythm, are drawn suggestively -but none the less distinctly. I see in it not only -the natural phenomenon of the Awa Strait, but -also the symbolism of life’s rise and fall, success -and defeat; I was thinking for some time that -I shall write a poem on it, although I could not -realise it yet.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">HIROSHIGE THE CHINESE POET</div> - -<p>I have my own meaning when I call Hiroshige -the Chinese poet. Upon my little desk here I -see an old book of Chinese prosody; there is a -popular Chinese verse, Hichigon Zekku, or Four<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span> -Lines with Seven Words in Each, which is almost -as rigid as the English sonnet; and the theory -of the sonnet can be applied to that Hichigon -Zekku without any modification. We generally -attach an importance to the third line, calling -it the line “for change,” and the fourth is the -conclusion; the first line is, of course, the commencing -of the subject, and the second is “to -receive and develop.” It seems that Hiroshige’s -good pictures very well pass this test of Hichigon -Yekku qualification. Let me pick out the pictures -at random to prove my words. Here is -the “Bright Sky after Storm at Awazu,” one -of the series called Eight Views of the Lake -Biwa; in it the white sails ready to hoist in -the fair breeze might be the “change” of the -versification. That picture was commenced and -developed with the trees and rising hills by the -lake, and the conclusion is the sails now visible -and then invisible far away. Now take the -picture of a rainstorm on the Tokaido. Two -peasants under a half-opened paper umbrella, -and the <i>Kago</i>-bearers naked and hasty, are the -“third line” of the picture; the drenched -bamboo dipping all one way and the cottage roofs -shivering under the threat of Nature would be -the first and second lines, while this picture-poem -concludes itself with the sound of the harsh oblique -fall of rain upon the ground. You will see that -Hiroshige’s good pictures have always such a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> -theory of composition; and he gained it, I think, -from the Chinese prosody. In the East, more -than in the West, art is allied to verse-making.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">THE FAREWELL VERSE</div> - -<p>When we consider the fact he was the artist -of only fifty years ago, it is strange why we cannot -know more of his own life story, and how he -happened to leave the words that generally pass -as a farewell verse as follows:—</p> - -<p>“I leave my brush at Azuma, and go on the -journey to the Holy West to view the famous -scenery there.”</p> - -<p>I cannot accept it innocently, and I even doubt -its origin, as it is more prosaic than poetical. It -is only that he followed after a fashion of his -day if he left it, as the verse is poor and at best -humorous. But when it is taken by the English -seriousness, the words have another effect. Indeed, -Hiroshige has had quite an evolution since -he was discovered in the West; he is, in truth, -more an English or European artist than a -Japanese in the present understanding.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="V" id="V">V</a><br /> - -GAHO HASHIMOTO</h2> - - -<p>The art of Gaho (Hashimoto’s <i>nom-de-plume</i>, -signifying the “Kingdom Refined”) is not to -discard form and detail, as is often the case with -the artists of the “Japanese school,” while they -soar into the grey-tinted vision of tone and -atmosphere. His conventionalism—remember -that he started his artist’s life as a student of -the Kano school, whose absurd classicism, arresting -the germ of development, invited its own -ruin—was not an enemy for him by any means. -With the magic of his own alchemy he turned it -into a transcendental beauty, bearing the dignity -of artistic authority. I am sure he must have -been glad to have the conventionalism for his -magic to work on afterward; and when he left -it, it seems to me, he looked back to it with a -reminiscence of sad longing. Conventionalism -is not bad when it does not dazzle. To make -it suggestive is an achievement. To speak of -Gaho’s individuality in his pictures does no justice -to him. His thought and conception are the -highest, and at the least different from many<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span> -<span class="sidenote"><i>KOKOROMOCHI</i> IN PICTURE</span> -another artist in the West. It is not his aim at -all to express the light and colour of his individuality. -I believe that he even despised it. He had -the volumes of the Oriental philosophy in himself; -and his idea, I believe, was much influenced by -the Zen sect Buddhism, whose finality in teaching -is to forget your ego. Gaho often talked -on <i>Kokoromochi</i> in picture, to use his favourite -expression, which, I am sure, means more than -“spirit.” “Now what is it?” he was frequently -asked. “Is it in its nature subjective or objective? -Or is it something like a combination of -the two?” He was never explanatory in speech -in his life. He thought, as a Zen priest, that -silence was the best answer. Let me explain his -<i>Kokoromochi</i> in picture by my understanding.</p> - -<p>It is life or vital breath of the objective character, -which is painted by one who has no stain -of eye or subjectivity. To lose your subjectivity -against the canvas, or, I will say, here in Japan, -the silk, is the first and last thing. And the perfect -assimilation with the object which you are -going to paint would be the way of emancipation. -You have to understand that you are called out -by a divine voice only to be a medium, but -nothing else. I am afraid that the phrase, “Let -Nature herself speak,” has been over-used. -However, it is peculiarly true in Gaho’s case. I -think Gaho thought that to flash the rays of his -individuality in his picture was nothing but a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span> -blasphemy against Nature. In that respect he is -the humblest artist, and at the same time his -humility is his own pride. Indeed, it is only -through humility you are admitted to step into -the inner shrine of Nature. Art for Gaho was -not the matter of a piece of silk and Chinese ink, -but a sacred thing. And to be an artist is a life’s -greatest triumph, and I am sure that Gaho was -that.</p> - -<p>I have been for some long time suspecting the -nature of development of artistic appreciation -of the Western mind, when only Hokusai’s and -Hiroshige’s pictures, let me say, of red and green -in tone of conception, called its special attention, -and I even thought that our Japanese art, with -the silence of blue and grey, would be perfectly -beyond its power of reach. When Nature soars -higher, she turns at once to the depth of dreams, -whose voice is silence. To express the grey -stillness of atmosphere and tone is the highest -art, at least, to the Japanese mind. Not only -in the picture, but in the “tea house” or incense -ceremony, or in the garden, the appreciation of -silence is the highest æsthetics. It gives you a -strong but never abrupt thrill of the delight -which is nobly touched by the hands of sadness, -and lets you lose yourself in it, and slowly grasp -something you may be glad to call ideal. And -the same sensation you can entertain from Gaho’s -art, which you might think to be reminiscent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span> -of a certain artistic paradise or Horai, the blest—one -of his favourite subjects—enwrapped in -silent air. You may call it idealism if you -will, but it was nothing for him but the realisation. -While you think it was his fancy, he saw -it with his own naked eyes. It is true that he -had been delivered from idealism. And I should -say that dream, too, is not less real than you -and I.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">NOTHING BUT THE REALISATION</div> - -<p>He never jars you. His art is a grey ghost of -melody born from the bosom of depth and distance, -like a far-off mountain. And it gives you -a thrill of large space that binds you with eternity, -and you will understand that what you call -reality is nothing but a shiver of impulse of great -Nature. His art, indeed, is the highest art of -Japan, which, I believe, will be also the highest -art of the West. It quite often stirs me with -a Western suggestion, which, however, springs -from the soil of his own bosom. I know that -there is a meeting-point of the East and West, -and that, after all, they are the same thing. -He found the secret of art, which will remind -any highly developed mind of both the East and -West of some memory, and let it feel something -like an emotion and fly into a higher realm of -beauty. (Gaho’s beauty is the beauty of silence.) -It goes without saying that his art is simple, and -his vision not complex. However, it is not -only an Oriental philosophy to say that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span> -greatest simplicity is the greatest complexity, -and I will say that Gaho holds both extremes. -The elements of his art embrace something older -than art, larger than life, something which inspires -you with the sense of profundity. They give -us strange and positive pulses of age and nature, -and the sudden rapture of dream, for which we -will gladly die. They give us the feeling of peace -and silence, and suggest something which we -wish to grasp. The delight we gain from Gaho -is purely spiritual. His pictures are living as a -ghost which vanishes and again appears.</p> - -<p>His conception of Buddhism was not sad, -although this religion is generally said to be a -pessimism, but joyous and sympathetic. I am -sure that to associate Buddhism with something -of grief and tears is not a proper understanding -at all. (See Gaho’s pictures of the Buddha and -<i>Rakans</i>, the Buddha disciples. They do not inspire -any awfulness.) Tenderness and joy, with -a touch of sorrow, which is poetry, are the road -toward the Nirvana. For Gaho, silence meant -the highest state of peacefulness. The sad joy, -which is the highest joy, is an evolution which -never breaks the euphony of life, while tears -and grief are rebellious. His art inspires in us -a great reverence, which is religious, and it is -always justified. And it reveals a light of faith -under which he was born as an artist, and he -was glad to fulfil his appointed work. Then his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span> -aspiration is never an accident, but the force -which he cherished and has made grow.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">GAHO’S THREE PERIODS</div> - -<p>Gaho’s life of seventy-five years, which had -closed in the month of January, 1907, can be -divided into three periods. The first is that in -which he was engaged in the pursuit of the ancient -method by copying the models after the fashion -of the Kano school; the second was that in -which he slowly broke loose from the trammels -of the Kano school, and ventured out to make a -thorough exploration of the conspicuous features -of various other schools; and the final was that -in which he revealed himself nobly, with all the -essence of art which he had earned from his -tireless journey of previous days. In one word, -he was the sum total of the best Japanese art. -It is said that his long life was but one long day -of study and work. He shut himself in his -silent studio from early morning till evening, -from evening till midnight, sitting before a piece -of spread silk, with a Chinese brush in hand, as -if before a Buddhistic altar where the holy candles -burn. Now his research went deep in the Chinese -schools of the ages of Sung, Yuen, and Ming, and -then his thoughts lingered by the glimmer of the -Higashiyama school’s reminiscences. He confessed -that he received no small influence from -the Korin school, and I have more than one -reason to believe that his knowledge of the -Western art also was considerable. His catho<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span>licity -of taste severely discriminated them, and -his philosophy or conception of art stood magnificently -above them, and never allowed them to -disturb it under any circumstances. His great -personality made him able to sing the song of -triumph over his boundless artistic knowledge -which had no power to oppress him. You might -call his art a work of inspiration if you wish; but -I am sure that he hated the word inspiration. It -was through the religious exaltation of his mind -that he could combine himself with Nature, and -he and the subject which he was going to paint -were perfectly one when the picture was done. -His artist’s magic is in his handling of lines. He -believed that Japanese painting was fundamentally -one of lines. What a charm, what a variety -he had with them! See the difference between -the lines he used for the pictures of a tiger -or a dragon in clouds, the Oriental symbol of -power and exaltation, and a bird or other -delicate subject. The lines themselves are -the pictures. However, that does not mean -to undervalue his equal pre-eminence in his art -of colour.</p> - -<p>Gaho—or Gaho Hashimoto—was born in the -fifth year of Tempo (1832) at Kobikicho, in Yedo, -now Tokyo. From his seventh year he was -taught how to draw and paint; at thirteen he -became for the first time a pupil of Shosen Kano. -It is said that Gaho was from an artistic family;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span> -<span class="sidenote">HIS FOUR YEARS OF PUPILAGE</span> -we can trace back to Yeiki Hashimoto, who lived -some time in the Meiwa (1764), and from whom -the family line has continued unbroken down to -the present. Yeiki was originally a native of -Kyoto; and there he happened to be known to -Suwonokami Matsudaira, the Shogun’s minister, -who took him into his service; and on the lordship’s -return to Yedo Mr. Hashimoto accompanied -his master. And he happened to settle -at Kobikicho, where the Kano family lived, and -soon gained Kano’s friendship. Since that time -the family line was continued by Ikyo, Itei, and -Yoho. Gaho was Yoho’s son. The year after -he became a student of the Kano school he lost -his father and also his mother. It is said to be -extraordinary that he was called upon to act, -after only four years of pupilage, as an assistant -to his master Shosen in painting personal figures -on the cedar door of the Shogun palace. At -twenty years of age he was made head pupil. -When he married he was twenty-six years -old, and he began to lead his independent life, -which turned tragic immediately. While the -problem of getting his subsistence was not easy, -his wife, whom he married with hope, became -insane.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hashimoto was obliged to withdraw to the -Higuchi village in Saitama prefecture, where -was an estate of her husband’s master, to avoid -danger in the city; but she grew worse, and ran<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span> -mad. And it is said that such a sad turn was -from the reason that she was often tormented -by some country ruffians. She was soon taken -back to the city again, where she was put under -her husband’s sole protection. Thus, when poor -Gaho’s mind was completely engrossed with his -family trouble, the great restoration of Meiji -(1866) was announced, and the feudalism which -had prospered for some three hundred years fell -to the ground. Whole Japan was thrown at -once in the abyss of social tumult and change; -under the speedily felt foreign invasion she lost -herself entirely. What she did was to destroy -old Japan; she thought it proper and even wise. -It was the darkest age for art; when people did -not know of the safety of their own existence, -it goes without saying that they had no time -to admire art and spend money for it. It is -perfectly miraculous to think how the artists -managed to live; there are, of course, many -heart-rending stories about them.</p> - -<p>Gaho’s is sad enough, although it may not be -saddest of all. He gave up his own painting -temporarily, and tried to get a pittance by painting -pictures on folding fans which were meant for -exportation to China. And it is said that he was -often scorned by his employer for his clumsy -execution and, sadder still, he was told to leave -his job. Is it Heaven’s right to treat one who -was destined to be a great artist like that? He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span> -<span class="sidenote">TWENTY SEN FOR HIS THREE DAYS</span> -now resorted to a manual work of linking metal -rings for making a sort of net-work; this chain-work, -when finished, it is said, was made into -something to be worn as an undergarment. Then -he turned to take up the handicraft of making -“koma,” or bridges (a kind of small wooden or -bamboo pillow inserted between the body of a musical -instrument and its strings), of the <i>shamisen</i>, -a Japanese guitar; and he was paid, I am told, -one sen for a single piece of that koma, and to -make twenty it took him three days. Fancy his -earning of twenty sen for his steady work of -three days! To recollect it in his later days -must have been for him the source of tears. And -fancy again his immense wealth when he died, -the wealth which, not his greed, but his single-minded -devotion to art invited! In fact, there -was no person so unconcerned of money as this -Gaho. It was his greatness to believe amid the -sudden falling of art that the Japanese art which -had grown from the very soil a thousand years -old could not die so easily, and that the people’s -mind would open to it in a better condition; it -was his prophetic foresight to behold the morning -light in the midnight star. He was patiently -waiting for his time when he should rise with -splendour; and he never left himself to be -ruined among the sad whirl of society and the -nation’s unsympathetic commotion. He walked -slowly but steadily toward the star upon which he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span> -set his lofty eyes. He stood aloof above the age. -His life, not only in his art, was the song of -triumph too.</p> - -<p>To his relief, his insane wife died; and his -appointment as a draughtsman at the Imperial -Naval Academy meant for him a substantial help. -He kept it up till the eighteenth year of Meiji, -when the revival of Japanese art began to be -chronicled, as Gaho expected, in the formation -of art societies like the Kanga Kwai or Ryuchi -Kwai. When he left the Naval Academy he was -called to do service at the Investigation Bureau -of Drawing and Painting in the Department of -Education. His fellow-workers were the most -lamented Hogai Kano, another great artist of -modern Japan, and the late Mr. Okakura, that -able art critic, in whose guidance Kano trusted. -And those three men at the start are the true -life-restorers of Japanese art. When the Tokyo -School of Art was founded (22nd year of Meiji), -Gaho was first made warden of the school, and -then its director. And he was appointed professor -when his investigation bureau happened to -close up. However, he voluntarily resigned his -professorship when Mr. Okakura, then the president -of the school, was obliged to resign his office. -Gaho took the principal’s chair of the Nippon -Bijitsu when Okakura established it afterwards; -but this school soon became a story of the -past.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">GAHO’S SUCCESSORS</div> - -<p>Gaho has left his successors perhaps in those -artists like Kwanzan Shimomura, Taikwan -Yokoyama, Kogetsu Saigo and others, who are -doing some noteworthy work. And I believe that -he died at the right time if he must.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="VI" id="VI">VI</a><br /> - -KYOSAI</h2> - - -<p>I acknowledged my friend’s characterisation, -after some reluctance, of our Kyosai Kawanabe -as a Japanese Phil May; as the artist of <i>Punch</i> -has often received the appellation of an English -Hokusai, I do not see much harm, speaking -generally, in thus falling into the feminine foible -of comparison-making. Putting aside the question -of the material achievement in art of those -artists of the East and West, in truth so different -(Kyosai surpassing the other, let me say, in -variety), one will soon see that their innermost -artistic characters are closely related; their -seeming difference is the difference of education -and circumstances from which even their original -minds could hardly escape. I do not know much -of the bacchanalianism of Phil May, but I know -well enough that its sway is not so expansive in -England as in Japan, at least old Japan, where -the fantastic artists like Kyosai revelled around -the ghosts they created in the sweet cup of <i>saké</i>. -When we see Kyosai writing in front of his name -the epithet Shojo, applied to the half-human<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE WINE AND ARTISTS’ MINDS</span> -red-haired bacchanals of Chinese legend, we might -say he betrayed, beside his full-faced confession -of the love of the cup, the fact of his natural -attachment to Toba Sojo, that apostle of humour, -whose pictorial wantonness may have given him -many a hint; indeed he might have, like Phil -May, adorned the pages of <i>Punch</i>, although many -an admirer of his, like Josiah Conder in <i>Paintings -and Studies by Kyosai Kawanabe</i>, a sumptuous -book on the artist containing the representative -work of his last eight years, sees only the serious -side of his work. And when he changed the -Chinese character of his name from that of “dawn” -to that of “madness,” I think that he was -laughing, at his own expense, over the lawless -excitement he most comically acted when the -excess of wine deceived him away from the -imaginative path of inspiration, while, like -Hokusai in the well-known epithet Gwakyo Rojin -or Old Man Crazy at Painting, he sanctified to -himself his own craze for painting. It is an -interesting psychological study to speculate on -the possible relation between the Japanese wine -and our artists’ minds; I think it was a superstition -or faith, I might say, founded on tradition, -that they called the wine an invoker of inspiration, -as I see the fact to-day that many of them find -the divine breath in something else. However, I -am thankful to the Japanese liquid with its -golden flash, if it really acted as the medium<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span> -through which Kyosai’s many pictures came into -existence, while his many other works, for instance -the frontispiece woodcut of Professor Conder’s -Kyosai book, the elaborate picture of a Japanese -beauty of the eleventh century, or the famous -courtesan, Jigoku-dayu, in company with a -demon, also the highly finished work owned by -Mrs. William Anderson, or the other pictures I -have seen more or less by accident, prove that he -can be an equally splendid artist in a different -direction while in perfect sobriety. He was born -in the year 1831, that is about thirty years, -roughly speaking, before the fall of the Tokugawa -feudalism, when the age was fast decaying into -loose morality and <i>saké</i>-drinking; and when he -became a man, he found that the art’s dignity -under whose kind shadow he had studied as a -student of Tohaku Kano, the leading artist of -that famous Kano family in those days, had -fallen flat, and that his ability made no satisfactory -impression on people who had likely forgotten -their artistic appreciation in the tumult of -the Restoration; and I think it was natural -enough for Kyosai to call upon the wine, as we -say here, to sweep away the grievance, and to -invoke, through it, a divine influence upon his art. -And it is the old Japanese way to speak of wine-drinking -and general revel with innocent gusto, -as I find in <i>Kyosai Gwaden</i>, an illustrated autobiography -here and there humorously exaggerated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE ILLUSTRATED AUTOBIOGRAPHY</span> -but none the less sincere, from which all the -writers on Kyosai, Professor Conder included, -draw the materials of his life; he is often in -danger of being criticised for his self-advertising -audacity, this artist of fine madness. He often -reminds me of Hokusai, not so much in his artistic -expression as in temperament. The books, I -mean <i>Kyosai Gwaden</i>, cannot be said, I think, -to be more interesting in text than the pictures -themselves; these are a series of off-hand sketches -showing the actual scenes of his arrest and imprisonment, -the story of which Professor Conder’s -English propriety excluded, although it seems -perfectly harmless as it was, on his part, merely -the conduct arising out of merriment from excess -of wine; beside, his sketches show us the sickening -gloominess of prison life in those days when -one’s freedom and right were denied rather than -protected. Kyosai drank most terribly at a party -held at a restaurant in Uyeno Park; he made on -the spot the caricatures—while overhearing the -talk of a foreigner on horseback who, being asked -by a tea-house maid at Oji if he came alone, -replied that he came accompanied by “a pair of -fools"—in which he drew the picture of two -people tying the shoe-strings of one man with -the longest legs, and also the picture of men of -the longest arms pulling out the hairs of Daibutsu’s -nostrils. The authorities, though it is not -clear how the matter came to their knowledge,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span> -stepped into the place and arrested him on the -ground of insulting the officials; we must be -thankful for the “enlightenment” of to-day when -nobody would possibly get, as Kyosai got in -1870, ninety days in the cell from such pictures. -The real meaning of Kyosai’s impromptu in art -is rather vague; but it is in my mind a satirical -love to understand them as a huge laughter over -Japan’s slavishness to the West. And I often -wonder if they are not caricatures which could -be used to-day. Where is another Kyosai who -could raise such a striking brush of scorn and -sneer as to startle authority?</p> - -<p>Kyosai used to absorb his spare time, while a -young student at Kano’s atelier, in the study of -the <i>No</i> drama—out of natural love, I believe, -combined with zeal to find an artistic secret in -its heterogeneity, unlike the other students who -sought their outside amusement nightly in popular -halls of music and song; and it was an elderly -lady of the Kano family who encouraged him by -furnishing funds for teacher and costumes, being -impressed, as a <i>No</i> admirer herself, by the young -man’s noble intention. It seems that Kyosai -had not been able to fulfil the old lady’s desire -to see him in one of her favourite pieces called -<i>Sambaso</i>, whether from his imperfect mastering -of it then or from some other reason, when she -suddenly fell ill and died; doubtless, Kyosai took -the matter to his heart of hearts. It was on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE PROUD PLEBEIANISM</span> -day of her third anniversary that he gathered all -the musician accompanists of flute and drum -before her lonely grave at Uyeno, and he, of course -in the full costume of the character, performed -the whole piece of the said <i>Sambaso</i>. Fancy the -scene in the graveyard damp with mosses, dark -with the falling foliage; and the actor is no other -but fantastic Kyosai. Where could be found a -more gruesome sight than that? This story -among others we find in <i>Kyosai Gwaden</i> is most -characteristic in that no other artist of the -long Japanese history, perhaps with the possible -exception of Hokusai, could make it fit for himself; -the story reveals Kyosai’s honesty almost -to a fault, that sounds at once childish or madman-like, -a temperament, unlike that of Southern -Japan of female refinement and voluptuousness, -which only the proud plebeianism of the Yedo -civilisation (what an ultra-European imbecility -of present Tokyo!) could create, the temperament, -uncompromising, most difficult to be neutral. If -we call Icho Hanabusa the most proper representative -of old Yedo’s Genroku Age, the time -when people found spirituality through the consecration -of materialism, I think we can well call -Kyosai the representative of the later Tokugawa -Age (although his life extended a good many -years into the present Meiji era) which, again like -his own art, fell with the abruptness of an oak-tree. -I have some reason when I beg your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span> -attention to the above characteristic story of -Kyosai.</p> - -<p>The love of the <i>No</i> drama, the classic of lyrical -fascination exclusively patronised by nobles and -people of taste, would never be taken as strange -in Kyosai who stayed sixteen long years with -that master of the old Kano art, Tohaku Kano, -till he parted from it in his twenty-seventh year -perhaps for an art wider and truer, or, let me say, -to find his own artistic soul all by his own impulse -and strength; and when we see what attachment, -even reverence, he had, during his whole life, -toward the name of Toiku given him by the old -master, the name we find in <i>Kyosai Gwaden</i> -and other books, we can safely say that his classic -passion in general must have been quite strong. -The question is where his plebeianism could find -room to rise and fall. That is the point where, -not only in his art, also in his personality, he -showed in spite of himself a tragi-comic oddity, -mainly from the rupture between the two extremes -of temperament. I am told by his personal friend -who survives to-day that he was rather pleased -to shock and frighten the most polite society -which reverently congregated in the silent house -of the <i>No</i> drama, to begin with, by his informal -dress only suitable for the street shopkeeper or -mechanic, then with his occasional shout of praise -over the beautiful turn of the acting, in a voice -touched with vulgar audacity; he exclaimed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span> -“Umei!” Yedo slang for “splendid,” which -was at least unusual for a <i>No</i> appreciator. Nobody -seemed, I am told, to criticise him when his -good old heart was well recognised. So in his own -art. I can point out, even from Professor Conder’s -collection alone, many a specimen where the -aristocratic aloofness of air is often blurred by -his plebeianism—for example in the pictures of -“Daruma,” “The Goddess Kwannon on a Dragon,” -“Carp swimming in a Lake,” and others; the meaning -I wish to impress on your mind will become -clear directly when you compare them with the -work of Sesshu, Motonobu, and Okyo on similar -subjects. And again I have enough confidence -to say that his elaborate pictures of red and green, -after the Ukiyoye school, were more often weakened -by the classic mist; although he did not -wish to be looked upon as of that school, I think -it was the main reason that he rather failed as an -Ukiyoye artist. I endorse my friend to whom I -praised and abused Kyosai lately only to get his -true estimation, when he declared that Kyosai -could not become one of the greatest artists of -Japan simply from his inability to sacrifice his -versatility; that versatility was the kind we -can only find in Hokusai. He was the most distinguished -example of one who failed, if he failed, -from excess of artistic power and impulse.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">WEAKENED BY THE CLASSIC MIST</div> - -<p>Any one who sees <i>Kyosai Gwaden</i> will certainly -be astonished by his extraordinary persistence<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span> -of study displayed in the first two volumes, -in which he shows encyclopedically the delicate -shades of variety of nearly all Japanese artists -acknowledged great, from Kanaoka down to -Kuniyoshi, also specimens of Chinese masters -inserted at intervals. When I say that his artistic -study was thorough even in the modern sense, I -mean he always went straight to Nature and -reality to fulfil what the pictures of old masters -failed to tell him. <i>Kyosai Gwaden</i> tells, as an -early adventure in Nature study, how he hid in -a cupboard a human head which he picked up -from a swollen river and horrified the family with -his attempt to sketch it in his ninth year; when -fire broke out and swept away even his own house, -he became an object of condemnation, as he acted -as if it were the affair of somebody else, and was -seen serenely sketching the sudden clamour of -the fire scene. The books contain somewhere a -page or two of unusually amusing sketches of his -students at work on different living objects, from -a frog and turtle to cocks and fishes; Kyosai’s -love of fun in exaggeration (indeed exaggeration -is one of the traits conspicuous even in his most -serious work) again is seen in the sketches, when -he made a monkey play at gymnastics and pull -the hair of the earnest student with the brush. -I often ask myself the question of the real merit -of realism in our Japanese art, and further the -question how much Kyosai gained from his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span> -realistic accuracy; I wonder what artistic meaning -there is, for instance, when people, even -acknowledged critics, speak with much admiration -of the anatomical exactness of those skeletons -fantastically dancing to the ghost’s music -in that famous Jigoku-dayu picture. Let me -ask again what the picture would lose, supposing, -for instance, the most whimsical dancers around -the courtesan’s gorgeous robe had two or three -joints of bone missing; is not Kyosai’s realistic -minuteness, which the artist was perhaps proud of -displaying, in truth, rather a small subordinate -part in his pictures? He was already in the -present age, many years before his death, when -many a weak artistic mind of Japan only received, -from the Western art, confusion and reasoning, -but not strength and passion. Now let me ask -you: was it Kyosai’s artistic greatness to accept -the Western science of art?</p> - -<div class="sidenote">THE REALISTIC MINUTENESS</div> - -<p>He was never original in the absolute understanding -as Sesshu, Korin, in a lesser degree -Harunobu and Hokusai were; it might be that -he was born too late in the age, or is it more true -to say that his astonishing knowledge of the old -Japanese art acted to hold him back from striking -out an original line? Education often makes one -a coward. When I say that he was himself the -sum total of all Japanese art, I do not mean to -undervalue him, but rather to do justice to his -versatility and the swing of his power. And it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span> -was his personality, unique and undefinable, that -made his borrowing such an impression as we feel -it in fact in his work. After all, he has to be -judged, in my opinion, as an artist of technique.</p> - -<p>I do not know what picture of his the Victoria -and Albert Museum and the British Museum -have, except a few reproductions in books, which -impressed me as poor examples. It is not too -much to say that Professor Conder’s Kyosai -book is the first and may be the last; there is -no more fit man than he, who as Kyosai’s student -knew him personally during the last eight years -of his life. The book contains some good specimens -which belong to that period; but what I -most wish to see, are the pictures he produced in -his earlier age. He is one of the artists who will -gain much from selection; who will ever publish -a book of twenty or thirty best pieces of his life’s -production?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="VII" id="VII">VII</a><br /> - -THE LAST MASTER OF THE UKIYOYE ART</h2> - - -<p>Yoshitoshi Tsukioka, as Kuniyoshi’s home student -of high talent in his younger days, it is said, -had a key to the storehouse entrusted to his care, -where Kuniyoshi treasured foreign colour-prints -of saints or devils strayed from a Dutch ship, -Heaven’s gift most rare in those days, which -made him pause a little and think about a fresh -turn for his work. When we know that vulgarity -always attracts us first and most, provided -it is new to us, we cannot blame Yoshitoshi much -when he reproduced in his work, indeed, stealing -a march on his master, an immediate response to -the Western art, whose secret he thought he could -solve through varnishing. Doubtless it was no -small discovery for Yoshitoshi. And the general -public were equally simple when “Kwaidai -Hyaku Senso,” his first attempt after the new -departure, quite impressive as he thought, was -well received by them; when he went too far in -this foreign imitation through his little knowledge, -as in his “Battle at Uyeno,” he varnished the -whole picture. We have another instance that time<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span> -is, after all, the best judge, as we know that those -pictures of Yoshitoshi’s early days, when he had -not yet found his own art, are most peacefully -buried under the blessed oblivion and heavy dusts -to-day. You cannot make an art only by wisdom -and prayer, and it is better to commit youthful -sin when one must, like Yoshitoshi, with his -period of foreign imitation, since his later work -would become intensified, chastened, and better -balanced by his repentance.</p> - -<p>To speak most strictly, Kuniyoshi should be -called the last master of the Ukiyoye school, this -interesting branch of Japanese art interpreting -the love and romance of the populace, peculiarly -developed through the general hatred of the -aristocratic people; but I have reason to call -Yoshitoshi Tsukioka the very last master of that -school, in the same sense that we call Danjuro -or Kikugoro the last actors, not less by the fact -of the age, already heterogeneous, naturally -weakened for holding up the old Japanese -purity, against which he struggled hard to find -an artistic compromise, than by his own gift. -I have often thought that, if he had been born -earlier, he might have proved himself another -Hokusai, or, better still, if the time were still -earlier, when love and sensuality were the same -word in peace and prosperity, he would not have -been much below Utamaro. If he failed, as -indeed he failed, now, looking back from to-day,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE SUCCESS OF FAILURE</span> -it was the failure of his age. Although it may -sound paradoxical, I am pleased to say that his -failure was his success, because I see his undaunted -versatility glorified through his failure; -he helps, more than any other artist, the historian -of Japanese art to study the age psychologically—in -fact, he serves him more than Hokusai -or Utamaro. He is an interesting study, as I -said before, as the last master, indeed, as much -so as Moronobu Hishikawa as the recognised first -master. I say Yoshitoshi failed, but I do not -mean that he was a so-called failure in his lifetime; -on the contrary, he was one of the most popular -artists of modern Japan—at least, in the age of -his maturity; what I should like to say is that the -artistic success of one age does never mean the -success of another age, and Yoshitoshi’s success -is, let me say, the success of failure when we now -look back upon it. I can distinctly remember -even to-day my great disappointment, now almost -twenty-five years ago, as a most ardent admirer -of Yoshitoshi, when, appearing before the publisher’s -house as early as seven o’clock the morning -after I had read the announcement of his new -picture of a dancer, I was told that the entire -set of copies was exhausted; his popularity was -something great in my boyhood’s days. It was -in 1875 that he first took the public by storm with -his three sheets of pictures called “Ichi Harano,” -an historical thing which showed Yasumasa, a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span> -court noble, playing a bamboo flute under the -moonlight, perfectly unconscious of a highwayman, -Hakama Dare by name, following him, -stepping softly upon the autumn grasses, ready -to stab the noble with his sword. The popularity -of this picture was heightened by the fact that -Danjuro, the greatest tragedian of the modern -Japanese stage, wanted to reproduce the pictorial -effect in a play, and have Shinsuke Kawatake -write up one special scene to do honour -to Yoshitoshi, under the title “Ichi Harano, by -Yoshitoshi, Powerful with his Brush.” It was -a great honour indeed, such as no artist to-day -could expect to receive. We have many occasions, -on the other hand, when Yoshitoshi served -the actors and his bosom friends, Danjuro and -Kikugoro, to popularise their art. Since the day -of the First Toyokuni, it had been the custom for -the artists of this popular school to work together -with the stage artists.</p> - -<p>Yoshitoshi brought out the series of three -called “Snow, Moon, and Flower,” two of them -commemorating Danjuro in his well-known rôle -of Kuyemon Kezuri, and one Kikugoro in Seigen, -whose holy life of priesthood was disturbed by -love beyond hope. Although I hesitate to say -they are the best specimens—yes, they are in -their own way—they have few companions in -the long Ukiyoye annals as theatrical posters, for -which exaggeration should not be much blamed.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE CARVER AND PRINTER</span> -The striking point of emphasis in design, hitting -well the artistic work, make them worthy. I have -them right before me while writing this brief note -on Yoshitoshi. I recall what I heard about the -Kezuri picture; it is said that the artist spent -fully three days to draw this “hundred-days wig,” -to use the theatrical phrase. What an astonishing -wig that rôle had to wear. And what painstaking -execution of the artist; and again what -wonderful dexterity of the Japanese carver and -printer. At the time when these pictures were -produced it is not too much to say that the arts -of carving and printing had reached the highest -possible point—that is to say, they had already -begun to fall. I am pleased to attach a special -value to them as the past pieces which well -combined those three arts. By the way, the -name of the carver of those pictures is Wadayu. -Now, returning to Yoshitoshi and his actors-friends. -The former was always regarded by the -latter as an artistic adviser whose words were -observed as law; Yoshitoshi was the first person -Danjuro used to look up when in trouble with -the matter of theatrical design in dress. I have -often heard how the artist helped Kikugoro. -This eminent actor once had a great problem how -to appear as Shini Gami, or the Spirit of Death, in -the play called <i>Kaga Zobi</i>, and asked Yoshitoshi -for a suggestion; and it is said that a rough -sketch he drew at once enlightened Kikugor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span>o’s -bewildered mind, and, as a result, he immortalised -the rôle. It was the age when realism, of course, -in more vague, doubtful meaning than the -present usage, had completely conquered the -stage, the old idealistic stage art having fallen off -the pedestal. Certainly Danjuro, the first of all -to be absorbed in that realism which prevailed -here twenty or twenty-five years ago, did never -serve the stage art for advancement, but, on the -contrary, it was the realism, if anything, that -cheapened, trivialised, and vulgarised the time-honoured -Japanese art; but it seemed that there -was nobody to see that point of wisdom. It is -ridiculous to know how Danjuro insisted, as Tomonori, -in the play of <i>Sembon Sakura</i>, that the -blood upon his armour should be painted as real -as possible, and troubled the great artistic brush -of Yoshitoshi on each occasion during the whole -run of the play; but how serious the actor was -in his thought and determination! Again that -realism was the main cause why Yoshitoshi’s art -failed to compete with the earlier Ukiyoye artists -like Shunsho, Utamaro, and even Hokusai; it -was an art borrowed from the West doubtless, -when I observe how Yoshitoshi, unlike the earlier -artists, was delighted to use the straight, forceful -lines as the modern Western illustrators; the -picture called “Daimatsuro” is a fit example in -which he carried out that tendency or mannerism -with most versatility. I daresay that his pic<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span>tures, -whether of historical heroes or professional -beauties, which were least affected by the -so-called realism or Western perspectives and -observed carefully the old Ukiyoye canons, -limiting themselves in the most artistic shyness, -would be only prized as adorning his name as the -last master; for the ninety per cent. we have no -grief for their hastening into blessed dusts. I -have in my collection the three-sheet picture -called “Imayo Genji,” showing the view of -Chigoga Fuchi at Yenoshima, with the romantic -posture of four naked fisherwomen, which is -dated very early in Yoshitoshi’s artistic life, no -doubt being the work of the time when he was -still a home student at Kuniyoshi’s studio or -workshop; you can see the artist’s allegiance to -his teacher in those somewhat stooping woman -figures; there is no mistake to say that Yoshitoshi, -at least in this picture, had studied Hiroshige -and Hokusai to advantage for the general -effect of rocks and fantastic waves.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">“IMAYO GENJI"</div> - -<p>Although it is clear that it is not a specimen of -his developed art, I have in mind to say that it -will endure, perhaps as one of the best Ukiyoye -pictures of all ages, through its youthful loyalty -to the traditional old art and the painstaking -composition for which the best work is always -marked. How artistically troubled, even lost, -are his later works, though once they were popular -and even admired!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span></p> - -<p>Although he was, as I said above, most popular -in the prime of his life (by the way he died in his -fifty-fourth year in June of 1892), he had many -years of poverty and discouragement when he -complained of the fact that he was born rather -too late; his hardship, not only spiritual, but -material, soon followed after the happy period -of student life with Kuniyoshi, when his artistic -ambition forced on him independence. It was -the time most inartistic, if there was ever such a -time in any country, when the new Meiji Government -had hardly settled itself on the sad ruins -of the Tokugawa feudalism, under which all -prosperity and peace, even art and humanity, -were buried, and the people in general even -thought the safety of their lives was beyond -reach, now with the so-called Civil War of Meiji -Tenth, and then with that or this. How could -the artists get the people’s support under such a -condition of the times; indeed, Yoshitoshi fought -bitterly for his bare existence then. It was the -time when he was extremely hard-up that his -home-students, Toshikage and Toshiharu, bravely -served him in the capacity of cook or for any -other work; we cannot blame him that he tried, -with such pictures as the series called “Accident -of the Lord Ii,” to amuse and impress -the people’s minds, which grew, in spite of themselves, -to love battle and blood. And the best -result he received from such work, happy to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE FAINT ECHO OF OKYO</span> -say for his art, was the realisation of failure. -But he was quite proud, I understand, when he -published it, and even expected a great sale. -And when he could not sell it at all, it is said, -he determined that he would run away alone -from Tokyo for good, leaving his students behind. -Although there is no record of its sale to-day, I am -sure that it did not sell well, or, in another way -of saying, it sold well enough to save him from -the shame of running away. Doubtless the -people demanded pictures of such a nature, -perhaps to illustrate the time’s happening, as it -was the time before the existence of any graphic -or illustrated paper, and to fill that demand -Yoshitoshi brought out a hundred pictures of -battles and historical heroes, more or less in -bloody scenes, which are mostly forgotten. It -was in 1885 that he fairly well found his own art -(good or bad) with the historical picture, “Kiyomori’s -Illness”; the chief character, the Lord -Kiyomori, suffered from fever and dream, as we -have it in legend, as a destiny brought from his -endless brutality and covetousness; the fact that -Yoshitoshi’s mind was much engaged in the -study of the Shijoha school at that time will be -seen, particularly in this picture, of which the -background is filled with the faint echo of great -Okyo in the drawing of the Emma, or Judge of -Hades, the green demon, and other things of -awful demonstration. “Inaka Genji,” a picture<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span> -to commemorate the occasion of Ransen’s changing -his name to Tanehiko, and “Ukaino Kansaku,” -a picture of the spirit of a dead fisherman -being saved by the holy prayer of the priest -Nichiren, are the work of about the same time. -When Yoshitoshi began to publish his series of -one hundred pieces under the name of “Tsuki -Hyakushi,” or “One Hundred Views of the Moon,” -his popularity almost reached high-water mark; I -can recollect with the greatest pleasure how delighted -I was to be given a few of these moon -pictures as a souvenir from Tokyo when I was -attending a country grammar school, and I can -assure you that my artistic taste and love, which -already began to grow, expressed a ready response -to value. Among the pictures, I was strongly -attracted by one thing, which was the picture -of a crying lady alone in a boat, with a <i>biwa</i> -instrument upon her knees; from admiration I -pasted the picture on a screen, which remained as it -was during these twenty years, unspoiled, spotless, -and perfect, and I had the happy occasion to see -it with renewed eyes lately when I returned to -my country home. I felt exactly the same impression, -as good as at the first sight of twenty -years ago. Although the series carry the title -of moon, nearly all of the pictures have no moon -at all; it was the artistic merit of the artist to -suggest that they were all views of the moonlight. -We can point out many shortcomings in his work<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span> -as a pure Ukiyoye artist; but, after all, I think -that nobody will deny his rare and versatile -talent. If only he had been born at the better -and proper time! And if we must blame his -degeneration, I think it is quite safe to say that -the general public has to share equally in the -criticism. He was an interesting personality, -full of stories and anecdotes, which the English -people would be glad to hear about when they are -well acquainted with his work; but I will keep -them for some other occasion, because I wish at -present to introduce him simply through his -work. Let it suffice to say that he was humane -and lovable, having a great faith in his own class -of people—that is, the plain street-dwellers; when -I say he was, too, the artist or artizan of Tokyo -or Yedo, like Utamaro, Hokusai, and Kuniyoshi, -I mean that he was gallant and chivalrous, -always a friend of the lowly, and a hater of sham.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">THE HATER OF SHAM</div> - -<p>He was born in 1839, to use the Japanese name -of the era, the Tenth of Tempo, at Shiba of Yedo, -present Tokyo. When a little boy, he was adopted -by the family of Tsukioka; his own name was -Yonejiro. Like other Japanese artists, he had -quite many <i>gago</i> or <i>noms de plume</i>; to give a few -of them, Ikkasai, Sokatei, Shiyei, and others. -Although he did not change his dwelling-place as -Hokusai did, he moved often from one house to -another; it was at Miyanaga Cho of Hongo -where he married Taiko. He bought a house at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span> -Suga Cho, Asakusa, in 1885; but his sensitive -mind was disturbed when he was told by a -fortune-teller that the direction of his house was -unlucky, and was again obliged to move to Hama -Cho of Nihonbashi, when he was taken ill with -brain disease. As I said before, he died in June of -1892. The students he left behind include many -artists already dead; to give the best known, -Keishu Takeuchi; Keichu Yamada and Toshihide -Migita are the names of artists still active to-day.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="VIII">VIII</h2> - -<p>BUSHO HARA<a id="FNanchor_A_1" href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">A</a></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_A_1" href="#FNanchor_A_1" class="label">A</a> -See the <a href="#APPENDIX_I">Appendix</a></p></div> - -<p>Often I tried to write about Busho Hara the -artist (I use the term in the most eclectic -Japanese conception, because his art served more -frequently to make his personality distinguished -through its failure rather than through its -success); that my attempt turned to nothing -was perhaps because my mind, solitary and sad -like that of Hara, did not like to betray the secret -of the recluse whose silence was his salutation. -Besides, my heart and soul and all were too -much filled with this Busho Hara from the fact -of his recent unexpected death—(by the way, he -was in his forty-seventh year, that interesting -age for an artist, as it would be the beginning of -a new page, good or bad); and I am, in one -word, perfectly confused on the subject. When -I wish to think of his art alone, and even to -measure it, if possible, through the most dangerous, -always foolish way of comparison with -others, I find always, in spite of myself, that my -mind, even before it has fairly started on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span> his art, is already carried away by the dear, sweet, -precious memory of his rare personality. “Above -all, he was rarest as friend,” my mind always -whispers to me every two minutes from the confusion -of my thought, this and that, and again -that and this, on him. To say that I think of -him too much and for too many things would be -well-nigh the same as to say that I am unfitted -to tell about him intelligibly. I confess that I -had a little difference with him on the subject -of his own art here and there, while I was absorbed -in his conversation or criticism (I always believed -and said—did he dislike me when I said -that?—he was a better and greater critic than -artist), now by the cozy fire of a winter evening, -then with the trees and grasses languid with -summer’s heat; he was the first and last man -to whom I went when I felt particularly ambitious -and particularly tired, and I dare say -that he was pleased to see me. My own delight -to have him as my friend was in truth doubled, -when I thought that his personality and art, -remarkable as they are honest, true, and sympathetic, -were almost unknown at home except -in a little narrow community; as I said before, -he was a recluse. In England, many readers of -Mr. Markino’s book, <i>A Japanese Artist in London</i>, -will remember Hara’s name, as it is frequently -repeated in the book; and a certain well-known -English critic had an occasion once or twice to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span> -mention his name and kindly comment on his -work in the <i>Graphic</i>. That was in 1906, when he -was about to leave London after a few years’ -stay there. “Shall I go to England again for -a change or to take a few pictures of mine?” -he often exclaimed. England was his dream, as -she is mine. How unfalteringly our talk ran; -every time the subject was England and her art.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">HIS DREAM OF ENGLAND</div> - -<p>“Now is it settled, let us suppose,” Hara would -say in the course of talk, slightly twisting his -sensitive mouth, holding up straight back his well-poised -head (what a philosopher’s eyes he had, -gentle and clear),<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span> “that we shall go to England -some time soon in the future. Yes, we shall go -there even if we are not begged by Japan to leave -the country. The most serious question is, -however, where we shall sleep and dine. I have -had enough experience of a common English -boarding-house; I am haunted even to-day by -the ghosts of Yorkshire pudding and cold ham. -And suppose that a daughter or a son of that -boarding-house might sing aloud a popular song -every Saturday evening; I should like to know if -there is anything more sad than that. Still, -suppose that one next to you at table will ask you -every evening how your work might sell; certainly -that will be the moment when you think you will -leave England at once for good. But it is England’s -greatness that she has art appreciators as -well as buyers. Oh, where is the true art appreciator -in Japan, even while we admit that we -have the buyers? I will take a few pictures with -me when I go to England next, and show them -to the right sort of people; really, truly, only -London of all the cities of the world has the right -sort of people in any line of profession. Besides, -I should like to examine the English art again -and let the people there listen to my opinion; I -was not enough prepared for such a work when I -went there last.”</p> - -<p>But I believe that his own self-education in art, -which he most determinedly started at the -National Gallery, where he was forcibly attracted -by Rembrandt and Velasquez, must have been -happily developed, when the same <i>Graphic</i> critic -spoke of his “sensitive and searching eyes,” and -(printing Hara’s intelligent rendering of Rembrandt’s -“Jewish Merchant” on the page) said -that it proved the painter was at the root of the -matter, and declared that the critic had rarely -seen better or more intelligent copy, and again to -prove that Hara was not merely a copyist or -imitator, he also reproduced on the same page his -original work called “The Old Seamstress.” -And I am doubly pleased to find that the same -English critic mentioned him somewhere as a -“keen and acute critic, but generous withal”; -I was so glad to have Hara as my friend for the -rare striking power of his critical enlightenment -(Oh, where is another sane artist like himself?),<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE ENEMY IN HIS OWN SELF</span> -even when he failed to make a strong impression -on me with his art. It was his immediate question -on his return home how to apply the technique -of oil painting he learned in London to Japanese -subjects; if he failed in his art, as he always -believed and I often thought he did, it was from -the reason, I dare think, that he had indeed too -clear a view of self-appraisal or self-criticism under -whose menace he always took the attitude of an -outsider towards his own work. How often I -wished he were wholly without that critical -power, always hard to please, altogether too -fastidious! His artistic ambition and aim were -so absolute and most highly puritanic; as a result, -he was ever so restless and sad with his art, -and often even despised himself. He had a great -enemy, that was no other but his own self; he -was more often conquered by it than conquering -it. I have never seen in my life a more sad artist -with the brush, facing a canvas, than this Busho -Hara. Besides, his poor health, which had been -failing in the last few years, only worked to make -his critical displeasure sharper and more peculiar; -and he utterly lost the passion and foolishness of -his younger days. How often we promised, when -we parted after a long chat, which usually began -with Yoshio Markino, dear friend of his and mine -in London, and as a rule ended with reminiscences -of our English life, that we would hereafter return -to our younger age, if possible to our boys’ days,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span> -and even commit the innocent youthful sins and -be happy; but when we met together again, we -were the same unhappy mortals, Hara with a -brush, I with a pen. He always looked comforted -by my words when I told him my own tragedy and -difficulties to write poetry; both of us exclaimed -at once with the same breath and longed for life’s -perfect freedom. How he wished to cut away -from himself and bid a final farewell to many -portrait commissions, and become a lone pilgrim -on Nature’s great highway with only his brush -and oil; that was his dream.</p> - -<p>Let me repeat again that he was sad with his -brush only to make his art still sadder; when he -was most happy, it was the time when he left his -own studio to forget his unwilling brush and send -his love imaginations under the new foliage of -spring trees and make them ride on the freedom -of the summer air. How he planned for future -work while contemplating great Nature; he was -a dreamer in the true sense. And dream was to -him more real as he thought it almost practicable. -I do not mix any sarcasm in my words when I -say that he was a greater artist when he did not -paint; he rose to his full dignity only when out of -his studio; and it was most unfortunate that I -found him always ill when he was out of it. But -I will say that I never saw one like himself so -well composed, even satisfied, on a sick bed; that -might have been from the reason that his being<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span> -<span class="sidenote">AT THE HOSPITAL</span> -absorbed in Nature, his thought and contemplation -on her, did not give an opportunity for bodily -illness to use its despotism. He gave me in truth -even such an impression that he was glad to be ill -so he could lay himself right before the thought of -great Nature. Once in the spring of 1911 I -called on him at the hospital, when he successfully -underwent a surgeon’s knife (he was suffering -from typhlitia); although he was quite weak -then, he was most ambitious and happy to talk -on the beauty of Nature; and he said:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span> “I -almost wonder why I did not become ill and lay -me down on this particular bed of this hospital -before, and (pointing to the blue sky through -the window with his pale-skinned slender hand -that was unmistakably an artist’s) see how -the eastern sky changes from dusk to milky grey, -again from that grey to rosy light. How often I -wished you, particularly you, might be here with -me all awakening in this room, perhaps at halfpast -three o’clock; that is the time exactly when -the colours of the sky will begin to evolve. Thank -God all the other people are sleeping then. At -such a moment I feel as if all Nature belonged to -me alone in the whole world, and I alone held her -secrets and her beauty; I am thankful for my -illness, as it has made me thus restful in mind and -allowed me to carefully observe Nature, and build -my many future plans. I can promise you that -I will whistle my adieu to the commissioned work, -all of it, when I grow stronger again, and become -a real artist, the real artist even to satisfy you. -Oh, how I could paint the mysterious changes of -the sky which I have been studying for the last -week!”</p> - -<p>Again I saw him in his sick-bed at his little home -one afternoon; we grew, as a matter of course, -quite enthusiastic and passionate as our talk was -on art and artists; it was the foundation of his -theory, when he expanded on it, not to put any -difference between the arts of the East and the -West; he seemed to agree with me on that day -when I compared even recklessly Turner with -our Sesshu. Although he entered into his art -through the technique, I observed that he was -speedily turning to a Spiritualist; I often thought -that he was a true Japanese artist even of the -Japanese school, while he adopted the Western -method. (It was the <i>Graphic</i> critic who said -that he was “perhaps the ablest Japanese painter -in our method who has visited our shores.”) He -and I saw that time the famous large screen by -Goshun belonging to the Imperial Household -called “Shosho no Yau,” or “The Night Rain at -Shosho”; as our minds were still absorbed in -its soft mellow atmosphere and grey flashes of -sweeping rain, we often repeated our great -admiration for that Goshun. “It’s not merely an -art, but Nature herself,” he exclaimed. The -afternoon of the summer day was slowly falling;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span> -the yellow sunbeams, like an elf or fairy, were -playing almost fantastically with the garden -leaves; Hara was looking on them absent-mindedly, -and when he awoke from his dream, -he said: “Suppose you cut off a few of those -leaves, even one leaf, with that particular sunlight -on them; they are indeed a great art. Who can -paint them as exactly they are? To prove it is -a real art, when the artist is great and true, a large -canvas and big subject are not necessary at all; -one single leaf would be enough for his subject. -I recall my first impression of Turner’s work; -I thought then that even one inch square of -any picture of his in the National Gallery -would be sufficient to prove his great art. I -always vindicated his mastery of technique to -the others who had the reverse opinion; what -made Turner was never his technique. To talk -about technique. I believe that even I have a -better technique than is shown in most of the -pictures drawn by Rossetti; but there is only one -Rossetti in the world.” On my way home after -leaving him, I could not help wondering if he -were not turning to a pessimist: I was afraid -that he was in his heart of hearts denying his own -ability and art.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">TURNER’S GREAT ART</div> - -<p>One day last September, when my soul felt -the usual sadness with the first touch of autumn, -I received a note from Hara saying that his -stomach had been lately troubled, and he wished<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span> -I would call on him as he wanted to be brightened -by my presence. I could not go then to see him -on account of one thing and another; and when -I was told by one of his friends and mine that -Hara’s illness was said to be cancer, even in its -acute form, and that he was eagerly expecting my -call, I hurried at once to his house. He was very -pale and thin. As I was begged by Mrs. Hara at -the door not to let him talk too much, as it was -the doctor’s command, I even acted as if I hated -conversation on that day; it was Hara (bless his -sympathetic gentle soul) who, on the contrary, -wished to make me happy and interested by his -talk. He talked as usual on various arts and -artists; when he slowly entered into his own -domestic affairs, he said: “I have decided to sell -all my works of the last ten years, good or bad, -among my rich friends, and raise a sufficient fund -to provide for my old mother and wife; to have -no child is at least a comfort at this moment. I -think I call myself fortunate since such a scheme -appears to be quite practicable; but if I could -have even one picture which I could proudly leave -for posterity—that might be too great an ambition -for an artist of my class. Will you laugh at me -when I say how I wish to live five years more, if -not five years, two years at least, if not two years, -even one year? It might be better, after all, for -me to die with hope than to live and fail.” With -a sudden thought he changed the subject; he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span> -thought, doubtless, he had no right to make me -unnecessarily sad, and resumed the talk on Hokusai -and Utamaro where he had left off a little while -before. “I wish that you will see Utamaro’s -picture in my friend’s possession; it is, needless -to say, the picture of a courtesan. How that -lovely woman sits! (Here Hara changed his -attitude and imitated the woman in the picture.) -Oh, these charming bare feet! That is where -Utamaro put his best art; I cannot forget the -feeling that I felt with the most attractive naked -heels of the picture.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">HARA GONE TO HIS REST</div> - -<p>I gave him many instances of doctors’ mistakes -to encourage him, before I left his house. I called -on him two weeks or ten days later; but I -was not admitted to his presence, as the doctor -had already forbade any outside communication. -At my third call I was told that he was growing -still worse; it was on October 29 that I made my -fourth call, and I found at once that the house -had been somewhat upset. Alas, my friend -Busho Hara had gone already to his eternal rest! -I rushed up to the upstairs room where the cold -body of the artist was lying; he could not see or -hear his friend. I cried. I was told by one of -Hara’s friends, who saw his last moment, how sorry -he was that he did not see me when his final end -approached, and that he had begged him to tell -me that he was wrong in what he told me before -about art. Now, what did he mean by that? I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span> -already suspected, as I said before, that he was -growing to deny his own art; now I should -like to understand by that final special message -to me that he wished to wholly deny all the -human art of the world against great Nature -before his death. When he grew weaker and -weaker, I think that he found it more easy to -dream of Nature; whether conscious or unconscious, -he must have been in the most happy -state, at least for his last days, as he was going -to join himself with her. I never saw such a -dead face so calm, so sorrowless, like Hara’s; -it reminded me of a certain Greek mask which -I saw somewhere; indeed, he had a Greek soul -in the true meaning.</p> - -<p>We six or seven friends of his kept a <i>tsuya</i>, or -wake, before his coffin, as is the custom, on the -night of the 29th; the night rapidly advanced when -the reminiscences of this passed great artist were -told to keep us from falling asleep. One man -was speaking of the story of Hara’s friendship with -Danjuro Ichikawa, the great tragedian of the -old <i>kabuki</i> school of the modern Japanese stage. -Once he played the rôle of Benkei in “Adaka ga -Seki,” which he wished Hara to draw; it was -a most unusual treat on the actor’s part to give -the artist one whole box at the Kabuki Theatre -during fifteen days only for that purpose, where he -appeared every day not to draw, but to look at the -acting. But Hara very quickly sketched him one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span> -day at the moment when he thought that the -actor was prolonging his acting at a certain place -to make him easy to sketch; in fact, Danjuro -made his acting in some parts stand still for fifteen -minutes. Strangely enough, the other actors -who were playing with him did not know that, -while Hara rightly read the actor’s intention and -thought. Danjuro said afterwards that Mr. -Hara understood him through the power of his -being a great artist. Did he draw the picture -and finish it? That is the next question. He did -not, as was often the case with Hara; he wrote -the actor bluntly he was sorry that this spirit -was gone, making it impossible to advance. The -one who told the story exclaimed: “I never saw -an artist like Hara so slow to paint, or who found -it so difficult to paint.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">SITTING AT THE SHOP FRONT</div> - -<p>Among us there was a well-known frame manufacturer, -Yataya by name, who, it is said, was -Hara’s very first friend in Tokyo, where he came -thirty years before from his native Okayama; he -spoke next on his dear friend:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span> “He made his call -on me at my store in Ginza almost every night; -he never came up into the room, but sat always -at the shop front. And there he gazed most -thoughtfully on the passing crowd of the street -with his fixed eyes; he made himself quite an -unattractive figure especially for the shop front. -‘Who is that sinister-looking fellow?’ I was -often asked. I am sure that he must have been -there studying the people; his interest in anything -was extremely intent. He was a great -student.”</p> - -<p>While I am now writing upon Hara, I feel I see -that he is sitting at a certain shop front, perhaps -of Hades. Is he not studying the action of the -dead souls clamorous as in their living days?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="IX" id="IX">IX</a><br /> - -THE UKIYOYE ART IN ORIGINAL</h2> - - -<p>I often think the general impression that the -best Ukiyoye art reveals itself in colour-print has -to be corrected in some special cases, because the -Ukiyoye art in original <i>kakemono</i>, though not -so well appreciated in the West, is also a thing -beautiful; and I feel proud to say that I have -often seen those special cases in Japan. On -such occasions I always say that I am impressed as -if the art were laughing and cursing fantastically -over the present age, whose prosaic regularity -completely misses the old fascination of romanticism -which Japan of two or three hundred years ago -perfected by her own temperament. Whenever -I see it (mind you, it should be the best Ukiyoye -art in original) at my friend’s house by accident, -or in the exhibition hall, my heart and soul seem -to be turning to a winged thing fanned by its -magic; and when my consciousness returns, I -find myself narcotised in incense, before the temple -of art where sensuality is consecrated through -beauty.</p> - -<p>It is not too much to say that Shunsho Katsu<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span>kawa, -who died in 1792 at the age of ninety-seven, -gained more than any other artist from the -originals, through his masterly series of twelve -pieces, “A Woman’s Year,” owned by Count Matsura, -a most subtle arrangement of figures whose -postures reach the final essence of grace perhaps -from the delicate command of artistic reserve, the -decorative richness of the pictures heightened by -life’s gesticulation of beauty; whilst the harmony -of the pictorial quantity and quality is perfect. -Behind the pictures we read the mind of the artist -with the critic’s gift of appraising his own work. -When we realise the somewhat exaggerated hastiness -of later artists, for example, artists like -Toyokuni the First, or Yeizan (the other artists -being out of the question, of course), Shunsho’s -greatness will be at once clear. It may have been -his own thought to modify the women’s faces -from the artless roundness of the earlier artists to -the rather emphatic oblong, from simplicity to -refinement, although I acknowledge it was Harunobu’s -genius to make the apparent want of effort -in women’s round faces flow into the sad rhythm -of longing and passion, a symbol of the white, -weary love; in Harunobu we have a singular case -of the distinction between simplesse and simplicité. -It was the old Japanese art to portray delicacy -only in the women’s hands and arms; but certainly -it was the distinguished art of Shunsho, -with many other contemporary Ukiyoye artists,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span> -to make the necks, especially the napes, the points -of almost tantalising grace; what a charm of -abandon in those shoulders! And what a beautiful -elusiveness of the slightly inclined faces of -the women! I am always glad to see Shunsho’s -famous picture, “Seven Beauties in a Bamboo -Forest,” owned by the Tokyo School of Art, in -which the romantic group of chignons leisurely -promenade, one reading a love-letter, another -carrying a shamisen instrument, through the shade -of a bamboo forest. Not only in this picture, but -in many other arrangements of women and sentiment, -Shunsho reminds me of the secret of Cho -Densu of the fifteenth century in his elaborate -Rakan pictures, particularly in the point that the -figures, while keeping their own individual aloofness, -perfectly well fuse themselves in the alembic -of the picture into a composition most impressive. -And you will soon find that when the sense of -monotony once subsides, your imagination grows -to see their spiritual variety.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">“BEAUTIES IN A BAMBOO FOREST"</div> - -<p>It is rather difficult to see a best specimen of -the originals of Harunobu or even of Utamaro. -I think there is some reason, however, to say in the -case of Utamaro that he did not leave many worthy -pictures in original, because he made the blocks, -fortunately or unfortunately, a castle to rise and -fall with; while I see the fact on the one side that, -while he was not accepted in the polite society of -his time, he gained as a consequence much strength<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span> -through his restriction of artistic purpose. There -was nothing more ridiculous for the Ukiyoye artists -of those days than to intrude their work of the -so-called “Floating World” into the aristocratic -<i>tokonoma</i>, the sacred alcove of honour for the art -of a Tosa or a Kano, and to attempt to call themselves -Yamato Yeshi, whatever that means. What -wisdom is there to become neutral, like Yeishi or -in some degree Koryusai, who never created any -distinct success either as Ukiyoye artist or as -so-called polite painter. I can easily read the undermeaning -how they were even insulted, by the cultured -class, when they tried to satisfy their own -resentment by such an assumption of Yamato -Yeshi (“the Yamato artist,” Yamato being the -classic name of Japan); I see more humiliation -in it than pride. The contempt displayed toward -them, however, was not so serious till the appearance -of Moronobu, who created his own art out of -their sudden descent; his realism accentuated itself -in the portrayal of courtesans and street vagrants -of old Yedo, for the popular amusement, at the -huge cost of being criticised as immoral. The -artists before his day, even those to-day roughly -termed the Ukiyoye artists, were the self-same -followers. To begin with Matabei, after the -Kano, Tosa, and Sumiyoshi schools successively, -their work was strengthened or weakened according -to the situation by the irresistibility of plebeianism; -it is clear that the final goal for their work<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span> -<span class="sidenote">THE WITHDRAWAL FROM SOCIETY</span> -was, of course, the <i>tokonoma</i> of the rich man and the -nobles. And it seems that they must have found -quite an easy access into that scented daïs, if I -judge from the pictures of the “Floating World” -(what an arbitrary name that!) that remain -to-day. They had, in truth, no necessity to -advertise themselves as Yamato Yeshi, like some -artists of the later age who were uneducated and -therefore audacious; and in their great vanity -wished to separate themselves from their fellow-workers; -while their work has a certain softness—though -it be not nobility—at least not discordant -with the grey undertone of the Japanese -room, doubtless they lack that strength distilled -and crystallised into passionate lucidity which we -see in the best colour-prints. When I say that -Moronobu was the founder of Ukiyoye art, I mean -more to call attention to the fact that the Japanese -block print was well started in its development -from his day, into which process the artists put all -sorts of spontaneity, at once cursing creed and -tradition. As for the Ukiyoye artists, I dare say -their weakness in culture and imagination often -turned to force; they gained artistic confidence -in their own power from their complete withdrawal -from polite society. Such was the case with -Utamaro and Hiroshige. I wonder what use there -was to leave poor work in the original like that -of Toyokuni and Yeizan, whose works often serve -only to betray their petty ambition.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span></p> - -<p>I have seen enough of the originals of this interesting -Ukiyoye art, beginning with Matabei and -Katsushige; Naganobu Kano, the former’s contemporary, -is much admired in the series of twelve -pictures, “Merry-making under the Flowers,” -with the illogical simplicity natural to the first half -of the seventeenth century. The fact that the -name “Floating World” did not mean much in -those days can be seen in the work of Rippo -Nonoguchi or Gukei Sumiyoshi, whose classical -respect weakened the pictorial impression. Mr. -Takamine, who is recognised as the keenest -collector of Ukiyoye art in Japan, has quite an -extensive collection of the works of Ando Kwaigetsudo -(1688-1715), Anchi Choyodo, Dohan Kwaigetsudo -(early eighteenth century), Doshu Kwaigetsudo, -Doshin Kwaigetsudo, Nobuyuki Kameido, -Rifu Tosendo, Katsunobu Baiyuken, and Yeishun -Baioken, all of them contemporaries of Doshu. -Although their merit is never so high, even when -not questionable, we can imagine that their work -must have been quite popular, even in high -quarters; among them Dohan might be the -cleverest, but as a Japanese critic says, his colour-harmony -is marred by ostentatious imprudence. -I have seen the best representation of Sukenobu -Nishikawa in “Woman Hunting Fireflies,” soft -and delicate. The other artists I came to notice -and even admire are Choshun Miyakawa, Masanobu -Okumura, Shigemasa Kitawo, and other<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span> -<span class="sidenote">HEREDITY SUPERSTITION</span> -names. I think that the time should come when -the original Ukiyoye art, too, should be properly -priced in the West; we are still sticking to our -hereditary superstition that no picture is good if -we cannot hang it in the <i>tokonoma</i>, where we burn -incense and place the flowers arranged to invoke -the greyness of the air. But I wonder why we -cannot put an Utamaro lady here on the Japanese -<i>tokonoma</i>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="X" id="X">X</a><br /> - -WESTERN ART IN JAPAN</h2> - - -<p>The Japanese works of Western art are sometimes -beautiful; but I can say positively that I -have had no experience of being carried away by -them as by good old Japanese art. There is -always something of effort and even pretence -which are decidedly modern productions. I will -say that it is at the best a borrowed art, not a -thing inseparable from us. I ask myself why -those artists of the Western school must be loyal -to a pedantry of foreign origin as if they had the -responsibility for its existence. It would be a -blessing if we could free ourselves in some measure, -through the virtue of Western art, from the world -of stagnation in feeling and thought. I have -often declared that it was the saviour of Oriental -art, as the force of difference in element is important -for rejuvenation. But what use is it -to get another pedantry from the West in the place -of the old one? I have thought more than once -that our importation of foreign art is a flat failure. -It may be that we must wait some one hundred<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span> -years at least before we can make it perfectly -Japanised, just as we spent many years before -thoroughly digesting Chinese art; but we have -not a few pessimists who can prove that it is not -altogether the same case. Although I have said -that the foreign pedantry greatly troubles the -Japanese work of Western art, I do not mean that -it will create the same effect as upon Western -artists. I am told the following story:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">THE TAIHEIYO GAKWAI CLUB</div> - -<p>A year or two ago a certain Italian, who had -doubtless a habit of buying pictures (with little of -real taste in art, as is usually the case with a -picture-buyer), went to see the art exhibition of -the Taiheiyo Gakwai Club held at Uyeno Park, and -bought many pictures on the spot, as he thought -they were clever work of the Japanese school. -Alas, the artists meant them to be oil paintings of -the Western type! The Italian’s stupidity is -inexcusable; but did they indeed appear to -him so different from his work at home? The -saddest part is that they are so alien to our -Japanese feeling in general; consequently they -have little sympathy with the masses. It is far -away yet for their work to become an art of general -possession; it can be said it is not good art when -it cannot at once enter into the heart. It is not -right at all to condemn only the Western art in -Japan, as any other thing of foreign origin is -equally in the stage of mere trial. I often wonder -about the real meaning of the modern civilisation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span> -of Japan. Imitation is imitation, not the real -thing at all.</p> - -<p>There are many drawbacks, as I look upon the -material side, to the Western art becoming -popular; for instance, our Japanese house—frail, -wooden, with the light which rushes in from all -sides—never gives it an appropriate place to look -its best. And the heaviness of its general atmosphere -does not harmonise with the simplicity that -pervades the Japanese household; it always -appears out of place, like a chair before the -<i>tokonoma</i>, a holy dais. Besides, the artists cannot -afford to sell their pictures cheap, not because -they are good work, but because there are only a -few orders for them. I believe we must undertake -the responsibility of making good artists; there -is no wonder that there is only poor work since our -understanding of Western art is little, and we -hardly try to cultivate the Western taste. If -we have no great art of the Western school, as -is a fact, one half the whole blame is on our -shoulders.</p> - -<p>Here my mind dwells in more or less voluntary -manner upon the contrast with the Japanese art, -while I walk through the gallery of Western art of -the Taiheiyo Gakwai Club of this year in Uyeno -Park. There are exhibited more than two -hundred, or perhaps three hundred pieces—quite -an advance in numbers over any exhibition held -before; but I am not ready to say how they stand<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span> -<span class="sidenote">PERCEPTION OF REALISM</span> -on their merit. I admit, at the outset, that the -artists of the Western school have learned well -how to make an arrangement no artist of the pure -Japanese school ever dreamed to attain; and I -will say that it is sometimes even subtle. But I -have heard so much of the artistic purpose, which -could be best expressed through the Western art. -Are they not, on the other hand, too hasty and -too direct to describe them? Some of their work -most nakedly confesses their artistic inferiority -to their own thought. What a poor and even -vulgar handling of oil! I have no hesitation to -say that there is something mistaken in their perception -of realism. (Quite a number of artists -in this exhibition make mistakes in this respect.) -Indeed there is no word like realism (perhaps -better to say naturalism) which, in Japan’s present -literature, has done such real harm; it was the -Russian or French literature that taught us the -meaning of vulgarity, and again the artists, some -artists at least, received a lesson from these writers. -It is never good to see pictures overstrained. -Go to the true Japanese art to learn refinement. -While I admit the art of some artist which has the -detail of beauty, I must tell him that reality, -even when true, is not the whole thing; he -should learn the art of escaping from it. That -art is, in my opinion, the greatest of all arts; -without it, art will never bring us the eternal -and the mysterious. If you could see some work<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span> -of Nakagawa or Ishii exhibited here, you would -see my point, because they are somehow wrong -for becoming good work, while they impress -with line and colour. I spoke before of effort -and pretence; such an example you will find -in Hiroshi Yoshida’s canvases, big or small, most -of them being nature studies. (By the way, this -Yoshida is the artist who exhibited two great -canvases, called “Unknown,” or “World of -Cloud,” painted doubtless from Fuji mountain, -overlooking the clouds at one’s feet, and “Keiryu,” -or “The Valley,” at the Government exhibition -with some success some years ago.) I am ready -to admit that the artist has well brought out his -purpose, but the true reality is not only the outside -expression. His pictures are executed carefully; -but what a forced art! This is the age when all -Japanese artists, those of the Japanese school not -excepted, are greatly cursed by objectivity. -Some one has said that the Japanese dress, speaking -of Japanese woman as a picture, does serve to -make the distance greater. I thought in my -reflection on art that so it is with the Japanese art. -And again how near is Western art, at least the -Japanese work of the Western school! Such -a nearness to our feeling and mind, I think, is -hardly the best quality of any art. I have ceased -for some time to expect anything great or astonishing -from Wada or Okada or even Kuroda; we -most eagerly look forward to the sudden appear<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span>ance -of some genius at once to frighten and -hypnotise and charm us and make the Western art -more intimate with our minds.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">THE SPIRITUAL INSULARITY</div> - -<p>I amused myself thinking that it was Oscar -Wilde who said that Nature imitates art; is not -the nature of Japan imitating the poor work of the -Western method? Art is, indeed, a most serious -thing. It is the time now when we must jealously -guard our spiritual insularity, and carefully sift -the good and the bad, and protect ourselves from -the Western influence which has affected us too -much in spite of ourselves. Speaking of the -Western art in Japan, I think I have spoken quite -unconsciously of the general pain, not only in art, -but in many other things, from which we wish we -could escape.</p> - -<p>After I have said all from my uncompromising -thought, my mind, which is conscious to some -extent of a responsibility for Japan’s present -condition in general, has suddenly toned down -to thinking of the short history of Western art in -Japan, that is less than fifty years. What could -we do in such a short time? It may even be -said that we did a miracle in art as in any other -thing; I can count, in fact, many valuable lessons -(suggestions too) from the Western art that we -transplanted here originally from mere curiosity. -Whether good or bad, it is firmly rooted in Japan’s -soil; we have only to wait for the advent of a -master’s hand for the real creation of great beauty.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span> -It seems to me that at least the ground has been -prepared.</p> - -<p>Charles Wirgman, the special correspondent sent -to the Far East from the <i>Illustrated London News</i>, -might be called the father of Western art in Japan; -he stayed at Yokohama till he died in 1891 in -his fifty-seventh year. He was the first foreign -teacher from whom many Japanese learned the -Western method of art; Yoshiichi Takahashi was -one of his students. Before Takahashi, Togai -Kawakami was known for his foreign art in the -early eighties; but it is not clear where he learned -it. Yoshimatsu Goseda was also, besides Takahashi, -a well-known student of Wirgman, and -Shinkuro Kunizawa was the first artist who went -to London in 1875 for art study, but he died soon -after his return home in 1877 before he became a -prominent figure in the art world.</p> - -<p>When the Government engaged Antonio Fentanesi, -an Italian artist of the Idealistic school, in -1876, as an instructor, the Western school of -art had begun to establish itself even officially. -This Italian artist is still to-day respected as a -master. He was much regretted when he left -Japan in 1878. Ferretti and San Giovanni, who -were engaged after Fentanesi, did not make as -great an impression as their predecessor. However, -the time was unfortunate for art in general, -as the country was thrown into disturbance by the -civil war called the Saigo Rebellion. The popu<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span>larity -which the Western art seemed to have -attained had a great set-back when the pictures -were excluded from the National Exhibition -in 1890. But in the reaction the artists of the -Western school gained more vigour and determination; -Shotaro Koyama, Chu Asai, Kiyowo -Kawamura, and others were well-known names in -those days. Kiyoteru Kuroda and Keiichiro -Kume, the beloved students of Raphael Collin, -returned home when the China-Japan war was -over; they brought back quite a different art from -that with which we had been acquainted hitherto. -And they led vigorously the artistic battle; the -present popularity at least in appearance is owing -to their persistence and industry. The Government -again began to show a great interest in -Western art; it sent Chu Asai and Yeisaku Wada -to Paris to study foreign art. Not only these, -many others sailed abroad privately or officially -to no small advantage; you will find many -Japanese students of art nowadays wherever you -go in Europe or America.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">THE GOVERNMENT’S INTEREST</div> - -<p>We were colour-blind artistically before the -importation of Western art, except these who had -an interest in the so-called colour-print; but the -colour-print was less valued among the intellectual -class, as even to-day. Our artistic eye, which -was only able to see everything flat, at once -opened through the foreign art to the mysteries -of perspective, and though they may not be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span> -the real essence of art, they were at least a new -thing for us. There are many other lessons we -received from it; it seems to me that the best and -greatest value is its own existence as a protest -against the Japanese art. If the Japanese art of -the old school has made any advance, as it has -done, it should be thankful to the Western school; -and at the same time the artists of foreign method -must pay due respect to the former for its creation -of the “Western Art Japonised.” It may be far -away yet, but such an art, if a combination of the -East and West, is bound to come.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="APPENDIX_I" id="APPENDIX_I">APPENDIX I</a><br /> - -THE MEMORIAL EXHIBITION OF THE LATE -HARA</h2> - - -<p>The memorial exhibition of Busho Hara, a Japanese -artist of the Western school, held recently in Tokyo -to raise a fund for his surviving family as one of its -objects (Hara passed away in October, 1913, in his -forty-seventh year), had many significances, one of -which, certainly the strongest, was in contradiction -of the general understanding that Western paintings -will never sell in Japan; even a trifling sketch in -which the artist only jotted down his momentary -memory fetched the most unusual price. Hara is a -remarkable example of one who created his own -world (by that I mean at least the buyers, though -not real appreciators) among his friends through his -personality, which strengthened his work; paradoxically -we shall say he was an artist well known -and utterly unknown; and when I say he was an -utterly unknown artist, I have my thought that -he never even once exhibited his work to the public, -and his often defiant spirit and high aim made him -scorn and laugh over people’s ignorance on art. -How he hated the Japanese art world where real -merit is no passport at all. But Hara’s friends are -pleased to know from this exhibition the fact that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span> -even the public he ever so despised are not so unresponsive -to his art, whose secret he learned in London.</p> - -<p>Hara was, sad to say, also an artist whose Western -art-work, like that of some other Japanese artists -to whom quite an excellent credit was given in their -European days, much declined or, better to say, -missed somehow the artistic thrill since he left -England in 1906. Why was that? What made him -so? Was it from the fact that there is no gallery of -Western art old or new in Japan where your work -will only be belittled after you have received a good -lesson there? or is it that our Japanese general public -never have a high standard in the matter of art, -especially of Western art? I think there are many -reasons to say that the passive, even oppressive air -of Japan, generally speaking, may have a perfectly -disintegrating effect on an artist trained in the West; -it would not be wholly wrong to declare that the real -Western art founded on emotion and life cannot be -executed in Japan. Hara made quite many portraits -by commission since that 1906, some of which were -brought out in this exhibition. As they are work -more or less forced, we must go to his other works for -his best, which he executed with mighty enthusiasm -and faith under England’s artistic blessing. He -writes down in his diary, the reading of which was my -special privilege, on January 2nd of 1905, the following -words: “At last Port Arthur has fallen. When -the war shall be done that will be the time for our -battle of art against Europe to begin. Oh, what a -great responsibility for Japanese artists!”</p> - -<p>Hara made a student’s obeisance toward Watts -among the modern masters, whose influence will be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span> -most distinctly seen in one of his pictures in this -exhibition called “The Young Sorrow” (the owner of -this picture is Mr. Takashi Matsuda, one of a few -great art collectors in Japan), in which a young -sitting nude woman shows only her beautiful back, -her face being covered by her hands. What a sad, -visionary, pale clarification in colour and tone! -Hara writes down when his mind was saturated -with Watts at Tate’s or somewhere else: “What -an indescribable sense of beauty! Art is indeed my -only world and life. Again look at the pictures. -How tender, how soft, and how warm in tone and -atmosphere! And how deep is the shadow of the -pictures! And that deep shadow is never dirty.” -Again he writes down on his visit to Tate’s on a -certain day: “It was wrong that I attempted to -bring out all the colours from the beginning at once, -and even tried to finish the work up by mending. -There is no wonder my colours were dead things. We -must have the living beauty and tone of colours; -by that I do never mean showy. I must learn how -to get the deep colour by light paint.” While he -was saturated with Watts, he on the other hand -was copying Rembrandt at the National Gallery. -Hara’s copy of “The Jewish Merchant” is now -owned by the Imperial Household in Tokyo. This -copy and a few other copies of Rembrandt were -in the exhibition. And Hara was a great admirer -of Turner. Markino confesses in his book or books -that it was Hara who first opened his spiritual eyes -to Turner. At this memorial exhibition Turner is -represented by Hara’s copy of Venice. There was -in the exhibition “The Old Seamstress,” which I was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span> -pleased to say was one of Hara’s best pictures. Whenever -I see Hara’s pictures of any old woman, not -only this “Old Seamstress,” I think at once that -what you might call his soul sympathy immediately -responded to the old woman, since Hara’s heart and -soul were world-wearied and most tender.</p> - -<p>Markino has somewhere in the book the following -passages: “First few weeks I used to take him -round the streets, and whenever we passed some -picture shops he stopped to look through the shop -window, and would not move on. I told him those -nameless artists’ work was not half so good as his own. -But he always said: ‘Oh, please don’t say so. Perhaps -my drawings are surer than those, and my -compositions are better too. But the European -artists know how to handle oils so skilfully. I learn -great lessons from them.’”</p> - -<p>Indeed when he returned home he had fully -mastered the technique of handling oils from England, -where he stayed some four years. It is really a pity -that Hara passed away without having fully expressed -his own art in his masterly technique, which he -learned with such sacrifice and patience. His death -occurred suddenly at the time when he was about to -break away from his former self and to create his -own new art ten times stronger, fresher, and more -beautiful.</p> - -<p>I wish to call the readers’ attention to Yoshio -Markino’s <i>My Recollections and Reflections</i>, which -contains the most sympathetic article on Busho -Hara.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="APPENDIX_II" id="APPENDIX_II">APPENDIX II</a><br /> - -THE NERVOUS DEBILITY OF PRESENT -JAPANESE ART</h2> - - -<p>When I say that I received almost no impression -from the annual Government Exhibition of Japanese -Art in the last five or six years, I have a sort of same -feeling with the tired month of May when the season, -in fact, having no strength left from the last glory of -bloom (what a glorious old Japanese art!), still vainly -attempts to look ambitious. Although it may sound -unsympathetic, I must declare that the present -Japanese art, speaking of it as a whole, with no -reference to separate works or individual artists, -suffers from nervous debility. Now, is it not the -exact condition of the Japanese life at present? Here -it is the art following after the life of modern Japan, -vain, shallow, imitative, and thoughtless, which makes -us pessimistic; the best possible course such an art -can follow in the time of its nervous debility might be -that of imitation.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When the present Japanese art tells something, I -thank God, it is from its sad failure; indeed, the -present Japanese art is a lost art, since it explains -nothing, alas, unlike the old art of idealistic exaltation, -but the general condition of life. It is cast down -from its high pedestal.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I do not know exactly what simplicity means, when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span> -the word is used in connection with our old art; -however, it is true we see a peculiar unity in it, which -was cherished under the influence of India and China, -and always helped to a classification and analysis of -the means through which the artists worked. And -the poverty of subjects was a strength for them; -they valued workmanship, or the right use of material -rather than the material itself; instead of style and -design, the intellect and atmosphere. They thought -the means to be the only path to Heaven. But it -was before the Western art had invaded Japan; that -art told them of the end of art, and laughed at the -indecision of æsthetic judgment and uncertainty of -realism of Japanese art. It said: “It is true that -you have some scent, but it is already faded; you -have refinement, but it is not quite true to nature -and too far away.” Indeed, it is almost sad one sees -the artists troubled by the Western influence which -they accepted, in spite of themselves; I can see in the -exhibitions that many of them have long ago lost their -faith by spiritual calamity, and it is seldom to see -them able to readjust their own minds under such a -mingled tempest of Oriental and Occidental. Is it -not, after all, merely a waste of energy? And how -true it is with all the other phenomena of the present -life, their Oriental retreat and Occidental rush.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The present Japanese art has sadly strayed from -subjectivity, the only one citadel where the old -Japanese art rose and fell; I wonder if it is not -paying a too tremendous price only to gain a little -objectivity of the West.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center"><small><i>Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, -Ld., London and Aylesbury, England.</i></small></p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Spirit of Japanese Art, by Yone Noguchi - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART *** - -***** This file should be named 62252-h.htm or 62252-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/2/5/62252/ - -Produced by ellinora, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Spirit of Japanese Art - -Author: Yone Noguchi - -Release Date: May 28, 2020 [EBook #62252] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART *** - - - - -Produced by ellinora, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations -in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and -punctuation remains unchanged. - -Sidenotes, page headings in the original, have been placed at the -beginning of the relevant paragraphs and marked [Sidenote: ....] - -On Page 26 lespedozas has been corrected to lespedezas. - -Italics are represented thus _italic_. - - - - - The Wisdom of the East Series - - EDITED BY - - L. CRANMER-BYNG - Dr. S. A. KAPADIA - - - THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART - - - - - WISDOM OF THE EAST - - THE SPIRIT OF - JAPANESE ART - - BY YONE NOGUCHI - AUTHOR OF “THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE POETRY” - - - [Illustration; Sun rising over ocean] - - - LONDON - JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. - 1915 - - - - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - INTRODUCTION 9 - - - I - - KOYETSU 17 - - - II - - KENZAN 25 - - - III - - UTAMARO 32 - - - IV - - HIROSHIGE 38 - - - V - - GAHO HASHIMOTO 44 - - - VI - - KYOSAI 56 - - - VII - - THE LAST MASTER OF THE UKIYOYE ART 67 - - - VIII - - BUSHO HARA 79 - - - IX - - THE UKIYOYE ART IN ORIGINAL 93 - - - X - - WESTERN ART IN JAPAN 100 - - - APPENDIX I - - THE MEMORIAL EXHIBITION OF THE LATE - HARA 109 - - - APPENDIX II - - THE NERVOUS DEBILITY OF PRESENT - JAPANESE ART 113 - - - - - TO - - EDWARD F. STRANGE - - OF THE SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM - - - - - EDITORIAL NOTE - - -The object of the Editors of this series is a very definite one. They -desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall -be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between East and -West—the old world of Thought and the new of Action. In this endeavour, -and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example -in the land. They are confident that a deeper knowledge of the great -ideals and lofty philosophy of Oriental thought may help to a revival -of that true spirit of Charity which neither despises nor fears the -nations of another creed and colour. - - L. CRANMER-BYNG. - S. A. KAPADIA. - - NORTHBROOK SOCIETY, - 21 CROMWELL ROAD, - S. KENSINGTON, S.W. - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -In the Ashikaga age (1335-1573) the best Japanese artists, like Sesshu -and his disciples, for instance, true revolutionists in art, not mere -rebels, whose Japanese simplicity was strengthened and clarified by -Chinese suggestion, were in the truest meaning of the word Buddhist -priests, who sat before the inextinguishable lamp of faith, and -sought their salvation by the road of silence; their studios were in -the Buddhist temple, east of the forests and west of the hills, dark -without, and luminous within with the symbols of all beauty of nature -and heaven. And their artistic work was a sort of prayer-making, to -satisfy their own imagination, not a thing to show to a critic whose -attempt at arguing and denying is only a nuisance in the world of -higher art; they drew pictures to create absolute beauty and grandeur, -that made their own human world look almost trifling, and directly -joined themselves with eternity. Art for them was not a question of -mere reality in expression, but the question of Faith. Therefore they -never troubled their minds with the matter of subjects or the size -of the canvas; indeed, the mere reality of the external world had -ceased to be a standard for them, who lived in the temple studios. -Laurance Binyon said of them: “Hints of the divine were to be found -everywhere—in leaves of grass, in the life of animals, birds, and -insects. No occupation was too humble or menial to be invested with -beauty and significance.” Through them the Ashikaga period becomes very -important in our Japanese art annals. Binyon says: “The Ashikaga period -stands in art for an ideal of reticent simplicity. A revulsion from the -ornate conventions, which had begun to paralyse the pristine vigour -of the Yamato school, and fresh acquaintance with the masterpieces of -the Sung era, brought about by renewed contact with China, after a -hermit period of exclusion, created a passion for swift, impassioned or -suggestive painting in ink, on silvery-toned paper.” - -People, like myself, who are more delighted at the National Gallery -in Trafalgar Square with, for instance, “A Summer Afternoon after a -Shower,” or a “View at Epsom,” by Constable, and with “Walton Reach,” -or “Windsor from Lower Hope,” by Turner, than with their other bigger -things, will be certainly pleased to see “Temple and Hill above -a Lake,” by Sesshu, or “Travellers at a Temple Gate,” by Sesson, -representing this interesting Ashikaga period, exhibited in the new -wing of the British Museum. You have to go there and spend an hour or -so with the Arthur Morrison collection of Japanese art, if you wish to -feel the real old Japanese humanity and love that our ancient masters -inspired into their work. To be sure, none of the things exhibited -there, small or large, good or poor, are so-called exhibition pictures, -which are often a game of artistic charlatans. In real Japanese art -you should not look for variety of subjects; but when you find an -astonishing richness of execution, certainly it is the time when your -eyes begin to open toward another sort of asceticism in art. How glad I -am that our Japanese art, at least in the olden time, never degenerated -into a mechanical art! - -What a pity Sesson’s “Travellers at a Temple Gate,” this remarkable -little thing, has been mended in two or three spots. If you wish to -see the real power and distinction of great Sesshu, you might compare -his “Daruma” in the exhibition with the other “Daruma” pictures by -Soami and Takuchu also in the exhibition: the point I should like to -bring out is that Sesshu’s “Daruma” is an artistic attempt to proclaim -the spiritual intensity which shines within from the true strength of -consciousness and real economy of force, while the others are rather a -superficial demonstration. - -There is no other Japanese school so interesting, even from the one -point of style in expressive decoration, as the Koyetsu-korin school, -the much-admired branch of Japanese art in the West. Although I was -glad to see a good specimen of Sotatsu in “Descent of the Thunder God -on the Palace of Fujiwara” in the exhibition, I hardly think that such -a figure painting (a really good work in its own way) shows Sotatsu’s -best art; while my memory of the Sotatsu exhibition at Uyeno of Tokyo -a few years ago is still fresh, I am pleased to connect Sotatsu with -the flower-screens and little _Kakemono_ for the tea-rooms, now with -a pair of rabbits nibbling grasses, then with a little bunch of wild -chrysanthemums. You will see what an admirer I am of this school, since -I have dwelt at some length on Koyetsu and Kenzan in this little book -of Japanese art. I regret that I have to beg for some more time before -I make myself able to write on great Korin; I am sure that Hoitsu, one -of the most distinguished decadents of the early nineteenth century, -and the acknowledged successor of the Koyetsu-korin school, would give -us a highly interesting subject to discuss. Oh, those days at Bunkwa -and Bunsei (1804-1830)! Dear, rotten, foolish, romantic old Tokugawa -civilisation and art! - -Two articles on Harunobu and Hokusai are still to be written for the -Ukiyoye school; I know, I believe, that without those two artists the -school would never be complete. I am happy to think that I have Gaho -Hashimoto in the present book as the last great master of the Kano -school; but I cannot help thinking about Hogai Kano, Gaho’s spiritual -brother, who passed away almost in starvation. - -Indeed, Hogai’s whole life of sixty years was a life of hardship -and hunger; when he reached manhood, the whole country of Japan -began to be disturbed under the name of the Grand Restoration. In -those days, the safety of one’s life was not assured; how then could -art claim the general protection? All the artists threw away their -drawing-brushes. Hogai tried to get his living by selling baskets and -brooms; his wife, it is said, helped him by weaving at night; their -lives were hard almost without comparison. Following the advice of a -certain Mr. Fujishima, Hogai drew pictures and gave them to a dealer -at Hikage Cho, Tokyo, to be sold. After three long years, he found -that only one picture had been sold, and so he gave the rest of them, -more than fifty, to Mr. Fujishima, who, by turns, gave them away -to his friends. And those pictures which were given freely by Mr. -Fujishima are now their owners’ greatest treasures. Thus is the irony -of life exemplified. It was thought by Hogai a piece of good fortune -when he was engaged by Professor Fenellosa for twelve yen a month; -this American critic’s eye discerned Hogai’s unusual ability. It is -almost unbelievable to-day that such a small sum should have been -acceptable; but it may have been the usual payment in those days, and -the Professor’s friendship was more to Hogai than money. He received -fifteen yen afterward when he was engaged by the Educational Department -of the Government in 1884; how sad he could not support himself by -art alone. And alas, he was no more when the general appreciation of -his great art began to be told. Quite many specimens of Hogai’s work -are treasured in the Boston Museum at present. How changed are the -conditions now from Hogai’s day! But are these fortunately changed -conditions really helpful for the creation of true art? - -To look at some of the modern work is too trying, mainly from the fact -that it lacks, to use the word of Zen Buddhism, the meaning of silence; -it seems to me that some modern artists work only to tax people’s -minds. In Nature we find peacefulness and silence; we derive from it -a feeling of comfort and restfulness; and again from it we receive -vigour and life. I think so great art should be. Many modern artists -cannot place themselves in unison with their art; in one word, they do -not know how to follow the law or _michi_, that Mother Nature gladly -evolves. It is such a delight to examine the works of Hogai, as each -picture is a very part of his own true self; the only difference is -the difference that he wished to evoke in interest; his desire was -always so clear in the relation between himself and his work, and -accidentally he succeeded as if by magic in establishing the same -relationship for us, the onlookers. It goes without saying that the -pictures of such an artist are richer than they appear; while he used -only Chinese ink in his pictures, our imagination is pleased to see -them with the addition of colour, and even voice. - -The subjects which are treated in the present volume are various, but I -dare say that all the artists whose art I have treated here will well -agree in the point of their expression of the Japanese spirit of art, -which always aims at poetry and atmosphere, but not mere style and -purpose. - - Y. N. - - LONDON, - _May 13, 1914_. - - - - - THE SPIRIT OF - - JAPANESE ART - - - I - - KOYETSU - - -When I left home toward a certain Doctor’s who had promised to show me -his collection of chirography and art, the unusual summer wind which -had raged since midnight did not seem to calm down; the rain-laden -clouds now gathered, and then parted for the torrent of sunlight to -dash down. I was most cordially received by him, as I was expected; -in coming under threat of the weather I had my own reasons. I always -thought that summer was worse than spring for examining (more difficult -to approve than deny) the objects of art, on account of our inability -for concentrating our minds; the heat that calls all the _shoji_ doors -to open wide confuses the hearts of bronze Buddhas or Sesshu’s “Daruma” -or Kobo’s chirography or whatever they be, whichever way they have to -turn, in the rush of light from every side; I thanked the bad weather -to-day which, I am sure, I should have cursed some other day. The -Doctor’s house had an almost winter-sad aspect with the _shoji_, even -the rain-doors all shut, the soft darkness assembling at the very place -it should, where the saints or goddesses revealed themselves; hanging -after hanging was unrolled and rolled before me in quick succession. -“Doctor, tell me quick whose writing is that?” I loudly shouted when -I came to one little bit of Japanese writing. “That is Koyetsu’s,” he -replied. “Why, is it? It seems it is worth more than all the others put -together; Doctor, I will not ask you for any more hangings to-day,” -I said. And a moment later, I looked at him and exclaimed in my -determined voice: - -“What will you say if I take it away and keep it indefinitely?” - -“I say nothing at all, but am pleased to see how you will enjoy it,” -the Doctor replied. - -[Sidenote: YEARNING OF POETICAL SOUL] - -The evening had already passed when I returned home with that hanging -of Koyetsu’s chirography under my arm. “Put all the gaslights out! -Do you hear me? All the gaslights out! And light all the candles -you have!” I cried. The little hanging was properly hanged at the -“tokonoma” when the candles were lighted, whose world-old soft flame -(wasn’t it singing the old song of world-wearied heart?) allured my -mind back, perhaps, to Koyetsu’s age of four hundred years ago—to -imagine myself to be a waif of greyness like a famous tea-master, Rikiu -or Enshu or, again, Koyetsu, burying me in a little Abode of Fancy with -a boiling tea-kettle; through that smoke of candles hurrying like our -ephemeral lives, the characters of Koyetsu’s writing loomed with the -haunting charm of a ghost. They say: - - “Where’s cherry-blossom? - The trace of the garden’s spring breeze is seen no more. - I will point, if I am asked, - To my fancy snow upon the ground.” - -“What a yearning of poetical soul!” I exclaimed. - -It is your imagination to make rise out of fall, day out of darkness, -and Life out of Death; not to see the fact of scattering petals is your -virtue, and to create your own special sensation with the impulse of -art is your poet’s dignity; what a blessing if you can tell a lie to -yourself; better still, not to draw a distinct line between the things -our plebeian minds call truth and untruth, and live like a wreath shell -with the cover shut in the air of your own creation. Praised be the -touch of your newly awakened soul which can turn the fallen petals to -the beauty of snow; there is nothing that will deny the yearning of -your poetic soul. It is not superstition to say that the poet’s life -is worthier than any other life. Some time ago the word loneliness -impressed me as almost divine as Rikiu pledged himself in it; I -wished, through its invocation, to create a picture, as the ancient -ditty has it, of a “lone cottage standing by the autumn wave, under -the fading light of eve.” But I am thankful for Koyetsu to-day. How to -reach my own poetry seems clearly defined in my thought; it will be by -the twilight road of imagination born out of reality and the senses—the -road of idealism baptised by the pain of death. - -[Sidenote: ABODE OF VACANCY] - -What remains of Koyetsu’s life is slight, as his day was not feminine -and prosaic, like to-day, with love of gossip and biography-writing; -he, with the friends of his day, Sambiakuin Konoye, Shokado, both of -them eminent chirographers of all time of Japan, Jozan the scholar, -Enshu the tea-master, and many others, realised the age of artistic -heroism which is often weakened by the vulgarity of thought that aims -at the Future and Fame. The utter rejection of them would be the prayer -itself to strengthen the appreciation of art into a living thing. -Koyetsu made his profession in his younger days the connoisseurship of -swords as well as their whetting; it was for that service, I believe, -that Iyeyasu, the great feudal Prince of Yedo, gave him a piece of -land, then a mere waste, at Taka ga Mine of the lonely suburb of Kyoto, -by the Tanba highway, where he retired, with a few writing brushes and -a tea-kettle, to build his Taikyo An, or Abode of Vacancy, giving his -æsthetic fancy full swing to fill the “vacancy” of abode and life. He -warned his son and family, when he bade them farewell, it is said, that -they should never step into Yedo of the powerful lords and princes, -because the worldly desire was not the way of ennobling a life which -was worth living. We might call it “seihin”, or proud poverty that -Koyetsu most prized, as it never allures one from the chasteness of -simplicity which is the real foundation of art. There is reason to -believe that he must have been quite a collector of works of art, rich -and rare, in his earlier life; but it is said that he most freely gave -them away when he left his city home for his lonely retirement; indeed -he was entering into the sanctuary of priests. What needed he there -but prayer and silence? There is nothing more petty, even vulgar, in -the grey world of art and poetry, than to have a too close attachment -to life and physical luxuries; if our Orientalism may not tell you -anything much, I think it will teach you at least to soar out of your -trivialism. - -[Sidenote: THE STYLE CALLED “GYOSHO”] - -Koyetsu’s must have been a remarkable personality, remarkable -because of its lucidity distilled and crystallised—to use a plebeian -expression, by his own philosophy, whose touch breathed on the spot -a real art into anything from a porcelain bowl to the design on a -lacquer box; I see his transcendental mien like a cloud (that cloud -is not necessarily high in the sky all the time) in his works that -remain to-day, more from the reason that they carry, all of them, -the solitary grace of amateurishness in the highest sense. To return -to the unprofessional independence itself was his great triumph; -his artistic fervour was from his priesthood. I know that he was a -master in porcelain-making, picture-drawing, and also in lacquer-box -designing (what a beautiful work of art is the writing box of raised -lacquer called Sano Funahashi, to-day owned by the Imperial Museum of -Tokyo); but it seems that he often betrayed that his first and last -love was in his calligraphy. Once he was asked by Sambiakuin Konoye, -a high nobleman of the Kyoto Court, the question who was the best -penman of the day; it is said he replied, after a slight hesitation: -“Well, then, the second best would be you, my Lord; and Shokado would -be the third best.” The somewhat disappointed calligraphist of high -rank in the court pressed Koyetsu: “Speak out, who is the first! There -is nothing of ‘Well, then,’ about it.” Koyetsu replied: “This humble -self is that first.” The remarkable part is that in his calligraphy -Koyetsu never showed any streak of worldly vulgarity. Its illusive -charm is that of a rivulet sliding through the autumnal flowers; when -we call it impressive, that impressiveness is that of the sudden fall -of the moon. To return to this hanging of his (thousand thanks to the -Doctor) to which I look up to-day as a servant to his master, with -all devotion. The sure proof of its being no mean art, I venture to -say, is seen in its impressing me as the singular work of accident, -like the blow of the wind or the sigh of the rain; it seems the writer -(great Koyetsu) was never conscious, when he wrote it, of the paper on -which he wrote, of the bamboo brush which he grasped. It is true that -we cannot play our criticism against it; it is not our concern to ask -how it was written, but only to look at and admire it. The characters -are in the style called “gyosho,” or current hand, to distinguish from -the “kaisho,” or square hand; and there is one more style under the -name of “sosho,” or grass hand, that is an abbreviated cursive hand. -As this was written in “gyo” style, it did not depend on elaborate -patience but on the first stroke of fancy. I have no hesitation to say -that, when it is said that the arts of the calligrapher and the painter -are closely allied, the art of the calligrapher would be by just so -much related with our art of living; the question is what course among -the three styles we shall choose—the square formalism of “kaisho” or -the “sosho”-like romanticism? It does no justice to call “gyosho” a -middle road; when you know that your idealism is always born from the -conventionalism of reality of “kaisho”-like materialism, it is not -wrong to say that Koyetsu wisely selected a line of “gyosho”-like -accentuation—not so fantastic as a “sosho” calligraph—with the -tea-kettle and a few writing brushes, to make one best day before he -fell into the final rest. - - - - - II - - KENZAN - - -I used to pass by Zenyoji, a little Buddhist temple by the eastern -side of Uyeno Hill (whose trees, almost a thousand years old, in the -shape of a dragon, perhaps created by a Kano artist, have been ruined -by the smoke that never departs from the railroad terminus), where I -knew, from the calligraphic sign carved on a stone by the temple gate, -that Kenzan Ogata, the famous artist on paper or porcelain, and younger -brother of the great Korin, was buried in the graveyard within; but if -I did not step in, as in fact I did not step in, although I passed by -countless times, as I lived then in the neighbourhood of the temple -in classical Negishi—classical in association with the nightingale -and that wonderful pine-tree called Ogyo no Matsu (here also lived -Hoitsu, the famous decadent of the early nineteenth century)—that was -because I had little interest in any grave, even in Kenzan’s. And the -temple looked so dusty, smoky, and altogether dirty. How sorry I felt -in thinking that Kenzan’s artistic soul must be suffering from the -snoring, growling, and hissing of the engines day and night. Alas, he -could not foresee the future of a few hundred years when he died. But -I welcomed the news when the sudden removal of the grave was reported -as a result, a fortunate result indeed, of the expansion of the railway -track; this time, to be sure, I thought, his grey-loving, solitary -soul would be pleased to find a far better sleeping-place, as he was -to be moved to the large old garden of the Kokka Club (a well-known -artist club), with a deep pond where many gold fish peep underneath the -umbrella-like lotus leaves in early summer, and in later autumn the -_hagi_ or two-coloured lespedezas (Kenzan’s beloved subject) would lean -upon the water to admire their own images; and it is a matter thrice -satisfactory to think that this new place is also in Negishi (which -somehow recalls Hampstead, though there is no natural resemblance -between them). - - * * * * * - -I was invited to attend the memorial exhibition of Kenzan’s work to -commemorate the removal of his grave the other day. With the greatest -anticipation I went there with two friends of mine, a fellow poet -and an artist, both of them great admirers of Kenzan Ogata. When we -entered the ground, we found at once that the Buddhist ceremony, that -is the Sutra-reading called Kuya Nembutsu, around the newly dug grave -by the lotus pond under the trees, was well started already; some ten -or eleven priests, in fact the devoted members of the club, but in -long black robes, were seen through the foliage from the distance, -hopping around like the vagarious spirits of a moment (this fantastic -ceremony, Kuya Nembutsu) while reciting the holy book; the voice of the -recitation most musically broke the silence. We did not approach the -grave, but went straight into the exhibition rooms, because we knew -that the best prayer we could offer to Kenzan was to see and rightly -appreciate his works of art. We all of us were unable to speak a word -at the beginning, as our tongues (our heads too) lost their powers -against his peculiarly distinguished art, which is the oldest and -again the newest. When our minds became better composed, we sat in a -corner of the room where the hangings of his flowers or trees, and the -tea-bowls or incense-cases with his favourite designs, had been well -arranged; we felt inclined to talk, even discuss his art. - -[Sidenote: THE OLDEST AND THE NEWEST] - -“What a pleasing egotism,” I ventured to say, “in that picture of -lilies or this picture of fishes; the lilies and fishes are not an -accessory as in many other Japanese pictures, but the lilies and fishes -themselves in their full meaning. Again What a delightful egotism!” - -“You might call flowers feminine,” my artist-friend interrupted me. -“But I should like to know where is a thing more truly egotistic than -the flowers.” - -“That egotism in the picture,” I proceeded, “might be a real result -from the great reverence and intense love of Kenzan for his subjects; -we can see that his mind, when he painted them, was never troubled with -any other thing or thought. You know that such only occurs to a truly -gifted artist. After all, the greatness of Kenzan is his sincerity. -And it goes without saying that the pictures on tea-bowls we see here -are not things which were made to some one’s order. We become at once -sincere and silent in their presence; to say that his art was spiritual -is another way to express it—by that I mean that we are given all -opportunities to imagine what the pictures themselves may not contain. -Our imagination grows deeper and clearer through the virtue or magic of -his work; and again his work appears thrice simplified and therefore -more vital. The art really simple and vital is never to be troubled -with any rhetoric or accessories of unessentials; before you make such -a picture, you must have, to begin with, your own soul simplified and -vital in the true sense. Kenzan had that indeed.” - -[Sidenote: EXPRESSION OF PERSONALITY] - -“To call Kenzan’s work merely beautiful,” my friend-poet said, -evidently in the same mind with myself, “whether it be the picture on -paper or China-bowls, does no justice; what he truly aimed at was the -artistic expression,—and he was most successful when he was most true. -To him, as with the other great artists of East or West, the beauties -only occurred—and Kenzan’s beauties occurred when his simple art was -most decorative; in his decorativeness he found his own artistic -emotion. It was his greatness that he made a perfect union of emotion -and intellect in his work; to say shortly, he was the expression of -personality.” - -“What a personality was Kenzan’s! Again what a personality!” I -exclaimed. I proceeded, as I wished to take up the talk where my friend -poet had left off, “It is his personality by whose virtue even a -little weed or insignificant spray of a willow-tree turns to a real -art; he had that personality, because he had such a love and sympathy. -Indeed the main question of the artist is in his love and sympathy; the -external technique is altogether secondary. When you commune with the -inner meaning, that is the beginning and also the ending. We see here -the picture of a cherry-tree covered by the red blossoms, which might -happen to be criticised as a bad drawing; but since it does appear as -nothing but a cherry-tree, proud and lovely, I think that Kenzan’s -artistic desire was fully answered. He was an artist, not merely either -an illustrator or a designer. He was a true artist, therefore his work -is ever so new like the moon and flowers; and again old, like the -flowers and moon.” - -“If the so-called post-impressionists could see Kenzan’s work!” my -friend-artist suddenly ventured to exclaim, “I am sure that Vincent Van -Gogh would be glad to have this six-leafed screen of poppy-flowers.” - -“Really the picture is the soul of the flowers,” I said, “but not the -external flowers. It is mystic as the flowers are mystic. And imagine -Kenzan’s attitude when he drew that screen! I believe that he had the -same reverence as when he stood in the religion of mysticism to paint -a goddess; indeed his work was prayer and soul’s consolation. Though -the subject was flowers, I have no hesitation to call the picture -religious. I almost feel like lighting a candle and burning incense -before this screen of poppies.” - -[Sidenote: THE BAPTISM OF POVERTY] - -As with other gifted artists, we see Kenzan’s real life behind his -work. Some critic ably said that true art was an episode of life; I -can imagine that, when his artistic fancy moved and his work was done, -he must have thrown it aside into the waves of time, off-hand, most -unceremoniously, and forgotten all about it. We can truly say of his -works that they never owed one thing to money or payment for their -existence—and that is the greatest praise we can give to any work of -art. His material life might be said to have been quite fortunate -in that he was invited to Yedo (present Tokyo) by the Prince of the -Kanyeiji Temple of Uyeno, under whose patronage his art was pleased to -take its own free independent course; but his greatness is that when -the Prince passed away and he was left to poverty, he never trembled -and shrank under its cold cruel baptism; indeed that baptism made his -personality far nobler, like the white flame from which the whiteness -is taken out, and consequently his art was a thing created, as we say -here, by the mind out of the world and dust. The works which to-day -remain and are admired by us are mostly the work he executed after he -reached his seventieth year. We have many reasons to be thankful for -the fact that he left Kyoto, the old city of court nobles and ladies, -somewhat effeminate, and the side of his brother Korin, whose great -influence would have certainly made him a little Korin at the best; -we see no distinction whatever in the work which he gave the world -under Korin’s guidance. His art made a great stride after he appeared -in the Yedo of the warriors and manliness and touched a different -atmosphere from that of his former life; I will point, when you ask -me for the proof, to the now-famous six-fold screen with the picture -of plum-blossom, or the hanging also of the plum-blossom owned by the -Imperial Museum. Oh, what a noble plum-blossom, which reminds us of a -samurai’s heart, simple and brave! - - - - - III - - UTAMARO - - -I feel I scent, in facing Utamaro’s ladies, whether with no -soul or myriad souls (certainly ladies, be they courtesans or -_geishas_, who never bartered their own beauty and songs away), the -rich-soft passionate odour of rare old roses; when I say I hear the -silken-delicate summer breezes winging in the picture, I mean that the -Japanese sensuousness (is it the scent or pang of a lilac or thorn?) -makes my senses shiver at the last moment when it finally turns to -spirituality. It was our Japanese civilisation of soul, at least -in olden time under Tokugawa’s regime, not to distinguish between -sensuousness and spirituality, or to see at once the spiritual in the -sensuous; I once wrote down as follows, upon the woman drawn by lines, -or, more true to say, by the absence of lines, in snake-like litheness -of attitude, I might say more subtle than Rossetti’s Lillith, with such -eyes only opened to see love: - - “Too common to say she is the beauty of line, - However, the line old, spiritualised into odour, - (The odour soared into an everlasting ghost from life and death), - As a gossamer, the handiwork of a dream, - ’Tis left free as it flaps: - The lady of Utamaro’s art is the beauty of zephyr flow. - I say again, the line with the breath of love, - Enwrapping my heart to be a happy prey: - Sensuous? To some so she may appear, - But her sensuousness divinised into the word of love.” - -[Sidenote: THE LADY OF UTAMARO’S ART] - -Although I can enjoy and even criticise Hiroshige or Hokusai at any -time and in any place, let me tell you that I cannot do so with -Utamaro, because I must be first in the rightest mood (who says bodies -have no mood?) as when I see the living woman; to properly appreciate -his work of art I must have the fullness of my physical strength so -that my criticism is disarmed. (Criticism? Why, that is the art for -people imperfect in health, thin and tired.) I feel, let me confess, -almost physical pain—is it rather a joy?—through all my adoration in -seeing Utamaro’s women, just as when with the most beautiful women -whose beauty first wounds us; I do not think it vulgarity to say that I -feel blushing with them, because the true spiritualism would please to -be parenthesised by bodily emphasis. It is your admiration that makes -you bold; again your admiration of Utamaro’s pictures that makes them -a real part of yourself, therefore your vital question of body and -soul; and you shall never be able to think of them separately from -your personal love. When I say that we have our own life and art in his -work, I mean that all Japanese woman-beauty, love, passion, sorrow and -joy, in one word, all dreams now appear, then disappear, by the most -wonderful lines of his art. - -I will lay me down whenever I want to beautifully admire Utamaro and -spend half an hour with his lady (“To-day I am with her in silence -of twilight eve, and am afraid she may vanish into the mist”), in -the room darkened by the candle-light (it is the candle-light that -darkens rather than lights); every book or picture of Western origin -(perhaps except a few reprints from Rossetti or Whistler, which would -not break the atmosphere altogether) should be put aside. How can you -place together in the same room Utamaro’s women, for instance, with -Millet’s pictures or Carpenter’s “Towards Democracy"? The atmosphere I -want to create should be most impersonal, not touched or scarred by the -sharpness of modern individualism or personality, but eternally soft -and grey; under the soft grey atmosphere you would expect to see the -sudden swift emotion of love, pain, or joy of life, that may come any -moment or may not come at all. I always think that the impersonality or -the personality born out of the depth of impersonality was regarded in -older Japan as the highest, most virtuous art and life; now not talking -about life, but the art—Utamaro’s art, the chronicle or history of the -idealised harem or divan. How charming to talk with Utamaro on love and -beauty in the grey soft atmosphere particularly fitting to receive him -in, or to be received by him in. I would surely venture to say to him -on such a rare occasion: “You had no academy or any hall of mediocrity -in your own days to send your pictures to; that was fortunate, as you -appealed directly to the people eventually more artistic and always -just. I know that you too were once imprisoned under the accusation -of obscenity; there was the criticism also in your day which saw the -moral and the lesson, but not the beauty and the picture. When you say -how sorry you were to part with your picture when it was done, I fully -understand your artistic heart, because the picture was too much of -yourself; perhaps you confessed your own love and passion too nakedly. -I know that you must have been feeling uneasy or even afraid to be -observed or criticised too closely.” - -[Sidenote: THE ACCUSATION OF OBSCURITY] - -As a certain critic remarked, the real beauty flies away like an -angel whenever an intellect rushes in and begins to speak itself; the -intellect, if it has anything to do, certainly likes to show up itself -too much, with no consideration for the general harmony that would soon -be wounded by it. Utamaro’s art, let me dare say, is as I once wrote: - - “She is an art (let me call her so) - Hung, as a web, in the air of perfume, - Soft yet vivid, she sways in music: - (But what sadness in her saturation of life!) - Her music lives in intensity of a moment and then dies; - To her, suggestion is her life. - She is the moth-light playing on reality’s dusk, - Soon to die as a savage prey of the moment; - She is a creation of surprise (let me say so), - Dancing gold on the wire of impulse.” - -Some one might say that Utamaro’s ladies are brainless, but is it not, -as I said before, that the sacrifice of individuality or personality -makes them join at once with the great ghosts of universal beauty and -love? They are beautiful, because all the ghosts and spirits of all -the ages and humanity of Japan speak themselves through them; it is -perfectly right of him not to give any particular name to the pictures, -because they are not the reflection of only one woman, but of a hundred -and thousand women; besides, Utamaro must have been loving a little -secrecy and mystification to play with the public’s curiosity. - -[Sidenote: THE UKIYOYE WOMAN] - -We have his art; that is quite enough. What do I care about his life, -what he used to wear and eat, how long he slept and how many hours -he worked every day; in fact, what is known as his life is extremely -slight. It is said that he was a sort of hanger-on to Juzaburo Tsutaya, -the well-known publisher of his day, at the house within a stone’s -throw of Daimon or Great Gate of Yoshiwara, the Nightless City of -hired beauties and lanterns, where, the story says, Utamaro had his -nightly revel of youthful days as a fatal slave to female enchantment; -while we do not know whether he revelled there or not, we know that -as Yoshiwara of those times was the rendezvous of beauty, good looks, -and song, not all physical, but quite spiritual, we can believe that -he must have wandered there for his artistic development. Indeed there -was his great art beautifully achieved when he suddenly entered into -idealism or dream where sensuousness and spirituality find themselves -to be blood brothers or sisters. In the long history of Japanese art we -see the most interesting turn in the appearance of a new personality, -that is the Ukiyoye woman; and who was the artist who perfected them -to the art of arts? He was Utamaro. You may abuse and criticise, if -you will, their unnaturally narrow squint eyes and egg-shaped smooth -face; but from the mask his woman wears I am deliciously impressed -with the strange yet familiar, old but new, artistic personality. The -times change, and we are becoming more intellectual, as a consequence, -physically ugly; is it too sweeping or one-sided to say that? I have, -however, many reasons for my wishing to see more influence of Utamaro’s -art. - - - - - IV - - HIROSHIGE - - -The Sumida River’s blue began to calm down, like that of an old -Japanese colour-print, into the blue, I should say, of silence which -had not been mixed with another colour to make life; that blue, it -might be said, did not exist so much in the river as in my very mind, -which has lately grown, following a certain Mr. Hopper, to cry, -"Hiro—Hiro—Hiroshige the Great!” The time was late afternoon of one day -in last April; the little boat which carried a few souls like mine, -who, greatly troubled by the modern life, were eager to gain the true -sense of perspective towards Nature, glided down as it finished the -regular course of the “Cherry-blossom viewing at Mukojima.” And my mind -entered slowly into a picture of my own creation—nay, Hiroshige’s. -“Look at the view from here. (I was thinking of Hiroshige’s Sumidagawa -Hanasakari among his Yedo pictures.) It may be too late now to agree -with Wilde when he said that Nature imitates Art,” I said to my friend. -He saw at once my meaning, though not clearly, and expanded on how -artistically the human mind has been advancing lately; and I endorsed -him with the fact that I have come to see, for some long time, the -Japanese scenery through Hiroshige’s eye. My friend exclaimed: “Is -it not the same thing, when you think Nature imitates Art, that your -mind itself imitates the Art first?” It is not written in any book -how much Hiroshige was appreciated in his day; but I believe I am not -wrong to say that he is now reaching the height of popularity in both -the East and the West, of popularity in the real sense, and you will -easily understand me when I say that he is the artist of the future in -the same sense that I disbelieve in the birth register of Turner and -Whistler. He is, in truth, greatly in advance, even if I fancy he is -an artist of the present day, your contemporary and mine; I always go -to him to find where Nature is pleased to put her own emphasis. Every -picture of his I see seems to be a new one always; and the last is -ever so surprising as to leave my mind incapable for the time being of -apprehension of his other pictures. One picture of his is enough; there -is the proof of his artistic greatness. - -[Sidenote: NATURE IN HER EMPHASIS] - -We did not know until recently what meant the words realism and -idealism (should we thank the Western critics?) except this: “The -artist, whatever he be, idealist or realist or what not, is good when -he is true to his art. I mean that technique or method of expression -is secondary; even the seeming realistic picture of Oriental art is, -when it is splendid, always subjective.” I have many reasons to call -Hiroshige an idealist or subjective artist, now playing an arbitrary -art of criticism after the Western fashion, as I only see his artistic -wisdom, but nothing else in his being true to Nature; that wisdom, I -admit, helped his art to a great measure, but what I admire in him -is the indefinable quality which, as I have no better word, I will -call atmosphere or pictorial personality. It seems that he learned -the secret from Chinese landscape art how to avoid femininity and -confusion; the difference between his art and that of the Chinese -artist is that where the one drew a _bonseki_, or tray-landscape, -with sand from memory, the latter made a mirage in the sky. When -Hiroshige fails he reminds me of Emerson’s words of suggestion to look -at Nature upside down through your legs; his success, as that of the -Chinese artist, is poetry. And our Oriental poetry is no other kind -but subjectivity. I have right here before me the picture called “Awa -no Naruto,” which is more often credited to be the work of the second -Hiroshige; now let me, for once and all, settle the question that there -were many Hiroshiges. It is my opinion there was only one Hiroshige; -I say this because in old Japan (a hundred times more artistic than -present Japan) the individual personality was not recognised, and -when an artist adopted the name of Hiroshige by merit and general -consent, it meant that he grew at once incarnated with it; what use is -there to talk about its second or third? I prefer to regard Hiroshige -as the title of artistic merit since it has ceased in fact to be -an individuality; indeed, where is the other artist, East or West, -whose life-story is so little known as Hiroshige’s? And I see so many -pictures which, while bearing his signature, I cannot call his work, -because I see them so much below the Hiroshige merit—for instance, -the whole upright series of Tokaido and Yedo, and so many pictures of -the “Noted Places in the Provinces of Japan"—because they are merely -prose, and even as prose they often fail. But to return to this “Awa -no Naruto,” a piece of poem in picture, where the whirlpools of the -strait, large and small, now rising and then falling in perfect rhythm, -are drawn suggestively but none the less distinctly. I see in it not -only the natural phenomenon of the Awa Strait, but also the symbolism -of life’s rise and fall, success and defeat; I was thinking for some -time that I shall write a poem on it, although I could not realise it -yet. - -[Sidenote: HIROSHIGE THE CHINESE POET] - -I have my own meaning when I call Hiroshige the Chinese poet. Upon -my little desk here I see an old book of Chinese prosody; there is -a popular Chinese verse, Hichigon Zekku, or Four Lines with Seven -Words in Each, which is almost as rigid as the English sonnet; and the -theory of the sonnet can be applied to that Hichigon Zekku without any -modification. We generally attach an importance to the third line, -calling it the line “for change,” and the fourth is the conclusion; the -first line is, of course, the commencing of the subject, and the second -is “to receive and develop.” It seems that Hiroshige’s good pictures -very well pass this test of Hichigon Yekku qualification. Let me pick -out the pictures at random to prove my words. Here is the “Bright Sky -after Storm at Awazu,” one of the series called Eight Views of the -Lake Biwa; in it the white sails ready to hoist in the fair breeze -might be the “change” of the versification. That picture was commenced -and developed with the trees and rising hills by the lake, and the -conclusion is the sails now visible and then invisible far away. Now -take the picture of a rainstorm on the Tokaido. Two peasants under a -half-opened paper umbrella, and the _Kago_-bearers naked and hasty, are -the “third line” of the picture; the drenched bamboo dipping all one -way and the cottage roofs shivering under the threat of Nature would be -the first and second lines, while this picture-poem concludes itself -with the sound of the harsh oblique fall of rain upon the ground. You -will see that Hiroshige’s good pictures have always such a theory of -composition; and he gained it, I think, from the Chinese prosody. In -the East, more than in the West, art is allied to verse-making. - -[Sidenote: THE FAREWELL VERSE] - -When we consider the fact he was the artist of only fifty years ago, it -is strange why we cannot know more of his own life story, and how he -happened to leave the words that generally pass as a farewell verse as -follows:— - -“I leave my brush at Azuma, and go on the journey to the Holy West to -view the famous scenery there.” - -I cannot accept it innocently, and I even doubt its origin, as it is -more prosaic than poetical. It is only that he followed after a fashion -of his day if he left it, as the verse is poor and at best humorous. -But when it is taken by the English seriousness, the words have another -effect. Indeed, Hiroshige has had quite an evolution since he was -discovered in the West; he is, in truth, more an English or European -artist than a Japanese in the present understanding. - - - - - V - - GAHO HASHIMOTO - - -[Sidenote: _KOKOROMOCHI_ IN PICTURE] - -The art of Gaho (Hashimoto’s _nom-de-plume_, signifying the “Kingdom -Refined”) is not to discard form and detail, as is often the case -with the artists of the “Japanese school,” while they soar into the -grey-tinted vision of tone and atmosphere. His conventionalism—remember -that he started his artist’s life as a student of the Kano school, -whose absurd classicism, arresting the germ of development, invited -its own ruin—was not an enemy for him by any means. With the magic of -his own alchemy he turned it into a transcendental beauty, bearing the -dignity of artistic authority. I am sure he must have been glad to -have the conventionalism for his magic to work on afterward; and when -he left it, it seems to me, he looked back to it with a reminiscence -of sad longing. Conventionalism is not bad when it does not dazzle. To -make it suggestive is an achievement. To speak of Gaho’s individuality -in his pictures does no justice to him. His thought and conception -are the highest, and at the least different from many another artist -in the West. It is not his aim at all to express the light and colour -of his individuality. I believe that he even despised it. He had -the volumes of the Oriental philosophy in himself; and his idea, I -believe, was much influenced by the Zen sect Buddhism, whose finality -in teaching is to forget your ego. Gaho often talked on _Kokoromochi_ -in picture, to use his favourite expression, which, I am sure, means -more than “spirit.” “Now what is it?” he was frequently asked. “Is -it in its nature subjective or objective? Or is it something like a -combination of the two?” He was never explanatory in speech in his -life. He thought, as a Zen priest, that silence was the best answer. -Let me explain his _Kokoromochi_ in picture by my understanding. - -It is life or vital breath of the objective character, which is -painted by one who has no stain of eye or subjectivity. To lose your -subjectivity against the canvas, or, I will say, here in Japan, the -silk, is the first and last thing. And the perfect assimilation -with the object which you are going to paint would be the way of -emancipation. You have to understand that you are called out by a -divine voice only to be a medium, but nothing else. I am afraid that -the phrase, “Let Nature herself speak,” has been over-used. However, -it is peculiarly true in Gaho’s case. I think Gaho thought that to -flash the rays of his individuality in his picture was nothing but a -blasphemy against Nature. In that respect he is the humblest artist, -and at the same time his humility is his own pride. Indeed, it is only -through humility you are admitted to step into the inner shrine of -Nature. Art for Gaho was not the matter of a piece of silk and Chinese -ink, but a sacred thing. And to be an artist is a life’s greatest -triumph, and I am sure that Gaho was that. - -I have been for some long time suspecting the nature of development -of artistic appreciation of the Western mind, when only Hokusai’s -and Hiroshige’s pictures, let me say, of red and green in tone of -conception, called its special attention, and I even thought that our -Japanese art, with the silence of blue and grey, would be perfectly -beyond its power of reach. When Nature soars higher, she turns at once -to the depth of dreams, whose voice is silence. To express the grey -stillness of atmosphere and tone is the highest art, at least, to the -Japanese mind. Not only in the picture, but in the “tea house” or -incense ceremony, or in the garden, the appreciation of silence is the -highest æsthetics. It gives you a strong but never abrupt thrill of the -delight which is nobly touched by the hands of sadness, and lets you -lose yourself in it, and slowly grasp something you may be glad to call -ideal. And the same sensation you can entertain from Gaho’s art, which -you might think to be reminiscent of a certain artistic paradise or -Horai, the blest—one of his favourite subjects—enwrapped in silent air. -You may call it idealism if you will, but it was nothing for him but -the realisation. While you think it was his fancy, he saw it with his -own naked eyes. It is true that he had been delivered from idealism. -And I should say that dream, too, is not less real than you and I. - -[Sidenote: NOTHING BUT THE REALISATION] - -He never jars you. His art is a grey ghost of melody born from the -bosom of depth and distance, like a far-off mountain. And it gives -you a thrill of large space that binds you with eternity, and you -will understand that what you call reality is nothing but a shiver of -impulse of great Nature. His art, indeed, is the highest art of Japan, -which, I believe, will be also the highest art of the West. It quite -often stirs me with a Western suggestion, which, however, springs from -the soil of his own bosom. I know that there is a meeting-point of the -East and West, and that, after all, they are the same thing. He found -the secret of art, which will remind any highly developed mind of both -the East and West of some memory, and let it feel something like an -emotion and fly into a higher realm of beauty. (Gaho’s beauty is the -beauty of silence.) It goes without saying that his art is simple, and -his vision not complex. However, it is not only an Oriental philosophy -to say that the greatest simplicity is the greatest complexity, and I -will say that Gaho holds both extremes. The elements of his art embrace -something older than art, larger than life, something which inspires -you with the sense of profundity. They give us strange and positive -pulses of age and nature, and the sudden rapture of dream, for which -we will gladly die. They give us the feeling of peace and silence, and -suggest something which we wish to grasp. The delight we gain from Gaho -is purely spiritual. His pictures are living as a ghost which vanishes -and again appears. - -His conception of Buddhism was not sad, although this religion is -generally said to be a pessimism, but joyous and sympathetic. I am -sure that to associate Buddhism with something of grief and tears -is not a proper understanding at all. (See Gaho’s pictures of the -Buddha and _Rakans_, the Buddha disciples. They do not inspire any -awfulness.) Tenderness and joy, with a touch of sorrow, which is -poetry, are the road toward the Nirvana. For Gaho, silence meant the -highest state of peacefulness. The sad joy, which is the highest joy, -is an evolution which never breaks the euphony of life, while tears and -grief are rebellious. His art inspires in us a great reverence, which -is religious, and it is always justified. And it reveals a light of -faith under which he was born as an artist, and he was glad to fulfil -his appointed work. Then his aspiration is never an accident, but the -force which he cherished and has made grow. - -[Sidenote: GAHO’S THREE PERIODS] - -Gaho’s life of seventy-five years, which had closed in the month of -January, 1907, can be divided into three periods. The first is that in -which he was engaged in the pursuit of the ancient method by copying -the models after the fashion of the Kano school; the second was that in -which he slowly broke loose from the trammels of the Kano school, and -ventured out to make a thorough exploration of the conspicuous features -of various other schools; and the final was that in which he revealed -himself nobly, with all the essence of art which he had earned from his -tireless journey of previous days. In one word, he was the sum total -of the best Japanese art. It is said that his long life was but one -long day of study and work. He shut himself in his silent studio from -early morning till evening, from evening till midnight, sitting before -a piece of spread silk, with a Chinese brush in hand, as if before a -Buddhistic altar where the holy candles burn. Now his research went -deep in the Chinese schools of the ages of Sung, Yuen, and Ming, and -then his thoughts lingered by the glimmer of the Higashiyama school’s -reminiscences. He confessed that he received no small influence from -the Korin school, and I have more than one reason to believe that his -knowledge of the Western art also was considerable. His catholicity of -taste severely discriminated them, and his philosophy or conception of -art stood magnificently above them, and never allowed them to disturb -it under any circumstances. His great personality made him able to sing -the song of triumph over his boundless artistic knowledge which had -no power to oppress him. You might call his art a work of inspiration -if you wish; but I am sure that he hated the word inspiration. It was -through the religious exaltation of his mind that he could combine -himself with Nature, and he and the subject which he was going to -paint were perfectly one when the picture was done. His artist’s magic -is in his handling of lines. He believed that Japanese painting was -fundamentally one of lines. What a charm, what a variety he had with -them! See the difference between the lines he used for the pictures -of a tiger or a dragon in clouds, the Oriental symbol of power and -exaltation, and a bird or other delicate subject. The lines themselves -are the pictures. However, that does not mean to undervalue his equal -pre-eminence in his art of colour. - -[Sidenote: HIS FOUR YEARS OF PUPILAGE] - -Gaho—or Gaho Hashimoto—was born in the fifth year of Tempo (1832) at -Kobikicho, in Yedo, now Tokyo. From his seventh year he was taught how -to draw and paint; at thirteen he became for the first time a pupil -of Shosen Kano. It is said that Gaho was from an artistic family; we -can trace back to Yeiki Hashimoto, who lived some time in the Meiwa -(1764), and from whom the family line has continued unbroken down to -the present. Yeiki was originally a native of Kyoto; and there he -happened to be known to Suwonokami Matsudaira, the Shogun’s minister, -who took him into his service; and on the lordship’s return to Yedo -Mr. Hashimoto accompanied his master. And he happened to settle -at Kobikicho, where the Kano family lived, and soon gained Kano’s -friendship. Since that time the family line was continued by Ikyo, -Itei, and Yoho. Gaho was Yoho’s son. The year after he became a student -of the Kano school he lost his father and also his mother. It is said -to be extraordinary that he was called upon to act, after only four -years of pupilage, as an assistant to his master Shosen in painting -personal figures on the cedar door of the Shogun palace. At twenty -years of age he was made head pupil. When he married he was twenty-six -years old, and he began to lead his independent life, which turned -tragic immediately. While the problem of getting his subsistence was -not easy, his wife, whom he married with hope, became insane. - -Mrs. Hashimoto was obliged to withdraw to the Higuchi village in -Saitama prefecture, where was an estate of her husband’s master, to -avoid danger in the city; but she grew worse, and ran mad. And it -is said that such a sad turn was from the reason that she was often -tormented by some country ruffians. She was soon taken back to the -city again, where she was put under her husband’s sole protection. -Thus, when poor Gaho’s mind was completely engrossed with his family -trouble, the great restoration of Meiji (1866) was announced, and the -feudalism which had prospered for some three hundred years fell to the -ground. Whole Japan was thrown at once in the abyss of social tumult -and change; under the speedily felt foreign invasion she lost herself -entirely. What she did was to destroy old Japan; she thought it proper -and even wise. It was the darkest age for art; when people did not -know of the safety of their own existence, it goes without saying that -they had no time to admire art and spend money for it. It is perfectly -miraculous to think how the artists managed to live; there are, of -course, many heart-rending stories about them. - -[Sidenote: TWENTY SEN FOR HIS THREE DAYS] - -Gaho’s is sad enough, although it may not be saddest of all. He gave up -his own painting temporarily, and tried to get a pittance by painting -pictures on folding fans which were meant for exportation to China. -And it is said that he was often scorned by his employer for his -clumsy execution and, sadder still, he was told to leave his job. Is -it Heaven’s right to treat one who was destined to be a great artist -like that? He now resorted to a manual work of linking metal rings -for making a sort of net-work; this chain-work, when finished, it is -said, was made into something to be worn as an undergarment. Then he -turned to take up the handicraft of making “koma,” or bridges (a kind -of small wooden or bamboo pillow inserted between the body of a musical -instrument and its strings), of the _shamisen_, a Japanese guitar; and -he was paid, I am told, one sen for a single piece of that koma, and -to make twenty it took him three days. Fancy his earning of twenty -sen for his steady work of three days! To recollect it in his later -days must have been for him the source of tears. And fancy again his -immense wealth when he died, the wealth which, not his greed, but his -single-minded devotion to art invited! In fact, there was no person -so unconcerned of money as this Gaho. It was his greatness to believe -amid the sudden falling of art that the Japanese art which had grown -from the very soil a thousand years old could not die so easily, and -that the people’s mind would open to it in a better condition; it was -his prophetic foresight to behold the morning light in the midnight -star. He was patiently waiting for his time when he should rise with -splendour; and he never left himself to be ruined among the sad whirl -of society and the nation’s unsympathetic commotion. He walked slowly -but steadily toward the star upon which he set his lofty eyes. He -stood aloof above the age. His life, not only in his art, was the song -of triumph too. - -To his relief, his insane wife died; and his appointment as a -draughtsman at the Imperial Naval Academy meant for him a substantial -help. He kept it up till the eighteenth year of Meiji, when the revival -of Japanese art began to be chronicled, as Gaho expected, in the -formation of art societies like the Kanga Kwai or Ryuchi Kwai. When he -left the Naval Academy he was called to do service at the Investigation -Bureau of Drawing and Painting in the Department of Education. His -fellow-workers were the most lamented Hogai Kano, another great artist -of modern Japan, and the late Mr. Okakura, that able art critic, in -whose guidance Kano trusted. And those three men at the start are the -true life-restorers of Japanese art. When the Tokyo School of Art -was founded (22nd year of Meiji), Gaho was first made warden of the -school, and then its director. And he was appointed professor when his -investigation bureau happened to close up. However, he voluntarily -resigned his professorship when Mr. Okakura, then the president of the -school, was obliged to resign his office. Gaho took the principal’s -chair of the Nippon Bijitsu when Okakura established it afterwards; but -this school soon became a story of the past. - -[Sidenote: GAHO’S SUCCESSORS] - -Gaho has left his successors perhaps in those artists like Kwanzan -Shimomura, Taikwan Yokoyama, Kogetsu Saigo and others, who are doing -some noteworthy work. And I believe that he died at the right time if -he must. - - - - - VI - - KYOSAI - - -[Sidenote: THE WINE AND ARTISTS’ MINDS] -[Sidenote: THE ILLUSTRATED AUTOBIOGRAPHY] - -I acknowledged my friend’s characterisation, after some reluctance, of -our Kyosai Kawanabe as a Japanese Phil May; as the artist of _Punch_ -has often received the appellation of an English Hokusai, I do not -see much harm, speaking generally, in thus falling into the feminine -foible of comparison-making. Putting aside the question of the material -achievement in art of those artists of the East and West, in truth so -different (Kyosai surpassing the other, let me say, in variety), one -will soon see that their innermost artistic characters are closely -related; their seeming difference is the difference of education and -circumstances from which even their original minds could hardly escape. -I do not know much of the bacchanalianism of Phil May, but I know -well enough that its sway is not so expansive in England as in Japan, -at least old Japan, where the fantastic artists like Kyosai revelled -around the ghosts they created in the sweet cup of _saké_. When we see -Kyosai writing in front of his name the epithet Shojo, applied to the -half-human red-haired bacchanals of Chinese legend, we might say he -betrayed, beside his full-faced confession of the love of the cup, the -fact of his natural attachment to Toba Sojo, that apostle of humour, -whose pictorial wantonness may have given him many a hint; indeed he -might have, like Phil May, adorned the pages of _Punch_, although -many an admirer of his, like Josiah Conder in _Paintings and Studies -by Kyosai Kawanabe_, a sumptuous book on the artist containing the -representative work of his last eight years, sees only the serious side -of his work. And when he changed the Chinese character of his name from -that of “dawn” to that of “madness,” I think that he was laughing, at -his own expense, over the lawless excitement he most comically acted -when the excess of wine deceived him away from the imaginative path of -inspiration, while, like Hokusai in the well-known epithet Gwakyo Rojin -or Old Man Crazy at Painting, he sanctified to himself his own craze -for painting. It is an interesting psychological study to speculate -on the possible relation between the Japanese wine and our artists’ -minds; I think it was a superstition or faith, I might say, founded -on tradition, that they called the wine an invoker of inspiration, -as I see the fact to-day that many of them find the divine breath in -something else. However, I am thankful to the Japanese liquid with its -golden flash, if it really acted as the medium through which Kyosai’s -many pictures came into existence, while his many other works, for -instance the frontispiece woodcut of Professor Conder’s Kyosai book, -the elaborate picture of a Japanese beauty of the eleventh century, -or the famous courtesan, Jigoku-dayu, in company with a demon, also -the highly finished work owned by Mrs. William Anderson, or the other -pictures I have seen more or less by accident, prove that he can be -an equally splendid artist in a different direction while in perfect -sobriety. He was born in the year 1831, that is about thirty years, -roughly speaking, before the fall of the Tokugawa feudalism, when the -age was fast decaying into loose morality and _saké_-drinking; and -when he became a man, he found that the art’s dignity under whose kind -shadow he had studied as a student of Tohaku Kano, the leading artist -of that famous Kano family in those days, had fallen flat, and that -his ability made no satisfactory impression on people who had likely -forgotten their artistic appreciation in the tumult of the Restoration; -and I think it was natural enough for Kyosai to call upon the wine, as -we say here, to sweep away the grievance, and to invoke, through it, a -divine influence upon his art. And it is the old Japanese way to speak -of wine-drinking and general revel with innocent gusto, as I find in -_Kyosai Gwaden_, an illustrated autobiography here and there humorously -exaggerated but none the less sincere, from which all the writers on -Kyosai, Professor Conder included, draw the materials of his life; -he is often in danger of being criticised for his self-advertising -audacity, this artist of fine madness. He often reminds me of Hokusai, -not so much in his artistic expression as in temperament. The books, I -mean _Kyosai Gwaden_, cannot be said, I think, to be more interesting -in text than the pictures themselves; these are a series of off-hand -sketches showing the actual scenes of his arrest and imprisonment, the -story of which Professor Conder’s English propriety excluded, although -it seems perfectly harmless as it was, on his part, merely the conduct -arising out of merriment from excess of wine; beside, his sketches show -us the sickening gloominess of prison life in those days when one’s -freedom and right were denied rather than protected. Kyosai drank most -terribly at a party held at a restaurant in Uyeno Park; he made on -the spot the caricatures—while overhearing the talk of a foreigner on -horseback who, being asked by a tea-house maid at Oji if he came alone, -replied that he came accompanied by “a pair of fools"—in which he drew -the picture of two people tying the shoe-strings of one man with the -longest legs, and also the picture of men of the longest arms pulling -out the hairs of Daibutsu’s nostrils. The authorities, though it is not -clear how the matter came to their knowledge, stepped into the place -and arrested him on the ground of insulting the officials; we must be -thankful for the “enlightenment” of to-day when nobody would possibly -get, as Kyosai got in 1870, ninety days in the cell from such pictures. -The real meaning of Kyosai’s impromptu in art is rather vague; but it -is in my mind a satirical love to understand them as a huge laughter -over Japan’s slavishness to the West. And I often wonder if they are -not caricatures which could be used to-day. Where is another Kyosai -who could raise such a striking brush of scorn and sneer as to startle -authority? - -[Sidenote: THE PROUD PLEBEIANISM] - -Kyosai used to absorb his spare time, while a young student at Kano’s -atelier, in the study of the _No_ drama—out of natural love, I believe, -combined with zeal to find an artistic secret in its heterogeneity, -unlike the other students who sought their outside amusement nightly -in popular halls of music and song; and it was an elderly lady of the -Kano family who encouraged him by furnishing funds for teacher and -costumes, being impressed, as a _No_ admirer herself, by the young -man’s noble intention. It seems that Kyosai had not been able to fulfil -the old lady’s desire to see him in one of her favourite pieces called -_Sambaso_, whether from his imperfect mastering of it then or from some -other reason, when she suddenly fell ill and died; doubtless, Kyosai -took the matter to his heart of hearts. It was on the day of her third -anniversary that he gathered all the musician accompanists of flute -and drum before her lonely grave at Uyeno, and he, of course in the -full costume of the character, performed the whole piece of the said -_Sambaso_. Fancy the scene in the graveyard damp with mosses, dark with -the falling foliage; and the actor is no other but fantastic Kyosai. -Where could be found a more gruesome sight than that? This story among -others we find in _Kyosai Gwaden_ is most characteristic in that no -other artist of the long Japanese history, perhaps with the possible -exception of Hokusai, could make it fit for himself; the story reveals -Kyosai’s honesty almost to a fault, that sounds at once childish or -madman-like, a temperament, unlike that of Southern Japan of female -refinement and voluptuousness, which only the proud plebeianism of the -Yedo civilisation (what an ultra-European imbecility of present Tokyo!) -could create, the temperament, uncompromising, most difficult to be -neutral. If we call Icho Hanabusa the most proper representative of old -Yedo’s Genroku Age, the time when people found spirituality through -the consecration of materialism, I think we can well call Kyosai the -representative of the later Tokugawa Age (although his life extended a -good many years into the present Meiji era) which, again like his own -art, fell with the abruptness of an oak-tree. I have some reason when I -beg your attention to the above characteristic story of Kyosai. - -The love of the _No_ drama, the classic of lyrical fascination -exclusively patronised by nobles and people of taste, would never be -taken as strange in Kyosai who stayed sixteen long years with that -master of the old Kano art, Tohaku Kano, till he parted from it in his -twenty-seventh year perhaps for an art wider and truer, or, let me say, -to find his own artistic soul all by his own impulse and strength; and -when we see what attachment, even reverence, he had, during his whole -life, toward the name of Toiku given him by the old master, the name -we find in _Kyosai Gwaden_ and other books, we can safely say that his -classic passion in general must have been quite strong. The question -is where his plebeianism could find room to rise and fall. That is the -point where, not only in his art, also in his personality, he showed in -spite of himself a tragi-comic oddity, mainly from the rupture between -the two extremes of temperament. I am told by his personal friend who -survives to-day that he was rather pleased to shock and frighten the -most polite society which reverently congregated in the silent house -of the _No_ drama, to begin with, by his informal dress only suitable -for the street shopkeeper or mechanic, then with his occasional shout -of praise over the beautiful turn of the acting, in a voice touched -with vulgar audacity; he exclaimed, “Umei!” Yedo slang for “splendid,” -which was at least unusual for a _No_ appreciator. Nobody seemed, I am -told, to criticise him when his good old heart was well recognised. -So in his own art. I can point out, even from Professor Conder’s -collection alone, many a specimen where the aristocratic aloofness of -air is often blurred by his plebeianism—for example in the pictures of -“Daruma,” “The Goddess Kwannon on a Dragon,” “Carp swimming in a Lake,” -and others; the meaning I wish to impress on your mind will become -clear directly when you compare them with the work of Sesshu, Motonobu, -and Okyo on similar subjects. And again I have enough confidence to -say that his elaborate pictures of red and green, after the Ukiyoye -school, were more often weakened by the classic mist; although he -did not wish to be looked upon as of that school, I think it was the -main reason that he rather failed as an Ukiyoye artist. I endorse my -friend to whom I praised and abused Kyosai lately only to get his true -estimation, when he declared that Kyosai could not become one of the -greatest artists of Japan simply from his inability to sacrifice his -versatility; that versatility was the kind we can only find in Hokusai. -He was the most distinguished example of one who failed, if he failed, -from excess of artistic power and impulse. - -[Sidenote: WEAKENED BY THE CLASSIC MIST] - -Any one who sees _Kyosai Gwaden_ will certainly be astonished by his -extraordinary persistence of study displayed in the first two volumes, -in which he shows encyclopedically the delicate shades of variety of -nearly all Japanese artists acknowledged great, from Kanaoka down to -Kuniyoshi, also specimens of Chinese masters inserted at intervals. -When I say that his artistic study was thorough even in the modern -sense, I mean he always went straight to Nature and reality to fulfil -what the pictures of old masters failed to tell him. _Kyosai Gwaden_ -tells, as an early adventure in Nature study, how he hid in a cupboard -a human head which he picked up from a swollen river and horrified -the family with his attempt to sketch it in his ninth year; when fire -broke out and swept away even his own house, he became an object of -condemnation, as he acted as if it were the affair of somebody else, -and was seen serenely sketching the sudden clamour of the fire scene. -The books contain somewhere a page or two of unusually amusing sketches -of his students at work on different living objects, from a frog and -turtle to cocks and fishes; Kyosai’s love of fun in exaggeration -(indeed exaggeration is one of the traits conspicuous even in his most -serious work) again is seen in the sketches, when he made a monkey -play at gymnastics and pull the hair of the earnest student with the -brush. I often ask myself the question of the real merit of realism -in our Japanese art, and further the question how much Kyosai gained -from his realistic accuracy; I wonder what artistic meaning there is, -for instance, when people, even acknowledged critics, speak with much -admiration of the anatomical exactness of those skeletons fantastically -dancing to the ghost’s music in that famous Jigoku-dayu picture. Let -me ask again what the picture would lose, supposing, for instance, the -most whimsical dancers around the courtesan’s gorgeous robe had two or -three joints of bone missing; is not Kyosai’s realistic minuteness, -which the artist was perhaps proud of displaying, in truth, rather a -small subordinate part in his pictures? He was already in the present -age, many years before his death, when many a weak artistic mind of -Japan only received, from the Western art, confusion and reasoning, but -not strength and passion. Now let me ask you: was it Kyosai’s artistic -greatness to accept the Western science of art? - -[Sidenote: THE REALISTIC MINUTENESS] - -He was never original in the absolute understanding as Sesshu, Korin, -in a lesser degree Harunobu and Hokusai were; it might be that he -was born too late in the age, or is it more true to say that his -astonishing knowledge of the old Japanese art acted to hold him back -from striking out an original line? Education often makes one a coward. -When I say that he was himself the sum total of all Japanese art, I do -not mean to undervalue him, but rather to do justice to his versatility -and the swing of his power. And it was his personality, unique and -undefinable, that made his borrowing such an impression as we feel it -in fact in his work. After all, he has to be judged, in my opinion, as -an artist of technique. - -I do not know what picture of his the Victoria and Albert Museum and -the British Museum have, except a few reproductions in books, which -impressed me as poor examples. It is not too much to say that Professor -Conder’s Kyosai book is the first and may be the last; there is no more -fit man than he, who as Kyosai’s student knew him personally during the -last eight years of his life. The book contains some good specimens -which belong to that period; but what I most wish to see, are the -pictures he produced in his earlier age. He is one of the artists who -will gain much from selection; who will ever publish a book of twenty -or thirty best pieces of his life’s production? - - - - - VII - - THE LAST MASTER OF THE UKIYOYE ART - - -Yoshitoshi Tsukioka, as Kuniyoshi’s home student of high talent in his -younger days, it is said, had a key to the storehouse entrusted to -his care, where Kuniyoshi treasured foreign colour-prints of saints -or devils strayed from a Dutch ship, Heaven’s gift most rare in those -days, which made him pause a little and think about a fresh turn for -his work. When we know that vulgarity always attracts us first and -most, provided it is new to us, we cannot blame Yoshitoshi much when -he reproduced in his work, indeed, stealing a march on his master, -an immediate response to the Western art, whose secret he thought he -could solve through varnishing. Doubtless it was no small discovery -for Yoshitoshi. And the general public were equally simple when -“Kwaidai Hyaku Senso,” his first attempt after the new departure, quite -impressive as he thought, was well received by them; when he went too -far in this foreign imitation through his little knowledge, as in his -“Battle at Uyeno,” he varnished the whole picture. We have another -instance that time is, after all, the best judge, as we know that -those pictures of Yoshitoshi’s early days, when he had not yet found -his own art, are most peacefully buried under the blessed oblivion and -heavy dusts to-day. You cannot make an art only by wisdom and prayer, -and it is better to commit youthful sin when one must, like Yoshitoshi, -with his period of foreign imitation, since his later work would become -intensified, chastened, and better balanced by his repentance. - -[Sidenote: THE SUCCESS OF FAILURE] - -To speak most strictly, Kuniyoshi should be called the last master -of the Ukiyoye school, this interesting branch of Japanese art -interpreting the love and romance of the populace, peculiarly developed -through the general hatred of the aristocratic people; but I have -reason to call Yoshitoshi Tsukioka the very last master of that school, -in the same sense that we call Danjuro or Kikugoro the last actors, -not less by the fact of the age, already heterogeneous, naturally -weakened for holding up the old Japanese purity, against which he -struggled hard to find an artistic compromise, than by his own gift. -I have often thought that, if he had been born earlier, he might have -proved himself another Hokusai, or, better still, if the time were -still earlier, when love and sensuality were the same word in peace and -prosperity, he would not have been much below Utamaro. If he failed, as -indeed he failed, now, looking back from to-day, it was the failure of -his age. Although it may sound paradoxical, I am pleased to say that -his failure was his success, because I see his undaunted versatility -glorified through his failure; he helps, more than any other artist, -the historian of Japanese art to study the age psychologically—in fact, -he serves him more than Hokusai or Utamaro. He is an interesting study, -as I said before, as the last master, indeed, as much so as Moronobu -Hishikawa as the recognised first master. I say Yoshitoshi failed, but -I do not mean that he was a so-called failure in his lifetime; on the -contrary, he was one of the most popular artists of modern Japan—at -least, in the age of his maturity; what I should like to say is that -the artistic success of one age does never mean the success of another -age, and Yoshitoshi’s success is, let me say, the success of failure -when we now look back upon it. I can distinctly remember even to-day -my great disappointment, now almost twenty-five years ago, as a most -ardent admirer of Yoshitoshi, when, appearing before the publisher’s -house as early as seven o’clock the morning after I had read the -announcement of his new picture of a dancer, I was told that the entire -set of copies was exhausted; his popularity was something great in my -boyhood’s days. It was in 1875 that he first took the public by storm -with his three sheets of pictures called “Ichi Harano,” an historical -thing which showed Yasumasa, a court noble, playing a bamboo flute -under the moonlight, perfectly unconscious of a highwayman, Hakama -Dare by name, following him, stepping softly upon the autumn grasses, -ready to stab the noble with his sword. The popularity of this picture -was heightened by the fact that Danjuro, the greatest tragedian of -the modern Japanese stage, wanted to reproduce the pictorial effect -in a play, and have Shinsuke Kawatake write up one special scene to -do honour to Yoshitoshi, under the title “Ichi Harano, by Yoshitoshi, -Powerful with his Brush.” It was a great honour indeed, such as no -artist to-day could expect to receive. We have many occasions, on the -other hand, when Yoshitoshi served the actors and his bosom friends, -Danjuro and Kikugoro, to popularise their art. Since the day of the -First Toyokuni, it had been the custom for the artists of this popular -school to work together with the stage artists. - -[Sidenote: THE CARVER AND PRINTER] - -Yoshitoshi brought out the series of three called “Snow, Moon, and -Flower,” two of them commemorating Danjuro in his well-known rôle -of Kuyemon Kezuri, and one Kikugoro in Seigen, whose holy life of -priesthood was disturbed by love beyond hope. Although I hesitate to -say they are the best specimens—yes, they are in their own way—they -have few companions in the long Ukiyoye annals as theatrical posters, -for which exaggeration should not be much blamed. The striking point -of emphasis in design, hitting well the artistic work, make them -worthy. I have them right before me while writing this brief note on -Yoshitoshi. I recall what I heard about the Kezuri picture; it is said -that the artist spent fully three days to draw this “hundred-days -wig,” to use the theatrical phrase. What an astonishing wig that rôle -had to wear. And what painstaking execution of the artist; and again -what wonderful dexterity of the Japanese carver and printer. At the -time when these pictures were produced it is not too much to say that -the arts of carving and printing had reached the highest possible -point—that is to say, they had already begun to fall. I am pleased to -attach a special value to them as the past pieces which well combined -those three arts. By the way, the name of the carver of those pictures -is Wadayu. Now, returning to Yoshitoshi and his actors-friends. The -former was always regarded by the latter as an artistic adviser whose -words were observed as law; Yoshitoshi was the first person Danjuro -used to look up when in trouble with the matter of theatrical design -in dress. I have often heard how the artist helped Kikugoro. This -eminent actor once had a great problem how to appear as Shini Gami, -or the Spirit of Death, in the play called _Kaga Zobi_, and asked -Yoshitoshi for a suggestion; and it is said that a rough sketch he drew -at once enlightened Kikugoro’s bewildered mind, and, as a result, -he immortalised the rôle. It was the age when realism, of course, in -more vague, doubtful meaning than the present usage, had completely -conquered the stage, the old idealistic stage art having fallen off -the pedestal. Certainly Danjuro, the first of all to be absorbed in -that realism which prevailed here twenty or twenty-five years ago, -did never serve the stage art for advancement, but, on the contrary, -it was the realism, if anything, that cheapened, trivialised, and -vulgarised the time-honoured Japanese art; but it seemed that there -was nobody to see that point of wisdom. It is ridiculous to know how -Danjuro insisted, as Tomonori, in the play of _Sembon Sakura_, that -the blood upon his armour should be painted as real as possible, and -troubled the great artistic brush of Yoshitoshi on each occasion -during the whole run of the play; but how serious the actor was in his -thought and determination! Again that realism was the main cause why -Yoshitoshi’s art failed to compete with the earlier Ukiyoye artists -like Shunsho, Utamaro, and even Hokusai; it was an art borrowed from -the West doubtless, when I observe how Yoshitoshi, unlike the earlier -artists, was delighted to use the straight, forceful lines as the -modern Western illustrators; the picture called “Daimatsuro” is a fit -example in which he carried out that tendency or mannerism with most -versatility. I daresay that his pictures, whether of historical heroes -or professional beauties, which were least affected by the so-called -realism or Western perspectives and observed carefully the old Ukiyoye -canons, limiting themselves in the most artistic shyness, would be only -prized as adorning his name as the last master; for the ninety per -cent. we have no grief for their hastening into blessed dusts. I have -in my collection the three-sheet picture called “Imayo Genji,” showing -the view of Chigoga Fuchi at Yenoshima, with the romantic posture of -four naked fisherwomen, which is dated very early in Yoshitoshi’s -artistic life, no doubt being the work of the time when he was still -a home student at Kuniyoshi’s studio or workshop; you can see the -artist’s allegiance to his teacher in those somewhat stooping woman -figures; there is no mistake to say that Yoshitoshi, at least in this -picture, had studied Hiroshige and Hokusai to advantage for the general -effect of rocks and fantastic waves. - -[Sidenote: “IMAYO GENJI"] - -Although it is clear that it is not a specimen of his developed art, -I have in mind to say that it will endure, perhaps as one of the best -Ukiyoye pictures of all ages, through its youthful loyalty to the -traditional old art and the painstaking composition for which the best -work is always marked. How artistically troubled, even lost, are his -later works, though once they were popular and even admired! - -[Sidenote: THE FAINT ECHO OF OKYO] - -Although he was, as I said above, most popular in the prime of his -life (by the way he died in his fifty-fourth year in June of 1892), -he had many years of poverty and discouragement when he complained -of the fact that he was born rather too late; his hardship, not only -spiritual, but material, soon followed after the happy period of -student life with Kuniyoshi, when his artistic ambition forced on -him independence. It was the time most inartistic, if there was ever -such a time in any country, when the new Meiji Government had hardly -settled itself on the sad ruins of the Tokugawa feudalism, under which -all prosperity and peace, even art and humanity, were buried, and the -people in general even thought the safety of their lives was beyond -reach, now with the so-called Civil War of Meiji Tenth, and then with -that or this. How could the artists get the people’s support under such -a condition of the times; indeed, Yoshitoshi fought bitterly for his -bare existence then. It was the time when he was extremely hard-up that -his home-students, Toshikage and Toshiharu, bravely served him in the -capacity of cook or for any other work; we cannot blame him that he -tried, with such pictures as the series called “Accident of the Lord -Ii,” to amuse and impress the people’s minds, which grew, in spite of -themselves, to love battle and blood. And the best result he received -from such work, happy to say for his art, was the realisation of -failure. But he was quite proud, I understand, when he published it, -and even expected a great sale. And when he could not sell it at all, -it is said, he determined that he would run away alone from Tokyo for -good, leaving his students behind. Although there is no record of its -sale to-day, I am sure that it did not sell well, or, in another way -of saying, it sold well enough to save him from the shame of running -away. Doubtless the people demanded pictures of such a nature, perhaps -to illustrate the time’s happening, as it was the time before the -existence of any graphic or illustrated paper, and to fill that demand -Yoshitoshi brought out a hundred pictures of battles and historical -heroes, more or less in bloody scenes, which are mostly forgotten. It -was in 1885 that he fairly well found his own art (good or bad) with -the historical picture, “Kiyomori’s Illness”; the chief character, the -Lord Kiyomori, suffered from fever and dream, as we have it in legend, -as a destiny brought from his endless brutality and covetousness; -the fact that Yoshitoshi’s mind was much engaged in the study of the -Shijoha school at that time will be seen, particularly in this picture, -of which the background is filled with the faint echo of great Okyo in -the drawing of the Emma, or Judge of Hades, the green demon, and other -things of awful demonstration. “Inaka Genji,” a picture to commemorate -the occasion of Ransen’s changing his name to Tanehiko, and “Ukaino -Kansaku,” a picture of the spirit of a dead fisherman being saved by -the holy prayer of the priest Nichiren, are the work of about the same -time. When Yoshitoshi began to publish his series of one hundred pieces -under the name of “Tsuki Hyakushi,” or “One Hundred Views of the Moon,” -his popularity almost reached high-water mark; I can recollect with -the greatest pleasure how delighted I was to be given a few of these -moon pictures as a souvenir from Tokyo when I was attending a country -grammar school, and I can assure you that my artistic taste and love, -which already began to grow, expressed a ready response to value. -Among the pictures, I was strongly attracted by one thing, which was -the picture of a crying lady alone in a boat, with a _biwa_ instrument -upon her knees; from admiration I pasted the picture on a screen, which -remained as it was during these twenty years, unspoiled, spotless, -and perfect, and I had the happy occasion to see it with renewed eyes -lately when I returned to my country home. I felt exactly the same -impression, as good as at the first sight of twenty years ago. Although -the series carry the title of moon, nearly all of the pictures have -no moon at all; it was the artistic merit of the artist to suggest -that they were all views of the moonlight. We can point out many -shortcomings in his work as a pure Ukiyoye artist; but, after all, -I think that nobody will deny his rare and versatile talent. If only -he had been born at the better and proper time! And if we must blame -his degeneration, I think it is quite safe to say that the general -public has to share equally in the criticism. He was an interesting -personality, full of stories and anecdotes, which the English people -would be glad to hear about when they are well acquainted with his -work; but I will keep them for some other occasion, because I wish at -present to introduce him simply through his work. Let it suffice to say -that he was humane and lovable, having a great faith in his own class -of people—that is, the plain street-dwellers; when I say he was, too, -the artist or artizan of Tokyo or Yedo, like Utamaro, Hokusai, and -Kuniyoshi, I mean that he was gallant and chivalrous, always a friend -of the lowly, and a hater of sham. - -[Sidenote: THE HATER OF SHAM] - -He was born in 1839, to use the Japanese name of the era, the Tenth -of Tempo, at Shiba of Yedo, present Tokyo. When a little boy, he was -adopted by the family of Tsukioka; his own name was Yonejiro. Like -other Japanese artists, he had quite many _gago_ or _noms de plume_; to -give a few of them, Ikkasai, Sokatei, Shiyei, and others. Although he -did not change his dwelling-place as Hokusai did, he moved often from -one house to another; it was at Miyanaga Cho of Hongo where he married -Taiko. He bought a house at Suga Cho, Asakusa, in 1885; but his -sensitive mind was disturbed when he was told by a fortune-teller that -the direction of his house was unlucky, and was again obliged to move -to Hama Cho of Nihonbashi, when he was taken ill with brain disease. -As I said before, he died in June of 1892. The students he left behind -include many artists already dead; to give the best known, Keishu -Takeuchi; Keichu Yamada and Toshihide Migita are the names of artists -still active to-day. - - - - - VIII - - BUSHO HARA[A] - - -[A] See the Appendix - -Often I tried to write about Busho Hara the artist (I use the term in -the most eclectic Japanese conception, because his art served more -frequently to make his personality distinguished through its failure -rather than through its success); that my attempt turned to nothing -was perhaps because my mind, solitary and sad like that of Hara, did -not like to betray the secret of the recluse whose silence was his -salutation. Besides, my heart and soul and all were too much filled -with this Busho Hara from the fact of his recent unexpected death—(by -the way, he was in his forty-seventh year, that interesting age for an -artist, as it would be the beginning of a new page, good or bad); and -I am, in one word, perfectly confused on the subject. When I wish to -think of his art alone, and even to measure it, if possible, through -the most dangerous, always foolish way of comparison with others, I -find always, in spite of myself, that my mind, even before it has -fairly started on his art, is already carried away by the dear, sweet, -precious memory of his rare personality. “Above all, he was rarest -as friend,” my mind always whispers to me every two minutes from the -confusion of my thought, this and that, and again that and this, on -him. To say that I think of him too much and for too many things would -be well-nigh the same as to say that I am unfitted to tell about him -intelligibly. I confess that I had a little difference with him on the -subject of his own art here and there, while I was absorbed in his -conversation or criticism (I always believed and said—did he dislike me -when I said that?—he was a better and greater critic than artist), now -by the cozy fire of a winter evening, then with the trees and grasses -languid with summer’s heat; he was the first and last man to whom I -went when I felt particularly ambitious and particularly tired, and I -dare say that he was pleased to see me. My own delight to have him as -my friend was in truth doubled, when I thought that his personality -and art, remarkable as they are honest, true, and sympathetic, were -almost unknown at home except in a little narrow community; as I said -before, he was a recluse. In England, many readers of Mr. Markino’s -book, _A Japanese Artist in London_, will remember Hara’s name, as it -is frequently repeated in the book; and a certain well-known English -critic had an occasion once or twice to mention his name and kindly -comment on his work in the _Graphic_. That was in 1906, when he was -about to leave London after a few years’ stay there. “Shall I go to -England again for a change or to take a few pictures of mine?” he often -exclaimed. England was his dream, as she is mine. How unfalteringly our -talk ran; every time the subject was England and her art. - -[Sidenote: HIS DREAM OF ENGLAND] - -“Now is it settled, let us suppose,” Hara would say in the course of -talk, slightly twisting his sensitive mouth, holding up straight back -his well-poised head (what a philosopher’s eyes he had, gentle and -clear), “that we shall go to England some time soon in the future. -Yes, we shall go there even if we are not begged by Japan to leave -the country. The most serious question is, however, where we shall -sleep and dine. I have had enough experience of a common English -boarding-house; I am haunted even to-day by the ghosts of Yorkshire -pudding and cold ham. And suppose that a daughter or a son of that -boarding-house might sing aloud a popular song every Saturday evening; -I should like to know if there is anything more sad than that. Still, -suppose that one next to you at table will ask you every evening how -your work might sell; certainly that will be the moment when you think -you will leave England at once for good. But it is England’s greatness -that she has art appreciators as well as buyers. Oh, where is the true -art appreciator in Japan, even while we admit that we have the buyers? -I will take a few pictures with me when I go to England next, and show -them to the right sort of people; really, truly, only London of all -the cities of the world has the right sort of people in any line of -profession. Besides, I should like to examine the English art again and -let the people there listen to my opinion; I was not enough prepared -for such a work when I went there last.” - -[Sidenote: THE ENEMY IN HIS OWN SELF] - -But I believe that his own self-education in art, which he most -determinedly started at the National Gallery, where he was forcibly -attracted by Rembrandt and Velasquez, must have been happily developed, -when the same _Graphic_ critic spoke of his “sensitive and searching -eyes,” and (printing Hara’s intelligent rendering of Rembrandt’s -“Jewish Merchant” on the page) said that it proved the painter was at -the root of the matter, and declared that the critic had rarely seen -better or more intelligent copy, and again to prove that Hara was not -merely a copyist or imitator, he also reproduced on the same page his -original work called “The Old Seamstress.” And I am doubly pleased to -find that the same English critic mentioned him somewhere as a “keen -and acute critic, but generous withal”; I was so glad to have Hara as -my friend for the rare striking power of his critical enlightenment -(Oh, where is another sane artist like himself?), even when he failed -to make a strong impression on me with his art. It was his immediate -question on his return home how to apply the technique of oil painting -he learned in London to Japanese subjects; if he failed in his art, as -he always believed and I often thought he did, it was from the reason, -I dare think, that he had indeed too clear a view of self-appraisal -or self-criticism under whose menace he always took the attitude of -an outsider towards his own work. How often I wished he were wholly -without that critical power, always hard to please, altogether too -fastidious! His artistic ambition and aim were so absolute and most -highly puritanic; as a result, he was ever so restless and sad with -his art, and often even despised himself. He had a great enemy, that -was no other but his own self; he was more often conquered by it than -conquering it. I have never seen in my life a more sad artist with the -brush, facing a canvas, than this Busho Hara. Besides, his poor health, -which had been failing in the last few years, only worked to make his -critical displeasure sharper and more peculiar; and he utterly lost the -passion and foolishness of his younger days. How often we promised, -when we parted after a long chat, which usually began with Yoshio -Markino, dear friend of his and mine in London, and as a rule ended -with reminiscences of our English life, that we would hereafter return -to our younger age, if possible to our boys’ days, and even commit the -innocent youthful sins and be happy; but when we met together again, -we were the same unhappy mortals, Hara with a brush, I with a pen. He -always looked comforted by my words when I told him my own tragedy -and difficulties to write poetry; both of us exclaimed at once with -the same breath and longed for life’s perfect freedom. How he wished -to cut away from himself and bid a final farewell to many portrait -commissions, and become a lone pilgrim on Nature’s great highway with -only his brush and oil; that was his dream. - -[Sidenote: AT THE HOSPITAL] - -Let me repeat again that he was sad with his brush only to make his art -still sadder; when he was most happy, it was the time when he left his -own studio to forget his unwilling brush and send his love imaginations -under the new foliage of spring trees and make them ride on the freedom -of the summer air. How he planned for future work while contemplating -great Nature; he was a dreamer in the true sense. And dream was to him -more real as he thought it almost practicable. I do not mix any sarcasm -in my words when I say that he was a greater artist when he did not -paint; he rose to his full dignity only when out of his studio; and it -was most unfortunate that I found him always ill when he was out of it. -But I will say that I never saw one like himself so well composed, even -satisfied, on a sick bed; that might have been from the reason that -his being absorbed in Nature, his thought and contemplation on her, -did not give an opportunity for bodily illness to use its despotism. -He gave me in truth even such an impression that he was glad to be -ill so he could lay himself right before the thought of great Nature. -Once in the spring of 1911 I called on him at the hospital, when -he successfully underwent a surgeon’s knife (he was suffering from -typhlitia); although he was quite weak then, he was most ambitious and -happy to talk on the beauty of Nature; and he said: “I almost wonder -why I did not become ill and lay me down on this particular bed of this -hospital before, and (pointing to the blue sky through the window with -his pale-skinned slender hand that was unmistakably an artist’s) see -how the eastern sky changes from dusk to milky grey, again from that -grey to rosy light. How often I wished you, particularly you, might -be here with me all awakening in this room, perhaps at halfpast three -o’clock; that is the time exactly when the colours of the sky will -begin to evolve. Thank God all the other people are sleeping then. At -such a moment I feel as if all Nature belonged to me alone in the whole -world, and I alone held her secrets and her beauty; I am thankful for -my illness, as it has made me thus restful in mind and allowed me to -carefully observe Nature, and build my many future plans. I can promise -you that I will whistle my adieu to the commissioned work, all of it, -when I grow stronger again, and become a real artist, the real artist -even to satisfy you. Oh, how I could paint the mysterious changes of -the sky which I have been studying for the last week!” - -Again I saw him in his sick-bed at his little home one afternoon; we -grew, as a matter of course, quite enthusiastic and passionate as our -talk was on art and artists; it was the foundation of his theory, -when he expanded on it, not to put any difference between the arts of -the East and the West; he seemed to agree with me on that day when I -compared even recklessly Turner with our Sesshu. Although he entered -into his art through the technique, I observed that he was speedily -turning to a Spiritualist; I often thought that he was a true Japanese -artist even of the Japanese school, while he adopted the Western -method. (It was the _Graphic_ critic who said that he was “perhaps the -ablest Japanese painter in our method who has visited our shores.”) -He and I saw that time the famous large screen by Goshun belonging -to the Imperial Household called “Shosho no Yau,” or “The Night Rain -at Shosho”; as our minds were still absorbed in its soft mellow -atmosphere and grey flashes of sweeping rain, we often repeated our -great admiration for that Goshun. “It’s not merely an art, but Nature -herself,” he exclaimed. The afternoon of the summer day was slowly -falling; the yellow sunbeams, like an elf or fairy, were playing -almost fantastically with the garden leaves; Hara was looking on them -absent-mindedly, and when he awoke from his dream, he said: “Suppose -you cut off a few of those leaves, even one leaf, with that particular -sunlight on them; they are indeed a great art. Who can paint them as -exactly they are? To prove it is a real art, when the artist is great -and true, a large canvas and big subject are not necessary at all; -one single leaf would be enough for his subject. I recall my first -impression of Turner’s work; I thought then that even one inch square -of any picture of his in the National Gallery would be sufficient to -prove his great art. I always vindicated his mastery of technique to -the others who had the reverse opinion; what made Turner was never his -technique. To talk about technique. I believe that even I have a better -technique than is shown in most of the pictures drawn by Rossetti; but -there is only one Rossetti in the world.” On my way home after leaving -him, I could not help wondering if he were not turning to a pessimist: -I was afraid that he was in his heart of hearts denying his own ability -and art. - -[Sidenote: TURNER’S GREAT ART] - -One day last September, when my soul felt the usual sadness with the -first touch of autumn, I received a note from Hara saying that his -stomach had been lately troubled, and he wished I would call on him as -he wanted to be brightened by my presence. I could not go then to see -him on account of one thing and another; and when I was told by one of -his friends and mine that Hara’s illness was said to be cancer, even in -its acute form, and that he was eagerly expecting my call, I hurried at -once to his house. He was very pale and thin. As I was begged by Mrs. -Hara at the door not to let him talk too much, as it was the doctor’s -command, I even acted as if I hated conversation on that day; it was -Hara (bless his sympathetic gentle soul) who, on the contrary, wished -to make me happy and interested by his talk. He talked as usual on -various arts and artists; when he slowly entered into his own domestic -affairs, he said: “I have decided to sell all my works of the last ten -years, good or bad, among my rich friends, and raise a sufficient fund -to provide for my old mother and wife; to have no child is at least a -comfort at this moment. I think I call myself fortunate since such a -scheme appears to be quite practicable; but if I could have even one -picture which I could proudly leave for posterity—that might be too -great an ambition for an artist of my class. Will you laugh at me when -I say how I wish to live five years more, if not five years, two years -at least, if not two years, even one year? It might be better, after -all, for me to die with hope than to live and fail.” With a sudden -thought he changed the subject; he thought, doubtless, he had no right -to make me unnecessarily sad, and resumed the talk on Hokusai and -Utamaro where he had left off a little while before. “I wish that you -will see Utamaro’s picture in my friend’s possession; it is, needless -to say, the picture of a courtesan. How that lovely woman sits! (Here -Hara changed his attitude and imitated the woman in the picture.) Oh, -these charming bare feet! That is where Utamaro put his best art; I -cannot forget the feeling that I felt with the most attractive naked -heels of the picture.” - -[Sidenote: HARA GONE TO HIS REST] - -I gave him many instances of doctors’ mistakes to encourage him, before -I left his house. I called on him two weeks or ten days later; but I -was not admitted to his presence, as the doctor had already forbade any -outside communication. At my third call I was told that he was growing -still worse; it was on October 29 that I made my fourth call, and I -found at once that the house had been somewhat upset. Alas, my friend -Busho Hara had gone already to his eternal rest! I rushed up to the -upstairs room where the cold body of the artist was lying; he could not -see or hear his friend. I cried. I was told by one of Hara’s friends, -who saw his last moment, how sorry he was that he did not see me when -his final end approached, and that he had begged him to tell me that he -was wrong in what he told me before about art. Now, what did he mean by -that? I already suspected, as I said before, that he was growing to -deny his own art; now I should like to understand by that final special -message to me that he wished to wholly deny all the human art of the -world against great Nature before his death. When he grew weaker and -weaker, I think that he found it more easy to dream of Nature; whether -conscious or unconscious, he must have been in the most happy state, -at least for his last days, as he was going to join himself with her. -I never saw such a dead face so calm, so sorrowless, like Hara’s; it -reminded me of a certain Greek mask which I saw somewhere; indeed, he -had a Greek soul in the true meaning. - -We six or seven friends of his kept a _tsuya_, or wake, before his -coffin, as is the custom, on the night of the 29th; the night rapidly -advanced when the reminiscences of this passed great artist were told -to keep us from falling asleep. One man was speaking of the story of -Hara’s friendship with Danjuro Ichikawa, the great tragedian of the old -_kabuki_ school of the modern Japanese stage. Once he played the rôle -of Benkei in “Adaka ga Seki,” which he wished Hara to draw; it was a -most unusual treat on the actor’s part to give the artist one whole -box at the Kabuki Theatre during fifteen days only for that purpose, -where he appeared every day not to draw, but to look at the acting. But -Hara very quickly sketched him one day at the moment when he thought -that the actor was prolonging his acting at a certain place to make him -easy to sketch; in fact, Danjuro made his acting in some parts stand -still for fifteen minutes. Strangely enough, the other actors who were -playing with him did not know that, while Hara rightly read the actor’s -intention and thought. Danjuro said afterwards that Mr. Hara understood -him through the power of his being a great artist. Did he draw the -picture and finish it? That is the next question. He did not, as was -often the case with Hara; he wrote the actor bluntly he was sorry that -this spirit was gone, making it impossible to advance. The one who told -the story exclaimed: “I never saw an artist like Hara so slow to paint, -or who found it so difficult to paint.” - -[Sidenote: SITTING AT THE SHOP FRONT] - -Among us there was a well-known frame manufacturer, Yataya by name, -who, it is said, was Hara’s very first friend in Tokyo, where he came -thirty years before from his native Okayama; he spoke next on his dear -friend: “He made his call on me at my store in Ginza almost every -night; he never came up into the room, but sat always at the shop -front. And there he gazed most thoughtfully on the passing crowd of -the street with his fixed eyes; he made himself quite an unattractive -figure especially for the shop front. ‘Who is that sinister-looking -fellow?’ I was often asked. I am sure that he must have been there -studying the people; his interest in anything was extremely intent. He -was a great student.” - -While I am now writing upon Hara, I feel I see that he is sitting at a -certain shop front, perhaps of Hades. Is he not studying the action of -the dead souls clamorous as in their living days? - - - - - IX - - THE UKIYOYE ART IN ORIGINAL - - -I often think the general impression that the best Ukiyoye art -reveals itself in colour-print has to be corrected in some special -cases, because the Ukiyoye art in original _kakemono_, though not so -well appreciated in the West, is also a thing beautiful; and I feel -proud to say that I have often seen those special cases in Japan. On -such occasions I always say that I am impressed as if the art were -laughing and cursing fantastically over the present age, whose prosaic -regularity completely misses the old fascination of romanticism -which Japan of two or three hundred years ago perfected by her own -temperament. Whenever I see it (mind you, it should be the best Ukiyoye -art in original) at my friend’s house by accident, or in the exhibition -hall, my heart and soul seem to be turning to a winged thing fanned by -its magic; and when my consciousness returns, I find myself narcotised -in incense, before the temple of art where sensuality is consecrated -through beauty. - -It is not too much to say that Shunsho Katsukawa, who died in 1792 -at the age of ninety-seven, gained more than any other artist from -the originals, through his masterly series of twelve pieces, “A -Woman’s Year,” owned by Count Matsura, a most subtle arrangement of -figures whose postures reach the final essence of grace perhaps from -the delicate command of artistic reserve, the decorative richness of -the pictures heightened by life’s gesticulation of beauty; whilst -the harmony of the pictorial quantity and quality is perfect. Behind -the pictures we read the mind of the artist with the critic’s gift -of appraising his own work. When we realise the somewhat exaggerated -hastiness of later artists, for example, artists like Toyokuni the -First, or Yeizan (the other artists being out of the question, of -course), Shunsho’s greatness will be at once clear. It may have been -his own thought to modify the women’s faces from the artless roundness -of the earlier artists to the rather emphatic oblong, from simplicity -to refinement, although I acknowledge it was Harunobu’s genius to make -the apparent want of effort in women’s round faces flow into the sad -rhythm of longing and passion, a symbol of the white, weary love; in -Harunobu we have a singular case of the distinction between simplesse -and simplicité. It was the old Japanese art to portray delicacy only -in the women’s hands and arms; but certainly it was the distinguished -art of Shunsho, with many other contemporary Ukiyoye artists, to make -the necks, especially the napes, the points of almost tantalising -grace; what a charm of abandon in those shoulders! And what a beautiful -elusiveness of the slightly inclined faces of the women! I am always -glad to see Shunsho’s famous picture, “Seven Beauties in a Bamboo -Forest,” owned by the Tokyo School of Art, in which the romantic group -of chignons leisurely promenade, one reading a love-letter, another -carrying a shamisen instrument, through the shade of a bamboo forest. -Not only in this picture, but in many other arrangements of women -and sentiment, Shunsho reminds me of the secret of Cho Densu of the -fifteenth century in his elaborate Rakan pictures, particularly in the -point that the figures, while keeping their own individual aloofness, -perfectly well fuse themselves in the alembic of the picture into a -composition most impressive. And you will soon find that when the -sense of monotony once subsides, your imagination grows to see their -spiritual variety. - -[Sidenote: “BEAUTIES IN A BAMBOO FOREST"] [Sidenote: THE WITHDRAWAL -FROM SOCIETY] - -It is rather difficult to see a best specimen of the originals of -Harunobu or even of Utamaro. I think there is some reason, however, to -say in the case of Utamaro that he did not leave many worthy pictures -in original, because he made the blocks, fortunately or unfortunately, -a castle to rise and fall with; while I see the fact on the one side -that, while he was not accepted in the polite society of his time, -he gained as a consequence much strength through his restriction of -artistic purpose. There was nothing more ridiculous for the Ukiyoye -artists of those days than to intrude their work of the so-called -“Floating World” into the aristocratic _tokonoma_, the sacred alcove -of honour for the art of a Tosa or a Kano, and to attempt to call -themselves Yamato Yeshi, whatever that means. What wisdom is there -to become neutral, like Yeishi or in some degree Koryusai, who never -created any distinct success either as Ukiyoye artist or as so-called -polite painter. I can easily read the undermeaning how they were even -insulted, by the cultured class, when they tried to satisfy their own -resentment by such an assumption of Yamato Yeshi (“the Yamato artist,” -Yamato being the classic name of Japan); I see more humiliation in it -than pride. The contempt displayed toward them, however, was not so -serious till the appearance of Moronobu, who created his own art out of -their sudden descent; his realism accentuated itself in the portrayal -of courtesans and street vagrants of old Yedo, for the popular -amusement, at the huge cost of being criticised as immoral. The artists -before his day, even those to-day roughly termed the Ukiyoye artists, -were the self-same followers. To begin with Matabei, after the Kano, -Tosa, and Sumiyoshi schools successively, their work was strengthened -or weakened according to the situation by the irresistibility of -plebeianism; it is clear that the final goal for their work was, of -course, the _tokonoma_ of the rich man and the nobles. And it seems -that they must have found quite an easy access into that scented daïs, -if I judge from the pictures of the “Floating World” (what an arbitrary -name that!) that remain to-day. They had, in truth, no necessity to -advertise themselves as Yamato Yeshi, like some artists of the later -age who were uneducated and therefore audacious; and in their great -vanity wished to separate themselves from their fellow-workers; while -their work has a certain softness—though it be not nobility—at least -not discordant with the grey undertone of the Japanese room, doubtless -they lack that strength distilled and crystallised into passionate -lucidity which we see in the best colour-prints. When I say that -Moronobu was the founder of Ukiyoye art, I mean more to call attention -to the fact that the Japanese block print was well started in its -development from his day, into which process the artists put all sorts -of spontaneity, at once cursing creed and tradition. As for the Ukiyoye -artists, I dare say their weakness in culture and imagination often -turned to force; they gained artistic confidence in their own power -from their complete withdrawal from polite society. Such was the case -with Utamaro and Hiroshige. I wonder what use there was to leave poor -work in the original like that of Toyokuni and Yeizan, whose works -often serve only to betray their petty ambition. - -[Sidenote: HEREDITY SUPERSTITION] - -I have seen enough of the originals of this interesting Ukiyoye art, -beginning with Matabei and Katsushige; Naganobu Kano, the former’s -contemporary, is much admired in the series of twelve pictures, -“Merry-making under the Flowers,” with the illogical simplicity natural -to the first half of the seventeenth century. The fact that the name -“Floating World” did not mean much in those days can be seen in the -work of Rippo Nonoguchi or Gukei Sumiyoshi, whose classical respect -weakened the pictorial impression. Mr. Takamine, who is recognised as -the keenest collector of Ukiyoye art in Japan, has quite an extensive -collection of the works of Ando Kwaigetsudo (1688-1715), Anchi Choyodo, -Dohan Kwaigetsudo (early eighteenth century), Doshu Kwaigetsudo, Doshin -Kwaigetsudo, Nobuyuki Kameido, Rifu Tosendo, Katsunobu Baiyuken, and -Yeishun Baioken, all of them contemporaries of Doshu. Although their -merit is never so high, even when not questionable, we can imagine that -their work must have been quite popular, even in high quarters; among -them Dohan might be the cleverest, but as a Japanese critic says, his -colour-harmony is marred by ostentatious imprudence. I have seen the -best representation of Sukenobu Nishikawa in “Woman Hunting Fireflies,” -soft and delicate. The other artists I came to notice and even admire -are Choshun Miyakawa, Masanobu Okumura, Shigemasa Kitawo, and other -names. I think that the time should come when the original Ukiyoye -art, too, should be properly priced in the West; we are still sticking -to our hereditary superstition that no picture is good if we cannot -hang it in the _tokonoma_, where we burn incense and place the flowers -arranged to invoke the greyness of the air. But I wonder why we cannot -put an Utamaro lady here on the Japanese _tokonoma_. - - - - - X - - WESTERN ART IN JAPAN - - -The Japanese works of Western art are sometimes beautiful; but I can -say positively that I have had no experience of being carried away by -them as by good old Japanese art. There is always something of effort -and even pretence which are decidedly modern productions. I will say -that it is at the best a borrowed art, not a thing inseparable from -us. I ask myself why those artists of the Western school must be loyal -to a pedantry of foreign origin as if they had the responsibility for -its existence. It would be a blessing if we could free ourselves in -some measure, through the virtue of Western art, from the world of -stagnation in feeling and thought. I have often declared that it was -the saviour of Oriental art, as the force of difference in element is -important for rejuvenation. But what use is it to get another pedantry -from the West in the place of the old one? I have thought more than -once that our importation of foreign art is a flat failure. It may be -that we must wait some one hundred years at least before we can make -it perfectly Japanised, just as we spent many years before thoroughly -digesting Chinese art; but we have not a few pessimists who can prove -that it is not altogether the same case. Although I have said that -the foreign pedantry greatly troubles the Japanese work of Western -art, I do not mean that it will create the same effect as upon Western -artists. I am told the following story: - -[Sidenote: THE TAIHEIYO GAKWAI CLUB] - -A year or two ago a certain Italian, who had doubtless a habit of -buying pictures (with little of real taste in art, as is usually the -case with a picture-buyer), went to see the art exhibition of the -Taiheiyo Gakwai Club held at Uyeno Park, and bought many pictures on -the spot, as he thought they were clever work of the Japanese school. -Alas, the artists meant them to be oil paintings of the Western type! -The Italian’s stupidity is inexcusable; but did they indeed appear to -him so different from his work at home? The saddest part is that they -are so alien to our Japanese feeling in general; consequently they have -little sympathy with the masses. It is far away yet for their work to -become an art of general possession; it can be said it is not good art -when it cannot at once enter into the heart. It is not right at all to -condemn only the Western art in Japan, as any other thing of foreign -origin is equally in the stage of mere trial. I often wonder about -the real meaning of the modern civilisation of Japan. Imitation is -imitation, not the real thing at all. - -There are many drawbacks, as I look upon the material side, to the -Western art becoming popular; for instance, our Japanese house—frail, -wooden, with the light which rushes in from all sides—never gives it an -appropriate place to look its best. And the heaviness of its general -atmosphere does not harmonise with the simplicity that pervades the -Japanese household; it always appears out of place, like a chair before -the _tokonoma_, a holy dais. Besides, the artists cannot afford to -sell their pictures cheap, not because they are good work, but because -there are only a few orders for them. I believe we must undertake the -responsibility of making good artists; there is no wonder that there is -only poor work since our understanding of Western art is little, and we -hardly try to cultivate the Western taste. If we have no great art of -the Western school, as is a fact, one half the whole blame is on our -shoulders. - -[Sidenote: PERCEPTION OF REALISM] - -Here my mind dwells in more or less voluntary manner upon the contrast -with the Japanese art, while I walk through the gallery of Western -art of the Taiheiyo Gakwai Club of this year in Uyeno Park. There are -exhibited more than two hundred, or perhaps three hundred pieces—quite -an advance in numbers over any exhibition held before; but I am not -ready to say how they stand on their merit. I admit, at the outset, -that the artists of the Western school have learned well how to make -an arrangement no artist of the pure Japanese school ever dreamed to -attain; and I will say that it is sometimes even subtle. But I have -heard so much of the artistic purpose, which could be best expressed -through the Western art. Are they not, on the other hand, too hasty and -too direct to describe them? Some of their work most nakedly confesses -their artistic inferiority to their own thought. What a poor and even -vulgar handling of oil! I have no hesitation to say that there is -something mistaken in their perception of realism. (Quite a number -of artists in this exhibition make mistakes in this respect.) Indeed -there is no word like realism (perhaps better to say naturalism) which, -in Japan’s present literature, has done such real harm; it was the -Russian or French literature that taught us the meaning of vulgarity, -and again the artists, some artists at least, received a lesson from -these writers. It is never good to see pictures overstrained. Go to the -true Japanese art to learn refinement. While I admit the art of some -artist which has the detail of beauty, I must tell him that reality, -even when true, is not the whole thing; he should learn the art of -escaping from it. That art is, in my opinion, the greatest of all arts; -without it, art will never bring us the eternal and the mysterious. -If you could see some work of Nakagawa or Ishii exhibited here, you -would see my point, because they are somehow wrong for becoming good -work, while they impress with line and colour. I spoke before of effort -and pretence; such an example you will find in Hiroshi Yoshida’s -canvases, big or small, most of them being nature studies. (By the way, -this Yoshida is the artist who exhibited two great canvases, called -“Unknown,” or “World of Cloud,” painted doubtless from Fuji mountain, -overlooking the clouds at one’s feet, and “Keiryu,” or “The Valley,” at -the Government exhibition with some success some years ago.) I am ready -to admit that the artist has well brought out his purpose, but the true -reality is not only the outside expression. His pictures are executed -carefully; but what a forced art! This is the age when all Japanese -artists, those of the Japanese school not excepted, are greatly cursed -by objectivity. Some one has said that the Japanese dress, speaking of -Japanese woman as a picture, does serve to make the distance greater. -I thought in my reflection on art that so it is with the Japanese art. -And again how near is Western art, at least the Japanese work of the -Western school! Such a nearness to our feeling and mind, I think, is -hardly the best quality of any art. I have ceased for some time to -expect anything great or astonishing from Wada or Okada or even Kuroda; -we most eagerly look forward to the sudden appearance of some genius -at once to frighten and hypnotise and charm us and make the Western art -more intimate with our minds. - -[Sidenote: THE SPIRITUAL INSULARITY] - -I amused myself thinking that it was Oscar Wilde who said that Nature -imitates art; is not the nature of Japan imitating the poor work of -the Western method? Art is, indeed, a most serious thing. It is the -time now when we must jealously guard our spiritual insularity, and -carefully sift the good and the bad, and protect ourselves from the -Western influence which has affected us too much in spite of ourselves. -Speaking of the Western art in Japan, I think I have spoken quite -unconsciously of the general pain, not only in art, but in many other -things, from which we wish we could escape. - -After I have said all from my uncompromising thought, my mind, which -is conscious to some extent of a responsibility for Japan’s present -condition in general, has suddenly toned down to thinking of the -short history of Western art in Japan, that is less than fifty years. -What could we do in such a short time? It may even be said that we -did a miracle in art as in any other thing; I can count, in fact, -many valuable lessons (suggestions too) from the Western art that we -transplanted here originally from mere curiosity. Whether good or bad, -it is firmly rooted in Japan’s soil; we have only to wait for the -advent of a master’s hand for the real creation of great beauty. It -seems to me that at least the ground has been prepared. - -Charles Wirgman, the special correspondent sent to the Far East from -the _Illustrated London News_, might be called the father of Western -art in Japan; he stayed at Yokohama till he died in 1891 in his -fifty-seventh year. He was the first foreign teacher from whom many -Japanese learned the Western method of art; Yoshiichi Takahashi was one -of his students. Before Takahashi, Togai Kawakami was known for his -foreign art in the early eighties; but it is not clear where he learned -it. Yoshimatsu Goseda was also, besides Takahashi, a well-known student -of Wirgman, and Shinkuro Kunizawa was the first artist who went to -London in 1875 for art study, but he died soon after his return home in -1877 before he became a prominent figure in the art world. - -When the Government engaged Antonio Fentanesi, an Italian artist of -the Idealistic school, in 1876, as an instructor, the Western school -of art had begun to establish itself even officially. This Italian -artist is still to-day respected as a master. He was much regretted -when he left Japan in 1878. Ferretti and San Giovanni, who were -engaged after Fentanesi, did not make as great an impression as their -predecessor. However, the time was unfortunate for art in general, as -the country was thrown into disturbance by the civil war called the -Saigo Rebellion. The popularity which the Western art seemed to have -attained had a great set-back when the pictures were excluded from the -National Exhibition in 1890. But in the reaction the artists of the -Western school gained more vigour and determination; Shotaro Koyama, -Chu Asai, Kiyowo Kawamura, and others were well-known names in those -days. Kiyoteru Kuroda and Keiichiro Kume, the beloved students of -Raphael Collin, returned home when the China-Japan war was over; they -brought back quite a different art from that with which we had been -acquainted hitherto. And they led vigorously the artistic battle; the -present popularity at least in appearance is owing to their persistence -and industry. The Government again began to show a great interest -in Western art; it sent Chu Asai and Yeisaku Wada to Paris to study -foreign art. Not only these, many others sailed abroad privately or -officially to no small advantage; you will find many Japanese students -of art nowadays wherever you go in Europe or America. - -[Sidenote: THE GOVERNMENT’S INTEREST] - -We were colour-blind artistically before the importation of Western -art, except these who had an interest in the so-called colour-print; -but the colour-print was less valued among the intellectual class, as -even to-day. Our artistic eye, which was only able to see everything -flat, at once opened through the foreign art to the mysteries of -perspective, and though they may not be the real essence of art, -they were at least a new thing for us. There are many other lessons -we received from it; it seems to me that the best and greatest value -is its own existence as a protest against the Japanese art. If the -Japanese art of the old school has made any advance, as it has done, -it should be thankful to the Western school; and at the same time the -artists of foreign method must pay due respect to the former for its -creation of the “Western Art Japonised.” It may be far away yet, but -such an art, if a combination of the East and West, is bound to come. - - - - - APPENDIX I - - THE MEMORIAL EXHIBITION OF THE LATE HARA - - -The memorial exhibition of Busho Hara, a Japanese artist of the Western -school, held recently in Tokyo to raise a fund for his surviving family -as one of its objects (Hara passed away in October, 1913, in his -forty-seventh year), had many significances, one of which, certainly -the strongest, was in contradiction of the general understanding that -Western paintings will never sell in Japan; even a trifling sketch -in which the artist only jotted down his momentary memory fetched -the most unusual price. Hara is a remarkable example of one who -created his own world (by that I mean at least the buyers, though not -real appreciators) among his friends through his personality, which -strengthened his work; paradoxically we shall say he was an artist well -known and utterly unknown; and when I say he was an utterly unknown -artist, I have my thought that he never even once exhibited his work to -the public, and his often defiant spirit and high aim made him scorn -and laugh over people’s ignorance on art. How he hated the Japanese art -world where real merit is no passport at all. But Hara’s friends are -pleased to know from this exhibition the fact that even the public he -ever so despised are not so unresponsive to his art, whose secret he -learned in London. - -Hara was, sad to say, also an artist whose Western art-work, like -that of some other Japanese artists to whom quite an excellent credit -was given in their European days, much declined or, better to say, -missed somehow the artistic thrill since he left England in 1906. Why -was that? What made him so? Was it from the fact that there is no -gallery of Western art old or new in Japan where your work will only be -belittled after you have received a good lesson there? or is it that -our Japanese general public never have a high standard in the matter -of art, especially of Western art? I think there are many reasons to -say that the passive, even oppressive air of Japan, generally speaking, -may have a perfectly disintegrating effect on an artist trained in the -West; it would not be wholly wrong to declare that the real Western -art founded on emotion and life cannot be executed in Japan. Hara made -quite many portraits by commission since that 1906, some of which -were brought out in this exhibition. As they are work more or less -forced, we must go to his other works for his best, which he executed -with mighty enthusiasm and faith under England’s artistic blessing. -He writes down in his diary, the reading of which was my special -privilege, on January 2nd of 1905, the following words: “At last -Port Arthur has fallen. When the war shall be done that will be the -time for our battle of art against Europe to begin. Oh, what a great -responsibility for Japanese artists!” - -Hara made a student’s obeisance toward Watts among the modern masters, -whose influence will be most distinctly seen in one of his pictures -in this exhibition called “The Young Sorrow” (the owner of this -picture is Mr. Takashi Matsuda, one of a few great art collectors in -Japan), in which a young sitting nude woman shows only her beautiful -back, her face being covered by her hands. What a sad, visionary, -pale clarification in colour and tone! Hara writes down when his -mind was saturated with Watts at Tate’s or somewhere else: “What an -indescribable sense of beauty! Art is indeed my only world and life. -Again look at the pictures. How tender, how soft, and how warm in tone -and atmosphere! And how deep is the shadow of the pictures! And that -deep shadow is never dirty.” Again he writes down on his visit to -Tate’s on a certain day: “It was wrong that I attempted to bring out -all the colours from the beginning at once, and even tried to finish -the work up by mending. There is no wonder my colours were dead things. -We must have the living beauty and tone of colours; by that I do never -mean showy. I must learn how to get the deep colour by light paint.” -While he was saturated with Watts, he on the other hand was copying -Rembrandt at the National Gallery. Hara’s copy of “The Jewish Merchant” -is now owned by the Imperial Household in Tokyo. This copy and a few -other copies of Rembrandt were in the exhibition. And Hara was a great -admirer of Turner. Markino confesses in his book or books that it was -Hara who first opened his spiritual eyes to Turner. At this memorial -exhibition Turner is represented by Hara’s copy of Venice. There was in -the exhibition “The Old Seamstress,” which I was pleased to say was -one of Hara’s best pictures. Whenever I see Hara’s pictures of any old -woman, not only this “Old Seamstress,” I think at once that what you -might call his soul sympathy immediately responded to the old woman, -since Hara’s heart and soul were world-wearied and most tender. - -Markino has somewhere in the book the following passages: “First few -weeks I used to take him round the streets, and whenever we passed some -picture shops he stopped to look through the shop window, and would -not move on. I told him those nameless artists’ work was not half so -good as his own. But he always said: ‘Oh, please don’t say so. Perhaps -my drawings are surer than those, and my compositions are better too. -But the European artists know how to handle oils so skilfully. I learn -great lessons from them.’” - -Indeed when he returned home he had fully mastered the technique of -handling oils from England, where he stayed some four years. It is -really a pity that Hara passed away without having fully expressed his -own art in his masterly technique, which he learned with such sacrifice -and patience. His death occurred suddenly at the time when he was about -to break away from his former self and to create his own new art ten -times stronger, fresher, and more beautiful. - -I wish to call the readers’ attention to Yoshio Markino’s _My -Recollections and Reflections_, which contains the most sympathetic -article on Busho Hara. - - - - - APPENDIX II - - THE NERVOUS DEBILITY OF PRESENT JAPANESE ART - - -When I say that I received almost no impression from the annual -Government Exhibition of Japanese Art in the last five or six years, -I have a sort of same feeling with the tired month of May when the -season, in fact, having no strength left from the last glory of bloom -(what a glorious old Japanese art!), still vainly attempts to look -ambitious. Although it may sound unsympathetic, I must declare that the -present Japanese art, speaking of it as a whole, with no reference to -separate works or individual artists, suffers from nervous debility. -Now, is it not the exact condition of the Japanese life at present? -Here it is the art following after the life of modern Japan, vain, -shallow, imitative, and thoughtless, which makes us pessimistic; the -best possible course such an art can follow in the time of its nervous -debility might be that of imitation. - - * * * * * - -When the present Japanese art tells something, I thank God, it is from -its sad failure; indeed, the present Japanese art is a lost art, since -it explains nothing, alas, unlike the old art of idealistic exaltation, -but the general condition of life. It is cast down from its high -pedestal. - - * * * * * - -I do not know exactly what simplicity means, when the word is used -in connection with our old art; however, it is true we see a peculiar -unity in it, which was cherished under the influence of India and -China, and always helped to a classification and analysis of the -means through which the artists worked. And the poverty of subjects -was a strength for them; they valued workmanship, or the right use of -material rather than the material itself; instead of style and design, -the intellect and atmosphere. They thought the means to be the only -path to Heaven. But it was before the Western art had invaded Japan; -that art told them of the end of art, and laughed at the indecision of -æsthetic judgment and uncertainty of realism of Japanese art. It said: -“It is true that you have some scent, but it is already faded; you -have refinement, but it is not quite true to nature and too far away.” -Indeed, it is almost sad one sees the artists troubled by the Western -influence which they accepted, in spite of themselves; I can see in -the exhibitions that many of them have long ago lost their faith by -spiritual calamity, and it is seldom to see them able to readjust their -own minds under such a mingled tempest of Oriental and Occidental. Is -it not, after all, merely a waste of energy? And how true it is with -all the other phenomena of the present life, their Oriental retreat and -Occidental rush. - - * * * * * - -The present Japanese art has sadly strayed from subjectivity, the only -one citadel where the old Japanese art rose and fell; I wonder if it is -not paying a too tremendous price only to gain a little objectivity of -the West. - - - _Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury, - England._ - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Spirit of Japanese Art, by Yone Noguchi - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART *** - -***** This file should be named 62252-0.txt or 62252-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/2/5/62252/ - -Produced by ellinora, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Spirit of Japanese Art - -Author: Yone Noguchi - -Release Date: May 28, 2020 [EBook #62252] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART *** - - - - -Produced by ellinora, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations -in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and -punctuation remains unchanged. - -Sidenotes, page headings in the original, have been placed at the -beginning of the relevant paragraphs and marked [Sidenote: ....] - -On Page 26 lespedozas has been corrected to lespedezas. - -Italics are represented thus _italic_. - - - - - The Wisdom of the East Series - - EDITED BY - - L. CRANMER-BYNG - Dr. S. A. KAPADIA - - - THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART - - - - - WISDOM OF THE EAST - - THE SPIRIT OF - JAPANESE ART - - BY YONE NOGUCHI - AUTHOR OF “THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE POETRY” - - - [Illustration; Sun rising over ocean] - - - LONDON - JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. - 1915 - - - - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - INTRODUCTION 9 - - - I - - KOYETSU 17 - - - II - - KENZAN 25 - - - III - - UTAMARO 32 - - - IV - - HIROSHIGE 38 - - - V - - GAHO HASHIMOTO 44 - - - VI - - KYOSAI 56 - - - VII - - THE LAST MASTER OF THE UKIYOYE ART 67 - - - VIII - - BUSHO HARA 79 - - - IX - - THE UKIYOYE ART IN ORIGINAL 93 - - - X - - WESTERN ART IN JAPAN 100 - - - APPENDIX I - - THE MEMORIAL EXHIBITION OF THE LATE - HARA 109 - - - APPENDIX II - - THE NERVOUS DEBILITY OF PRESENT - JAPANESE ART 113 - - - - - TO - - EDWARD F. STRANGE - - OF THE SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM - - - - - EDITORIAL NOTE - - -The object of the Editors of this series is a very definite one. They -desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall -be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between East and -West—the old world of Thought and the new of Action. In this endeavour, -and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example -in the land. They are confident that a deeper knowledge of the great -ideals and lofty philosophy of Oriental thought may help to a revival -of that true spirit of Charity which neither despises nor fears the -nations of another creed and colour. - - L. CRANMER-BYNG. - S. A. KAPADIA. - - NORTHBROOK SOCIETY, - 21 CROMWELL ROAD, - S. KENSINGTON, S.W. - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -In the Ashikaga age (1335-1573) the best Japanese artists, like Sesshu -and his disciples, for instance, true revolutionists in art, not mere -rebels, whose Japanese simplicity was strengthened and clarified by -Chinese suggestion, were in the truest meaning of the word Buddhist -priests, who sat before the inextinguishable lamp of faith, and -sought their salvation by the road of silence; their studios were in -the Buddhist temple, east of the forests and west of the hills, dark -without, and luminous within with the symbols of all beauty of nature -and heaven. And their artistic work was a sort of prayer-making, to -satisfy their own imagination, not a thing to show to a critic whose -attempt at arguing and denying is only a nuisance in the world of -higher art; they drew pictures to create absolute beauty and grandeur, -that made their own human world look almost trifling, and directly -joined themselves with eternity. Art for them was not a question of -mere reality in expression, but the question of Faith. Therefore they -never troubled their minds with the matter of subjects or the size -of the canvas; indeed, the mere reality of the external world had -ceased to be a standard for them, who lived in the temple studios. -Laurance Binyon said of them: “Hints of the divine were to be found -everywhere—in leaves of grass, in the life of animals, birds, and -insects. No occupation was too humble or menial to be invested with -beauty and significance.” Through them the Ashikaga period becomes very -important in our Japanese art annals. Binyon says: “The Ashikaga period -stands in art for an ideal of reticent simplicity. A revulsion from the -ornate conventions, which had begun to paralyse the pristine vigour -of the Yamato school, and fresh acquaintance with the masterpieces of -the Sung era, brought about by renewed contact with China, after a -hermit period of exclusion, created a passion for swift, impassioned or -suggestive painting in ink, on silvery-toned paper.” - -People, like myself, who are more delighted at the National Gallery -in Trafalgar Square with, for instance, “A Summer Afternoon after a -Shower,” or a “View at Epsom,” by Constable, and with “Walton Reach,” -or “Windsor from Lower Hope,” by Turner, than with their other bigger -things, will be certainly pleased to see “Temple and Hill above -a Lake,” by Sesshu, or “Travellers at a Temple Gate,” by Sesson, -representing this interesting Ashikaga period, exhibited in the new -wing of the British Museum. You have to go there and spend an hour or -so with the Arthur Morrison collection of Japanese art, if you wish to -feel the real old Japanese humanity and love that our ancient masters -inspired into their work. To be sure, none of the things exhibited -there, small or large, good or poor, are so-called exhibition pictures, -which are often a game of artistic charlatans. In real Japanese art -you should not look for variety of subjects; but when you find an -astonishing richness of execution, certainly it is the time when your -eyes begin to open toward another sort of asceticism in art. How glad I -am that our Japanese art, at least in the olden time, never degenerated -into a mechanical art! - -What a pity Sesson’s “Travellers at a Temple Gate,” this remarkable -little thing, has been mended in two or three spots. If you wish to -see the real power and distinction of great Sesshu, you might compare -his “Daruma” in the exhibition with the other “Daruma” pictures by -Soami and Takuchu also in the exhibition: the point I should like to -bring out is that Sesshu’s “Daruma” is an artistic attempt to proclaim -the spiritual intensity which shines within from the true strength of -consciousness and real economy of force, while the others are rather a -superficial demonstration. - -There is no other Japanese school so interesting, even from the one -point of style in expressive decoration, as the Koyetsu-korin school, -the much-admired branch of Japanese art in the West. Although I was -glad to see a good specimen of Sotatsu in “Descent of the Thunder God -on the Palace of Fujiwara” in the exhibition, I hardly think that such -a figure painting (a really good work in its own way) shows Sotatsu’s -best art; while my memory of the Sotatsu exhibition at Uyeno of Tokyo -a few years ago is still fresh, I am pleased to connect Sotatsu with -the flower-screens and little _Kakemono_ for the tea-rooms, now with -a pair of rabbits nibbling grasses, then with a little bunch of wild -chrysanthemums. You will see what an admirer I am of this school, since -I have dwelt at some length on Koyetsu and Kenzan in this little book -of Japanese art. I regret that I have to beg for some more time before -I make myself able to write on great Korin; I am sure that Hoitsu, one -of the most distinguished decadents of the early nineteenth century, -and the acknowledged successor of the Koyetsu-korin school, would give -us a highly interesting subject to discuss. Oh, those days at Bunkwa -and Bunsei (1804-1830)! Dear, rotten, foolish, romantic old Tokugawa -civilisation and art! - -Two articles on Harunobu and Hokusai are still to be written for the -Ukiyoye school; I know, I believe, that without those two artists the -school would never be complete. I am happy to think that I have Gaho -Hashimoto in the present book as the last great master of the Kano -school; but I cannot help thinking about Hogai Kano, Gaho’s spiritual -brother, who passed away almost in starvation. - -Indeed, Hogai’s whole life of sixty years was a life of hardship -and hunger; when he reached manhood, the whole country of Japan -began to be disturbed under the name of the Grand Restoration. In -those days, the safety of one’s life was not assured; how then could -art claim the general protection? All the artists threw away their -drawing-brushes. Hogai tried to get his living by selling baskets and -brooms; his wife, it is said, helped him by weaving at night; their -lives were hard almost without comparison. Following the advice of a -certain Mr. Fujishima, Hogai drew pictures and gave them to a dealer -at Hikage Cho, Tokyo, to be sold. After three long years, he found -that only one picture had been sold, and so he gave the rest of them, -more than fifty, to Mr. Fujishima, who, by turns, gave them away -to his friends. And those pictures which were given freely by Mr. -Fujishima are now their owners’ greatest treasures. Thus is the irony -of life exemplified. It was thought by Hogai a piece of good fortune -when he was engaged by Professor Fenellosa for twelve yen a month; -this American critic’s eye discerned Hogai’s unusual ability. It is -almost unbelievable to-day that such a small sum should have been -acceptable; but it may have been the usual payment in those days, and -the Professor’s friendship was more to Hogai than money. He received -fifteen yen afterward when he was engaged by the Educational Department -of the Government in 1884; how sad he could not support himself by -art alone. And alas, he was no more when the general appreciation of -his great art began to be told. Quite many specimens of Hogai’s work -are treasured in the Boston Museum at present. How changed are the -conditions now from Hogai’s day! But are these fortunately changed -conditions really helpful for the creation of true art? - -To look at some of the modern work is too trying, mainly from the fact -that it lacks, to use the word of Zen Buddhism, the meaning of silence; -it seems to me that some modern artists work only to tax people’s -minds. In Nature we find peacefulness and silence; we derive from it -a feeling of comfort and restfulness; and again from it we receive -vigour and life. I think so great art should be. Many modern artists -cannot place themselves in unison with their art; in one word, they do -not know how to follow the law or _michi_, that Mother Nature gladly -evolves. It is such a delight to examine the works of Hogai, as each -picture is a very part of his own true self; the only difference is -the difference that he wished to evoke in interest; his desire was -always so clear in the relation between himself and his work, and -accidentally he succeeded as if by magic in establishing the same -relationship for us, the onlookers. It goes without saying that the -pictures of such an artist are richer than they appear; while he used -only Chinese ink in his pictures, our imagination is pleased to see -them with the addition of colour, and even voice. - -The subjects which are treated in the present volume are various, but I -dare say that all the artists whose art I have treated here will well -agree in the point of their expression of the Japanese spirit of art, -which always aims at poetry and atmosphere, but not mere style and -purpose. - - Y. N. - - LONDON, - _May 13, 1914_. - - - - - THE SPIRIT OF - - JAPANESE ART - - - I - - KOYETSU - - -When I left home toward a certain Doctor’s who had promised to show me -his collection of chirography and art, the unusual summer wind which -had raged since midnight did not seem to calm down; the rain-laden -clouds now gathered, and then parted for the torrent of sunlight to -dash down. I was most cordially received by him, as I was expected; -in coming under threat of the weather I had my own reasons. I always -thought that summer was worse than spring for examining (more difficult -to approve than deny) the objects of art, on account of our inability -for concentrating our minds; the heat that calls all the _shoji_ doors -to open wide confuses the hearts of bronze Buddhas or Sesshu’s “Daruma” -or Kobo’s chirography or whatever they be, whichever way they have to -turn, in the rush of light from every side; I thanked the bad weather -to-day which, I am sure, I should have cursed some other day. The -Doctor’s house had an almost winter-sad aspect with the _shoji_, even -the rain-doors all shut, the soft darkness assembling at the very place -it should, where the saints or goddesses revealed themselves; hanging -after hanging was unrolled and rolled before me in quick succession. -“Doctor, tell me quick whose writing is that?” I loudly shouted when -I came to one little bit of Japanese writing. “That is Koyetsu’s,” he -replied. “Why, is it? It seems it is worth more than all the others put -together; Doctor, I will not ask you for any more hangings to-day,” -I said. And a moment later, I looked at him and exclaimed in my -determined voice: - -“What will you say if I take it away and keep it indefinitely?” - -“I say nothing at all, but am pleased to see how you will enjoy it,” -the Doctor replied. - -[Sidenote: YEARNING OF POETICAL SOUL] - -The evening had already passed when I returned home with that hanging -of Koyetsu’s chirography under my arm. “Put all the gaslights out! -Do you hear me? All the gaslights out! And light all the candles -you have!” I cried. The little hanging was properly hanged at the -“tokonoma” when the candles were lighted, whose world-old soft flame -(wasn’t it singing the old song of world-wearied heart?) allured my -mind back, perhaps, to Koyetsu’s age of four hundred years ago—to -imagine myself to be a waif of greyness like a famous tea-master, Rikiu -or Enshu or, again, Koyetsu, burying me in a little Abode of Fancy with -a boiling tea-kettle; through that smoke of candles hurrying like our -ephemeral lives, the characters of Koyetsu’s writing loomed with the -haunting charm of a ghost. They say: - - “Where’s cherry-blossom? - The trace of the garden’s spring breeze is seen no more. - I will point, if I am asked, - To my fancy snow upon the ground.” - -“What a yearning of poetical soul!” I exclaimed. - -It is your imagination to make rise out of fall, day out of darkness, -and Life out of Death; not to see the fact of scattering petals is your -virtue, and to create your own special sensation with the impulse of -art is your poet’s dignity; what a blessing if you can tell a lie to -yourself; better still, not to draw a distinct line between the things -our plebeian minds call truth and untruth, and live like a wreath shell -with the cover shut in the air of your own creation. Praised be the -touch of your newly awakened soul which can turn the fallen petals to -the beauty of snow; there is nothing that will deny the yearning of -your poetic soul. It is not superstition to say that the poet’s life -is worthier than any other life. Some time ago the word loneliness -impressed me as almost divine as Rikiu pledged himself in it; I -wished, through its invocation, to create a picture, as the ancient -ditty has it, of a “lone cottage standing by the autumn wave, under -the fading light of eve.” But I am thankful for Koyetsu to-day. How to -reach my own poetry seems clearly defined in my thought; it will be by -the twilight road of imagination born out of reality and the senses—the -road of idealism baptised by the pain of death. - -[Sidenote: ABODE OF VACANCY] - -What remains of Koyetsu’s life is slight, as his day was not feminine -and prosaic, like to-day, with love of gossip and biography-writing; -he, with the friends of his day, Sambiakuin Konoye, Shokado, both of -them eminent chirographers of all time of Japan, Jozan the scholar, -Enshu the tea-master, and many others, realised the age of artistic -heroism which is often weakened by the vulgarity of thought that aims -at the Future and Fame. The utter rejection of them would be the prayer -itself to strengthen the appreciation of art into a living thing. -Koyetsu made his profession in his younger days the connoisseurship of -swords as well as their whetting; it was for that service, I believe, -that Iyeyasu, the great feudal Prince of Yedo, gave him a piece of -land, then a mere waste, at Taka ga Mine of the lonely suburb of Kyoto, -by the Tanba highway, where he retired, with a few writing brushes and -a tea-kettle, to build his Taikyo An, or Abode of Vacancy, giving his -æsthetic fancy full swing to fill the “vacancy” of abode and life. He -warned his son and family, when he bade them farewell, it is said, that -they should never step into Yedo of the powerful lords and princes, -because the worldly desire was not the way of ennobling a life which -was worth living. We might call it “seihin”, or proud poverty that -Koyetsu most prized, as it never allures one from the chasteness of -simplicity which is the real foundation of art. There is reason to -believe that he must have been quite a collector of works of art, rich -and rare, in his earlier life; but it is said that he most freely gave -them away when he left his city home for his lonely retirement; indeed -he was entering into the sanctuary of priests. What needed he there -but prayer and silence? There is nothing more petty, even vulgar, in -the grey world of art and poetry, than to have a too close attachment -to life and physical luxuries; if our Orientalism may not tell you -anything much, I think it will teach you at least to soar out of your -trivialism. - -[Sidenote: THE STYLE CALLED “GYOSHO”] - -Koyetsu’s must have been a remarkable personality, remarkable -because of its lucidity distilled and crystallised—to use a plebeian -expression, by his own philosophy, whose touch breathed on the spot -a real art into anything from a porcelain bowl to the design on a -lacquer box; I see his transcendental mien like a cloud (that cloud -is not necessarily high in the sky all the time) in his works that -remain to-day, more from the reason that they carry, all of them, -the solitary grace of amateurishness in the highest sense. To return -to the unprofessional independence itself was his great triumph; -his artistic fervour was from his priesthood. I know that he was a -master in porcelain-making, picture-drawing, and also in lacquer-box -designing (what a beautiful work of art is the writing box of raised -lacquer called Sano Funahashi, to-day owned by the Imperial Museum of -Tokyo); but it seems that he often betrayed that his first and last -love was in his calligraphy. Once he was asked by Sambiakuin Konoye, -a high nobleman of the Kyoto Court, the question who was the best -penman of the day; it is said he replied, after a slight hesitation: -“Well, then, the second best would be you, my Lord; and Shokado would -be the third best.” The somewhat disappointed calligraphist of high -rank in the court pressed Koyetsu: “Speak out, who is the first! There -is nothing of ‘Well, then,’ about it.” Koyetsu replied: “This humble -self is that first.” The remarkable part is that in his calligraphy -Koyetsu never showed any streak of worldly vulgarity. Its illusive -charm is that of a rivulet sliding through the autumnal flowers; when -we call it impressive, that impressiveness is that of the sudden fall -of the moon. To return to this hanging of his (thousand thanks to the -Doctor) to which I look up to-day as a servant to his master, with -all devotion. The sure proof of its being no mean art, I venture to -say, is seen in its impressing me as the singular work of accident, -like the blow of the wind or the sigh of the rain; it seems the writer -(great Koyetsu) was never conscious, when he wrote it, of the paper on -which he wrote, of the bamboo brush which he grasped. It is true that -we cannot play our criticism against it; it is not our concern to ask -how it was written, but only to look at and admire it. The characters -are in the style called “gyosho,” or current hand, to distinguish from -the “kaisho,” or square hand; and there is one more style under the -name of “sosho,” or grass hand, that is an abbreviated cursive hand. -As this was written in “gyo” style, it did not depend on elaborate -patience but on the first stroke of fancy. I have no hesitation to say -that, when it is said that the arts of the calligrapher and the painter -are closely allied, the art of the calligrapher would be by just so -much related with our art of living; the question is what course among -the three styles we shall choose—the square formalism of “kaisho” or -the “sosho”-like romanticism? It does no justice to call “gyosho” a -middle road; when you know that your idealism is always born from the -conventionalism of reality of “kaisho”-like materialism, it is not -wrong to say that Koyetsu wisely selected a line of “gyosho”-like -accentuation—not so fantastic as a “sosho” calligraph—with the -tea-kettle and a few writing brushes, to make one best day before he -fell into the final rest. - - - - - II - - KENZAN - - -I used to pass by Zenyoji, a little Buddhist temple by the eastern -side of Uyeno Hill (whose trees, almost a thousand years old, in the -shape of a dragon, perhaps created by a Kano artist, have been ruined -by the smoke that never departs from the railroad terminus), where I -knew, from the calligraphic sign carved on a stone by the temple gate, -that Kenzan Ogata, the famous artist on paper or porcelain, and younger -brother of the great Korin, was buried in the graveyard within; but if -I did not step in, as in fact I did not step in, although I passed by -countless times, as I lived then in the neighbourhood of the temple -in classical Negishi—classical in association with the nightingale -and that wonderful pine-tree called Ogyo no Matsu (here also lived -Hoitsu, the famous decadent of the early nineteenth century)—that was -because I had little interest in any grave, even in Kenzan’s. And the -temple looked so dusty, smoky, and altogether dirty. How sorry I felt -in thinking that Kenzan’s artistic soul must be suffering from the -snoring, growling, and hissing of the engines day and night. Alas, he -could not foresee the future of a few hundred years when he died. But -I welcomed the news when the sudden removal of the grave was reported -as a result, a fortunate result indeed, of the expansion of the railway -track; this time, to be sure, I thought, his grey-loving, solitary -soul would be pleased to find a far better sleeping-place, as he was -to be moved to the large old garden of the Kokka Club (a well-known -artist club), with a deep pond where many gold fish peep underneath the -umbrella-like lotus leaves in early summer, and in later autumn the -_hagi_ or two-coloured lespedezas (Kenzan’s beloved subject) would lean -upon the water to admire their own images; and it is a matter thrice -satisfactory to think that this new place is also in Negishi (which -somehow recalls Hampstead, though there is no natural resemblance -between them). - - * * * * * - -I was invited to attend the memorial exhibition of Kenzan’s work to -commemorate the removal of his grave the other day. With the greatest -anticipation I went there with two friends of mine, a fellow poet -and an artist, both of them great admirers of Kenzan Ogata. When we -entered the ground, we found at once that the Buddhist ceremony, that -is the Sutra-reading called Kuya Nembutsu, around the newly dug grave -by the lotus pond under the trees, was well started already; some ten -or eleven priests, in fact the devoted members of the club, but in -long black robes, were seen through the foliage from the distance, -hopping around like the vagarious spirits of a moment (this fantastic -ceremony, Kuya Nembutsu) while reciting the holy book; the voice of the -recitation most musically broke the silence. We did not approach the -grave, but went straight into the exhibition rooms, because we knew -that the best prayer we could offer to Kenzan was to see and rightly -appreciate his works of art. We all of us were unable to speak a word -at the beginning, as our tongues (our heads too) lost their powers -against his peculiarly distinguished art, which is the oldest and -again the newest. When our minds became better composed, we sat in a -corner of the room where the hangings of his flowers or trees, and the -tea-bowls or incense-cases with his favourite designs, had been well -arranged; we felt inclined to talk, even discuss his art. - -[Sidenote: THE OLDEST AND THE NEWEST] - -“What a pleasing egotism,” I ventured to say, “in that picture of -lilies or this picture of fishes; the lilies and fishes are not an -accessory as in many other Japanese pictures, but the lilies and fishes -themselves in their full meaning. Again What a delightful egotism!” - -“You might call flowers feminine,” my artist-friend interrupted me. -“But I should like to know where is a thing more truly egotistic than -the flowers.” - -“That egotism in the picture,” I proceeded, “might be a real result -from the great reverence and intense love of Kenzan for his subjects; -we can see that his mind, when he painted them, was never troubled with -any other thing or thought. You know that such only occurs to a truly -gifted artist. After all, the greatness of Kenzan is his sincerity. -And it goes without saying that the pictures on tea-bowls we see here -are not things which were made to some one’s order. We become at once -sincere and silent in their presence; to say that his art was spiritual -is another way to express it—by that I mean that we are given all -opportunities to imagine what the pictures themselves may not contain. -Our imagination grows deeper and clearer through the virtue or magic of -his work; and again his work appears thrice simplified and therefore -more vital. The art really simple and vital is never to be troubled -with any rhetoric or accessories of unessentials; before you make such -a picture, you must have, to begin with, your own soul simplified and -vital in the true sense. Kenzan had that indeed.” - -[Sidenote: EXPRESSION OF PERSONALITY] - -“To call Kenzan’s work merely beautiful,” my friend-poet said, -evidently in the same mind with myself, “whether it be the picture on -paper or China-bowls, does no justice; what he truly aimed at was the -artistic expression,—and he was most successful when he was most true. -To him, as with the other great artists of East or West, the beauties -only occurred—and Kenzan’s beauties occurred when his simple art was -most decorative; in his decorativeness he found his own artistic -emotion. It was his greatness that he made a perfect union of emotion -and intellect in his work; to say shortly, he was the expression of -personality.” - -“What a personality was Kenzan’s! Again what a personality!” I -exclaimed. I proceeded, as I wished to take up the talk where my friend -poet had left off, “It is his personality by whose virtue even a -little weed or insignificant spray of a willow-tree turns to a real -art; he had that personality, because he had such a love and sympathy. -Indeed the main question of the artist is in his love and sympathy; the -external technique is altogether secondary. When you commune with the -inner meaning, that is the beginning and also the ending. We see here -the picture of a cherry-tree covered by the red blossoms, which might -happen to be criticised as a bad drawing; but since it does appear as -nothing but a cherry-tree, proud and lovely, I think that Kenzan’s -artistic desire was fully answered. He was an artist, not merely either -an illustrator or a designer. He was a true artist, therefore his work -is ever so new like the moon and flowers; and again old, like the -flowers and moon.” - -“If the so-called post-impressionists could see Kenzan’s work!” my -friend-artist suddenly ventured to exclaim, “I am sure that Vincent Van -Gogh would be glad to have this six-leafed screen of poppy-flowers.” - -“Really the picture is the soul of the flowers,” I said, “but not the -external flowers. It is mystic as the flowers are mystic. And imagine -Kenzan’s attitude when he drew that screen! I believe that he had the -same reverence as when he stood in the religion of mysticism to paint -a goddess; indeed his work was prayer and soul’s consolation. Though -the subject was flowers, I have no hesitation to call the picture -religious. I almost feel like lighting a candle and burning incense -before this screen of poppies.” - -[Sidenote: THE BAPTISM OF POVERTY] - -As with other gifted artists, we see Kenzan’s real life behind his -work. Some critic ably said that true art was an episode of life; I -can imagine that, when his artistic fancy moved and his work was done, -he must have thrown it aside into the waves of time, off-hand, most -unceremoniously, and forgotten all about it. We can truly say of his -works that they never owed one thing to money or payment for their -existence—and that is the greatest praise we can give to any work of -art. His material life might be said to have been quite fortunate -in that he was invited to Yedo (present Tokyo) by the Prince of the -Kanyeiji Temple of Uyeno, under whose patronage his art was pleased to -take its own free independent course; but his greatness is that when -the Prince passed away and he was left to poverty, he never trembled -and shrank under its cold cruel baptism; indeed that baptism made his -personality far nobler, like the white flame from which the whiteness -is taken out, and consequently his art was a thing created, as we say -here, by the mind out of the world and dust. The works which to-day -remain and are admired by us are mostly the work he executed after he -reached his seventieth year. We have many reasons to be thankful for -the fact that he left Kyoto, the old city of court nobles and ladies, -somewhat effeminate, and the side of his brother Korin, whose great -influence would have certainly made him a little Korin at the best; -we see no distinction whatever in the work which he gave the world -under Korin’s guidance. His art made a great stride after he appeared -in the Yedo of the warriors and manliness and touched a different -atmosphere from that of his former life; I will point, when you ask -me for the proof, to the now-famous six-fold screen with the picture -of plum-blossom, or the hanging also of the plum-blossom owned by the -Imperial Museum. Oh, what a noble plum-blossom, which reminds us of a -samurai’s heart, simple and brave! - - - - - III - - UTAMARO - - -I feel I scent, in facing Utamaro’s ladies, whether with no -soul or myriad souls (certainly ladies, be they courtesans or -_geishas_, who never bartered their own beauty and songs away), the -rich-soft passionate odour of rare old roses; when I say I hear the -silken-delicate summer breezes winging in the picture, I mean that the -Japanese sensuousness (is it the scent or pang of a lilac or thorn?) -makes my senses shiver at the last moment when it finally turns to -spirituality. It was our Japanese civilisation of soul, at least -in olden time under Tokugawa’s regime, not to distinguish between -sensuousness and spirituality, or to see at once the spiritual in the -sensuous; I once wrote down as follows, upon the woman drawn by lines, -or, more true to say, by the absence of lines, in snake-like litheness -of attitude, I might say more subtle than Rossetti’s Lillith, with such -eyes only opened to see love: - - “Too common to say she is the beauty of line, - However, the line old, spiritualised into odour, - (The odour soared into an everlasting ghost from life and death), - As a gossamer, the handiwork of a dream, - ’Tis left free as it flaps: - The lady of Utamaro’s art is the beauty of zephyr flow. - I say again, the line with the breath of love, - Enwrapping my heart to be a happy prey: - Sensuous? To some so she may appear, - But her sensuousness divinised into the word of love.” - -[Sidenote: THE LADY OF UTAMARO’S ART] - -Although I can enjoy and even criticise Hiroshige or Hokusai at any -time and in any place, let me tell you that I cannot do so with -Utamaro, because I must be first in the rightest mood (who says bodies -have no mood?) as when I see the living woman; to properly appreciate -his work of art I must have the fullness of my physical strength so -that my criticism is disarmed. (Criticism? Why, that is the art for -people imperfect in health, thin and tired.) I feel, let me confess, -almost physical pain—is it rather a joy?—through all my adoration in -seeing Utamaro’s women, just as when with the most beautiful women -whose beauty first wounds us; I do not think it vulgarity to say that I -feel blushing with them, because the true spiritualism would please to -be parenthesised by bodily emphasis. It is your admiration that makes -you bold; again your admiration of Utamaro’s pictures that makes them -a real part of yourself, therefore your vital question of body and -soul; and you shall never be able to think of them separately from -your personal love. When I say that we have our own life and art in his -work, I mean that all Japanese woman-beauty, love, passion, sorrow and -joy, in one word, all dreams now appear, then disappear, by the most -wonderful lines of his art. - -I will lay me down whenever I want to beautifully admire Utamaro and -spend half an hour with his lady (“To-day I am with her in silence -of twilight eve, and am afraid she may vanish into the mist”), in -the room darkened by the candle-light (it is the candle-light that -darkens rather than lights); every book or picture of Western origin -(perhaps except a few reprints from Rossetti or Whistler, which would -not break the atmosphere altogether) should be put aside. How can you -place together in the same room Utamaro’s women, for instance, with -Millet’s pictures or Carpenter’s “Towards Democracy"? The atmosphere I -want to create should be most impersonal, not touched or scarred by the -sharpness of modern individualism or personality, but eternally soft -and grey; under the soft grey atmosphere you would expect to see the -sudden swift emotion of love, pain, or joy of life, that may come any -moment or may not come at all. I always think that the impersonality or -the personality born out of the depth of impersonality was regarded in -older Japan as the highest, most virtuous art and life; now not talking -about life, but the art—Utamaro’s art, the chronicle or history of the -idealised harem or divan. How charming to talk with Utamaro on love and -beauty in the grey soft atmosphere particularly fitting to receive him -in, or to be received by him in. I would surely venture to say to him -on such a rare occasion: “You had no academy or any hall of mediocrity -in your own days to send your pictures to; that was fortunate, as you -appealed directly to the people eventually more artistic and always -just. I know that you too were once imprisoned under the accusation -of obscenity; there was the criticism also in your day which saw the -moral and the lesson, but not the beauty and the picture. When you say -how sorry you were to part with your picture when it was done, I fully -understand your artistic heart, because the picture was too much of -yourself; perhaps you confessed your own love and passion too nakedly. -I know that you must have been feeling uneasy or even afraid to be -observed or criticised too closely.” - -[Sidenote: THE ACCUSATION OF OBSCURITY] - -As a certain critic remarked, the real beauty flies away like an -angel whenever an intellect rushes in and begins to speak itself; the -intellect, if it has anything to do, certainly likes to show up itself -too much, with no consideration for the general harmony that would soon -be wounded by it. Utamaro’s art, let me dare say, is as I once wrote: - - “She is an art (let me call her so) - Hung, as a web, in the air of perfume, - Soft yet vivid, she sways in music: - (But what sadness in her saturation of life!) - Her music lives in intensity of a moment and then dies; - To her, suggestion is her life. - She is the moth-light playing on reality’s dusk, - Soon to die as a savage prey of the moment; - She is a creation of surprise (let me say so), - Dancing gold on the wire of impulse.” - -Some one might say that Utamaro’s ladies are brainless, but is it not, -as I said before, that the sacrifice of individuality or personality -makes them join at once with the great ghosts of universal beauty and -love? They are beautiful, because all the ghosts and spirits of all -the ages and humanity of Japan speak themselves through them; it is -perfectly right of him not to give any particular name to the pictures, -because they are not the reflection of only one woman, but of a hundred -and thousand women; besides, Utamaro must have been loving a little -secrecy and mystification to play with the public’s curiosity. - -[Sidenote: THE UKIYOYE WOMAN] - -We have his art; that is quite enough. What do I care about his life, -what he used to wear and eat, how long he slept and how many hours -he worked every day; in fact, what is known as his life is extremely -slight. It is said that he was a sort of hanger-on to Juzaburo Tsutaya, -the well-known publisher of his day, at the house within a stone’s -throw of Daimon or Great Gate of Yoshiwara, the Nightless City of -hired beauties and lanterns, where, the story says, Utamaro had his -nightly revel of youthful days as a fatal slave to female enchantment; -while we do not know whether he revelled there or not, we know that -as Yoshiwara of those times was the rendezvous of beauty, good looks, -and song, not all physical, but quite spiritual, we can believe that -he must have wandered there for his artistic development. Indeed there -was his great art beautifully achieved when he suddenly entered into -idealism or dream where sensuousness and spirituality find themselves -to be blood brothers or sisters. In the long history of Japanese art we -see the most interesting turn in the appearance of a new personality, -that is the Ukiyoye woman; and who was the artist who perfected them -to the art of arts? He was Utamaro. You may abuse and criticise, if -you will, their unnaturally narrow squint eyes and egg-shaped smooth -face; but from the mask his woman wears I am deliciously impressed -with the strange yet familiar, old but new, artistic personality. The -times change, and we are becoming more intellectual, as a consequence, -physically ugly; is it too sweeping or one-sided to say that? I have, -however, many reasons for my wishing to see more influence of Utamaro’s -art. - - - - - IV - - HIROSHIGE - - -The Sumida River’s blue began to calm down, like that of an old -Japanese colour-print, into the blue, I should say, of silence which -had not been mixed with another colour to make life; that blue, it -might be said, did not exist so much in the river as in my very mind, -which has lately grown, following a certain Mr. Hopper, to cry, -"Hiro—Hiro—Hiroshige the Great!” The time was late afternoon of one day -in last April; the little boat which carried a few souls like mine, -who, greatly troubled by the modern life, were eager to gain the true -sense of perspective towards Nature, glided down as it finished the -regular course of the “Cherry-blossom viewing at Mukojima.” And my mind -entered slowly into a picture of my own creation—nay, Hiroshige’s. -“Look at the view from here. (I was thinking of Hiroshige’s Sumidagawa -Hanasakari among his Yedo pictures.) It may be too late now to agree -with Wilde when he said that Nature imitates Art,” I said to my friend. -He saw at once my meaning, though not clearly, and expanded on how -artistically the human mind has been advancing lately; and I endorsed -him with the fact that I have come to see, for some long time, the -Japanese scenery through Hiroshige’s eye. My friend exclaimed: “Is -it not the same thing, when you think Nature imitates Art, that your -mind itself imitates the Art first?” It is not written in any book -how much Hiroshige was appreciated in his day; but I believe I am not -wrong to say that he is now reaching the height of popularity in both -the East and the West, of popularity in the real sense, and you will -easily understand me when I say that he is the artist of the future in -the same sense that I disbelieve in the birth register of Turner and -Whistler. He is, in truth, greatly in advance, even if I fancy he is -an artist of the present day, your contemporary and mine; I always go -to him to find where Nature is pleased to put her own emphasis. Every -picture of his I see seems to be a new one always; and the last is -ever so surprising as to leave my mind incapable for the time being of -apprehension of his other pictures. One picture of his is enough; there -is the proof of his artistic greatness. - -[Sidenote: NATURE IN HER EMPHASIS] - -We did not know until recently what meant the words realism and -idealism (should we thank the Western critics?) except this: “The -artist, whatever he be, idealist or realist or what not, is good when -he is true to his art. I mean that technique or method of expression -is secondary; even the seeming realistic picture of Oriental art is, -when it is splendid, always subjective.” I have many reasons to call -Hiroshige an idealist or subjective artist, now playing an arbitrary -art of criticism after the Western fashion, as I only see his artistic -wisdom, but nothing else in his being true to Nature; that wisdom, I -admit, helped his art to a great measure, but what I admire in him -is the indefinable quality which, as I have no better word, I will -call atmosphere or pictorial personality. It seems that he learned -the secret from Chinese landscape art how to avoid femininity and -confusion; the difference between his art and that of the Chinese -artist is that where the one drew a _bonseki_, or tray-landscape, -with sand from memory, the latter made a mirage in the sky. When -Hiroshige fails he reminds me of Emerson’s words of suggestion to look -at Nature upside down through your legs; his success, as that of the -Chinese artist, is poetry. And our Oriental poetry is no other kind -but subjectivity. I have right here before me the picture called “Awa -no Naruto,” which is more often credited to be the work of the second -Hiroshige; now let me, for once and all, settle the question that there -were many Hiroshiges. It is my opinion there was only one Hiroshige; -I say this because in old Japan (a hundred times more artistic than -present Japan) the individual personality was not recognised, and -when an artist adopted the name of Hiroshige by merit and general -consent, it meant that he grew at once incarnated with it; what use is -there to talk about its second or third? I prefer to regard Hiroshige -as the title of artistic merit since it has ceased in fact to be -an individuality; indeed, where is the other artist, East or West, -whose life-story is so little known as Hiroshige’s? And I see so many -pictures which, while bearing his signature, I cannot call his work, -because I see them so much below the Hiroshige merit—for instance, -the whole upright series of Tokaido and Yedo, and so many pictures of -the “Noted Places in the Provinces of Japan"—because they are merely -prose, and even as prose they often fail. But to return to this “Awa -no Naruto,” a piece of poem in picture, where the whirlpools of the -strait, large and small, now rising and then falling in perfect rhythm, -are drawn suggestively but none the less distinctly. I see in it not -only the natural phenomenon of the Awa Strait, but also the symbolism -of life’s rise and fall, success and defeat; I was thinking for some -time that I shall write a poem on it, although I could not realise it -yet. - -[Sidenote: HIROSHIGE THE CHINESE POET] - -I have my own meaning when I call Hiroshige the Chinese poet. Upon -my little desk here I see an old book of Chinese prosody; there is -a popular Chinese verse, Hichigon Zekku, or Four Lines with Seven -Words in Each, which is almost as rigid as the English sonnet; and the -theory of the sonnet can be applied to that Hichigon Zekku without any -modification. We generally attach an importance to the third line, -calling it the line “for change,” and the fourth is the conclusion; the -first line is, of course, the commencing of the subject, and the second -is “to receive and develop.” It seems that Hiroshige’s good pictures -very well pass this test of Hichigon Yekku qualification. Let me pick -out the pictures at random to prove my words. Here is the “Bright Sky -after Storm at Awazu,” one of the series called Eight Views of the -Lake Biwa; in it the white sails ready to hoist in the fair breeze -might be the “change” of the versification. That picture was commenced -and developed with the trees and rising hills by the lake, and the -conclusion is the sails now visible and then invisible far away. Now -take the picture of a rainstorm on the Tokaido. Two peasants under a -half-opened paper umbrella, and the _Kago_-bearers naked and hasty, are -the “third line” of the picture; the drenched bamboo dipping all one -way and the cottage roofs shivering under the threat of Nature would be -the first and second lines, while this picture-poem concludes itself -with the sound of the harsh oblique fall of rain upon the ground. You -will see that Hiroshige’s good pictures have always such a theory of -composition; and he gained it, I think, from the Chinese prosody. In -the East, more than in the West, art is allied to verse-making. - -[Sidenote: THE FAREWELL VERSE] - -When we consider the fact he was the artist of only fifty years ago, it -is strange why we cannot know more of his own life story, and how he -happened to leave the words that generally pass as a farewell verse as -follows:— - -“I leave my brush at Azuma, and go on the journey to the Holy West to -view the famous scenery there.” - -I cannot accept it innocently, and I even doubt its origin, as it is -more prosaic than poetical. It is only that he followed after a fashion -of his day if he left it, as the verse is poor and at best humorous. -But when it is taken by the English seriousness, the words have another -effect. Indeed, Hiroshige has had quite an evolution since he was -discovered in the West; he is, in truth, more an English or European -artist than a Japanese in the present understanding. - - - - - V - - GAHO HASHIMOTO - - -[Sidenote: _KOKOROMOCHI_ IN PICTURE] - -The art of Gaho (Hashimoto’s _nom-de-plume_, signifying the “Kingdom -Refined”) is not to discard form and detail, as is often the case -with the artists of the “Japanese school,” while they soar into the -grey-tinted vision of tone and atmosphere. His conventionalism—remember -that he started his artist’s life as a student of the Kano school, -whose absurd classicism, arresting the germ of development, invited -its own ruin—was not an enemy for him by any means. With the magic of -his own alchemy he turned it into a transcendental beauty, bearing the -dignity of artistic authority. I am sure he must have been glad to -have the conventionalism for his magic to work on afterward; and when -he left it, it seems to me, he looked back to it with a reminiscence -of sad longing. Conventionalism is not bad when it does not dazzle. To -make it suggestive is an achievement. To speak of Gaho’s individuality -in his pictures does no justice to him. His thought and conception -are the highest, and at the least different from many another artist -in the West. It is not his aim at all to express the light and colour -of his individuality. I believe that he even despised it. He had -the volumes of the Oriental philosophy in himself; and his idea, I -believe, was much influenced by the Zen sect Buddhism, whose finality -in teaching is to forget your ego. Gaho often talked on _Kokoromochi_ -in picture, to use his favourite expression, which, I am sure, means -more than “spirit.” “Now what is it?” he was frequently asked. “Is -it in its nature subjective or objective? Or is it something like a -combination of the two?” He was never explanatory in speech in his -life. He thought, as a Zen priest, that silence was the best answer. -Let me explain his _Kokoromochi_ in picture by my understanding. - -It is life or vital breath of the objective character, which is -painted by one who has no stain of eye or subjectivity. To lose your -subjectivity against the canvas, or, I will say, here in Japan, the -silk, is the first and last thing. And the perfect assimilation -with the object which you are going to paint would be the way of -emancipation. You have to understand that you are called out by a -divine voice only to be a medium, but nothing else. I am afraid that -the phrase, “Let Nature herself speak,” has been over-used. However, -it is peculiarly true in Gaho’s case. I think Gaho thought that to -flash the rays of his individuality in his picture was nothing but a -blasphemy against Nature. In that respect he is the humblest artist, -and at the same time his humility is his own pride. Indeed, it is only -through humility you are admitted to step into the inner shrine of -Nature. Art for Gaho was not the matter of a piece of silk and Chinese -ink, but a sacred thing. And to be an artist is a life’s greatest -triumph, and I am sure that Gaho was that. - -I have been for some long time suspecting the nature of development -of artistic appreciation of the Western mind, when only Hokusai’s -and Hiroshige’s pictures, let me say, of red and green in tone of -conception, called its special attention, and I even thought that our -Japanese art, with the silence of blue and grey, would be perfectly -beyond its power of reach. When Nature soars higher, she turns at once -to the depth of dreams, whose voice is silence. To express the grey -stillness of atmosphere and tone is the highest art, at least, to the -Japanese mind. Not only in the picture, but in the “tea house” or -incense ceremony, or in the garden, the appreciation of silence is the -highest æsthetics. It gives you a strong but never abrupt thrill of the -delight which is nobly touched by the hands of sadness, and lets you -lose yourself in it, and slowly grasp something you may be glad to call -ideal. And the same sensation you can entertain from Gaho’s art, which -you might think to be reminiscent of a certain artistic paradise or -Horai, the blest—one of his favourite subjects—enwrapped in silent air. -You may call it idealism if you will, but it was nothing for him but -the realisation. While you think it was his fancy, he saw it with his -own naked eyes. It is true that he had been delivered from idealism. -And I should say that dream, too, is not less real than you and I. - -[Sidenote: NOTHING BUT THE REALISATION] - -He never jars you. His art is a grey ghost of melody born from the -bosom of depth and distance, like a far-off mountain. And it gives -you a thrill of large space that binds you with eternity, and you -will understand that what you call reality is nothing but a shiver of -impulse of great Nature. His art, indeed, is the highest art of Japan, -which, I believe, will be also the highest art of the West. It quite -often stirs me with a Western suggestion, which, however, springs from -the soil of his own bosom. I know that there is a meeting-point of the -East and West, and that, after all, they are the same thing. He found -the secret of art, which will remind any highly developed mind of both -the East and West of some memory, and let it feel something like an -emotion and fly into a higher realm of beauty. (Gaho’s beauty is the -beauty of silence.) It goes without saying that his art is simple, and -his vision not complex. However, it is not only an Oriental philosophy -to say that the greatest simplicity is the greatest complexity, and I -will say that Gaho holds both extremes. The elements of his art embrace -something older than art, larger than life, something which inspires -you with the sense of profundity. They give us strange and positive -pulses of age and nature, and the sudden rapture of dream, for which -we will gladly die. They give us the feeling of peace and silence, and -suggest something which we wish to grasp. The delight we gain from Gaho -is purely spiritual. His pictures are living as a ghost which vanishes -and again appears. - -His conception of Buddhism was not sad, although this religion is -generally said to be a pessimism, but joyous and sympathetic. I am -sure that to associate Buddhism with something of grief and tears -is not a proper understanding at all. (See Gaho’s pictures of the -Buddha and _Rakans_, the Buddha disciples. They do not inspire any -awfulness.) Tenderness and joy, with a touch of sorrow, which is -poetry, are the road toward the Nirvana. For Gaho, silence meant the -highest state of peacefulness. The sad joy, which is the highest joy, -is an evolution which never breaks the euphony of life, while tears and -grief are rebellious. His art inspires in us a great reverence, which -is religious, and it is always justified. And it reveals a light of -faith under which he was born as an artist, and he was glad to fulfil -his appointed work. Then his aspiration is never an accident, but the -force which he cherished and has made grow. - -[Sidenote: GAHO’S THREE PERIODS] - -Gaho’s life of seventy-five years, which had closed in the month of -January, 1907, can be divided into three periods. The first is that in -which he was engaged in the pursuit of the ancient method by copying -the models after the fashion of the Kano school; the second was that in -which he slowly broke loose from the trammels of the Kano school, and -ventured out to make a thorough exploration of the conspicuous features -of various other schools; and the final was that in which he revealed -himself nobly, with all the essence of art which he had earned from his -tireless journey of previous days. In one word, he was the sum total -of the best Japanese art. It is said that his long life was but one -long day of study and work. He shut himself in his silent studio from -early morning till evening, from evening till midnight, sitting before -a piece of spread silk, with a Chinese brush in hand, as if before a -Buddhistic altar where the holy candles burn. Now his research went -deep in the Chinese schools of the ages of Sung, Yuen, and Ming, and -then his thoughts lingered by the glimmer of the Higashiyama school’s -reminiscences. He confessed that he received no small influence from -the Korin school, and I have more than one reason to believe that his -knowledge of the Western art also was considerable. His catholicity of -taste severely discriminated them, and his philosophy or conception of -art stood magnificently above them, and never allowed them to disturb -it under any circumstances. His great personality made him able to sing -the song of triumph over his boundless artistic knowledge which had -no power to oppress him. You might call his art a work of inspiration -if you wish; but I am sure that he hated the word inspiration. It was -through the religious exaltation of his mind that he could combine -himself with Nature, and he and the subject which he was going to -paint were perfectly one when the picture was done. His artist’s magic -is in his handling of lines. He believed that Japanese painting was -fundamentally one of lines. What a charm, what a variety he had with -them! See the difference between the lines he used for the pictures -of a tiger or a dragon in clouds, the Oriental symbol of power and -exaltation, and a bird or other delicate subject. The lines themselves -are the pictures. However, that does not mean to undervalue his equal -pre-eminence in his art of colour. - -[Sidenote: HIS FOUR YEARS OF PUPILAGE] - -Gaho—or Gaho Hashimoto—was born in the fifth year of Tempo (1832) at -Kobikicho, in Yedo, now Tokyo. From his seventh year he was taught how -to draw and paint; at thirteen he became for the first time a pupil -of Shosen Kano. It is said that Gaho was from an artistic family; we -can trace back to Yeiki Hashimoto, who lived some time in the Meiwa -(1764), and from whom the family line has continued unbroken down to -the present. Yeiki was originally a native of Kyoto; and there he -happened to be known to Suwonokami Matsudaira, the Shogun’s minister, -who took him into his service; and on the lordship’s return to Yedo -Mr. Hashimoto accompanied his master. And he happened to settle -at Kobikicho, where the Kano family lived, and soon gained Kano’s -friendship. Since that time the family line was continued by Ikyo, -Itei, and Yoho. Gaho was Yoho’s son. The year after he became a student -of the Kano school he lost his father and also his mother. It is said -to be extraordinary that he was called upon to act, after only four -years of pupilage, as an assistant to his master Shosen in painting -personal figures on the cedar door of the Shogun palace. At twenty -years of age he was made head pupil. When he married he was twenty-six -years old, and he began to lead his independent life, which turned -tragic immediately. While the problem of getting his subsistence was -not easy, his wife, whom he married with hope, became insane. - -Mrs. Hashimoto was obliged to withdraw to the Higuchi village in -Saitama prefecture, where was an estate of her husband’s master, to -avoid danger in the city; but she grew worse, and ran mad. And it -is said that such a sad turn was from the reason that she was often -tormented by some country ruffians. She was soon taken back to the -city again, where she was put under her husband’s sole protection. -Thus, when poor Gaho’s mind was completely engrossed with his family -trouble, the great restoration of Meiji (1866) was announced, and the -feudalism which had prospered for some three hundred years fell to the -ground. Whole Japan was thrown at once in the abyss of social tumult -and change; under the speedily felt foreign invasion she lost herself -entirely. What she did was to destroy old Japan; she thought it proper -and even wise. It was the darkest age for art; when people did not -know of the safety of their own existence, it goes without saying that -they had no time to admire art and spend money for it. It is perfectly -miraculous to think how the artists managed to live; there are, of -course, many heart-rending stories about them. - -[Sidenote: TWENTY SEN FOR HIS THREE DAYS] - -Gaho’s is sad enough, although it may not be saddest of all. He gave up -his own painting temporarily, and tried to get a pittance by painting -pictures on folding fans which were meant for exportation to China. -And it is said that he was often scorned by his employer for his -clumsy execution and, sadder still, he was told to leave his job. Is -it Heaven’s right to treat one who was destined to be a great artist -like that? He now resorted to a manual work of linking metal rings -for making a sort of net-work; this chain-work, when finished, it is -said, was made into something to be worn as an undergarment. Then he -turned to take up the handicraft of making “koma,” or bridges (a kind -of small wooden or bamboo pillow inserted between the body of a musical -instrument and its strings), of the _shamisen_, a Japanese guitar; and -he was paid, I am told, one sen for a single piece of that koma, and -to make twenty it took him three days. Fancy his earning of twenty -sen for his steady work of three days! To recollect it in his later -days must have been for him the source of tears. And fancy again his -immense wealth when he died, the wealth which, not his greed, but his -single-minded devotion to art invited! In fact, there was no person -so unconcerned of money as this Gaho. It was his greatness to believe -amid the sudden falling of art that the Japanese art which had grown -from the very soil a thousand years old could not die so easily, and -that the people’s mind would open to it in a better condition; it was -his prophetic foresight to behold the morning light in the midnight -star. He was patiently waiting for his time when he should rise with -splendour; and he never left himself to be ruined among the sad whirl -of society and the nation’s unsympathetic commotion. He walked slowly -but steadily toward the star upon which he set his lofty eyes. He -stood aloof above the age. His life, not only in his art, was the song -of triumph too. - -To his relief, his insane wife died; and his appointment as a -draughtsman at the Imperial Naval Academy meant for him a substantial -help. He kept it up till the eighteenth year of Meiji, when the revival -of Japanese art began to be chronicled, as Gaho expected, in the -formation of art societies like the Kanga Kwai or Ryuchi Kwai. When he -left the Naval Academy he was called to do service at the Investigation -Bureau of Drawing and Painting in the Department of Education. His -fellow-workers were the most lamented Hogai Kano, another great artist -of modern Japan, and the late Mr. Okakura, that able art critic, in -whose guidance Kano trusted. And those three men at the start are the -true life-restorers of Japanese art. When the Tokyo School of Art -was founded (22nd year of Meiji), Gaho was first made warden of the -school, and then its director. And he was appointed professor when his -investigation bureau happened to close up. However, he voluntarily -resigned his professorship when Mr. Okakura, then the president of the -school, was obliged to resign his office. Gaho took the principal’s -chair of the Nippon Bijitsu when Okakura established it afterwards; but -this school soon became a story of the past. - -[Sidenote: GAHO’S SUCCESSORS] - -Gaho has left his successors perhaps in those artists like Kwanzan -Shimomura, Taikwan Yokoyama, Kogetsu Saigo and others, who are doing -some noteworthy work. And I believe that he died at the right time if -he must. - - - - - VI - - KYOSAI - - -[Sidenote: THE WINE AND ARTISTS’ MINDS] -[Sidenote: THE ILLUSTRATED AUTOBIOGRAPHY] - -I acknowledged my friend’s characterisation, after some reluctance, of -our Kyosai Kawanabe as a Japanese Phil May; as the artist of _Punch_ -has often received the appellation of an English Hokusai, I do not -see much harm, speaking generally, in thus falling into the feminine -foible of comparison-making. Putting aside the question of the material -achievement in art of those artists of the East and West, in truth so -different (Kyosai surpassing the other, let me say, in variety), one -will soon see that their innermost artistic characters are closely -related; their seeming difference is the difference of education and -circumstances from which even their original minds could hardly escape. -I do not know much of the bacchanalianism of Phil May, but I know -well enough that its sway is not so expansive in England as in Japan, -at least old Japan, where the fantastic artists like Kyosai revelled -around the ghosts they created in the sweet cup of _saké_. When we see -Kyosai writing in front of his name the epithet Shojo, applied to the -half-human red-haired bacchanals of Chinese legend, we might say he -betrayed, beside his full-faced confession of the love of the cup, the -fact of his natural attachment to Toba Sojo, that apostle of humour, -whose pictorial wantonness may have given him many a hint; indeed he -might have, like Phil May, adorned the pages of _Punch_, although -many an admirer of his, like Josiah Conder in _Paintings and Studies -by Kyosai Kawanabe_, a sumptuous book on the artist containing the -representative work of his last eight years, sees only the serious side -of his work. And when he changed the Chinese character of his name from -that of “dawn” to that of “madness,” I think that he was laughing, at -his own expense, over the lawless excitement he most comically acted -when the excess of wine deceived him away from the imaginative path of -inspiration, while, like Hokusai in the well-known epithet Gwakyo Rojin -or Old Man Crazy at Painting, he sanctified to himself his own craze -for painting. It is an interesting psychological study to speculate -on the possible relation between the Japanese wine and our artists’ -minds; I think it was a superstition or faith, I might say, founded -on tradition, that they called the wine an invoker of inspiration, -as I see the fact to-day that many of them find the divine breath in -something else. However, I am thankful to the Japanese liquid with its -golden flash, if it really acted as the medium through which Kyosai’s -many pictures came into existence, while his many other works, for -instance the frontispiece woodcut of Professor Conder’s Kyosai book, -the elaborate picture of a Japanese beauty of the eleventh century, -or the famous courtesan, Jigoku-dayu, in company with a demon, also -the highly finished work owned by Mrs. William Anderson, or the other -pictures I have seen more or less by accident, prove that he can be -an equally splendid artist in a different direction while in perfect -sobriety. He was born in the year 1831, that is about thirty years, -roughly speaking, before the fall of the Tokugawa feudalism, when the -age was fast decaying into loose morality and _saké_-drinking; and -when he became a man, he found that the art’s dignity under whose kind -shadow he had studied as a student of Tohaku Kano, the leading artist -of that famous Kano family in those days, had fallen flat, and that -his ability made no satisfactory impression on people who had likely -forgotten their artistic appreciation in the tumult of the Restoration; -and I think it was natural enough for Kyosai to call upon the wine, as -we say here, to sweep away the grievance, and to invoke, through it, a -divine influence upon his art. And it is the old Japanese way to speak -of wine-drinking and general revel with innocent gusto, as I find in -_Kyosai Gwaden_, an illustrated autobiography here and there humorously -exaggerated but none the less sincere, from which all the writers on -Kyosai, Professor Conder included, draw the materials of his life; -he is often in danger of being criticised for his self-advertising -audacity, this artist of fine madness. He often reminds me of Hokusai, -not so much in his artistic expression as in temperament. The books, I -mean _Kyosai Gwaden_, cannot be said, I think, to be more interesting -in text than the pictures themselves; these are a series of off-hand -sketches showing the actual scenes of his arrest and imprisonment, the -story of which Professor Conder’s English propriety excluded, although -it seems perfectly harmless as it was, on his part, merely the conduct -arising out of merriment from excess of wine; beside, his sketches show -us the sickening gloominess of prison life in those days when one’s -freedom and right were denied rather than protected. Kyosai drank most -terribly at a party held at a restaurant in Uyeno Park; he made on -the spot the caricatures—while overhearing the talk of a foreigner on -horseback who, being asked by a tea-house maid at Oji if he came alone, -replied that he came accompanied by “a pair of fools"—in which he drew -the picture of two people tying the shoe-strings of one man with the -longest legs, and also the picture of men of the longest arms pulling -out the hairs of Daibutsu’s nostrils. The authorities, though it is not -clear how the matter came to their knowledge, stepped into the place -and arrested him on the ground of insulting the officials; we must be -thankful for the “enlightenment” of to-day when nobody would possibly -get, as Kyosai got in 1870, ninety days in the cell from such pictures. -The real meaning of Kyosai’s impromptu in art is rather vague; but it -is in my mind a satirical love to understand them as a huge laughter -over Japan’s slavishness to the West. And I often wonder if they are -not caricatures which could be used to-day. Where is another Kyosai -who could raise such a striking brush of scorn and sneer as to startle -authority? - -[Sidenote: THE PROUD PLEBEIANISM] - -Kyosai used to absorb his spare time, while a young student at Kano’s -atelier, in the study of the _No_ drama—out of natural love, I believe, -combined with zeal to find an artistic secret in its heterogeneity, -unlike the other students who sought their outside amusement nightly -in popular halls of music and song; and it was an elderly lady of the -Kano family who encouraged him by furnishing funds for teacher and -costumes, being impressed, as a _No_ admirer herself, by the young -man’s noble intention. It seems that Kyosai had not been able to fulfil -the old lady’s desire to see him in one of her favourite pieces called -_Sambaso_, whether from his imperfect mastering of it then or from some -other reason, when she suddenly fell ill and died; doubtless, Kyosai -took the matter to his heart of hearts. It was on the day of her third -anniversary that he gathered all the musician accompanists of flute -and drum before her lonely grave at Uyeno, and he, of course in the -full costume of the character, performed the whole piece of the said -_Sambaso_. Fancy the scene in the graveyard damp with mosses, dark with -the falling foliage; and the actor is no other but fantastic Kyosai. -Where could be found a more gruesome sight than that? This story among -others we find in _Kyosai Gwaden_ is most characteristic in that no -other artist of the long Japanese history, perhaps with the possible -exception of Hokusai, could make it fit for himself; the story reveals -Kyosai’s honesty almost to a fault, that sounds at once childish or -madman-like, a temperament, unlike that of Southern Japan of female -refinement and voluptuousness, which only the proud plebeianism of the -Yedo civilisation (what an ultra-European imbecility of present Tokyo!) -could create, the temperament, uncompromising, most difficult to be -neutral. If we call Icho Hanabusa the most proper representative of old -Yedo’s Genroku Age, the time when people found spirituality through -the consecration of materialism, I think we can well call Kyosai the -representative of the later Tokugawa Age (although his life extended a -good many years into the present Meiji era) which, again like his own -art, fell with the abruptness of an oak-tree. I have some reason when I -beg your attention to the above characteristic story of Kyosai. - -The love of the _No_ drama, the classic of lyrical fascination -exclusively patronised by nobles and people of taste, would never be -taken as strange in Kyosai who stayed sixteen long years with that -master of the old Kano art, Tohaku Kano, till he parted from it in his -twenty-seventh year perhaps for an art wider and truer, or, let me say, -to find his own artistic soul all by his own impulse and strength; and -when we see what attachment, even reverence, he had, during his whole -life, toward the name of Toiku given him by the old master, the name -we find in _Kyosai Gwaden_ and other books, we can safely say that his -classic passion in general must have been quite strong. The question -is where his plebeianism could find room to rise and fall. That is the -point where, not only in his art, also in his personality, he showed in -spite of himself a tragi-comic oddity, mainly from the rupture between -the two extremes of temperament. I am told by his personal friend who -survives to-day that he was rather pleased to shock and frighten the -most polite society which reverently congregated in the silent house -of the _No_ drama, to begin with, by his informal dress only suitable -for the street shopkeeper or mechanic, then with his occasional shout -of praise over the beautiful turn of the acting, in a voice touched -with vulgar audacity; he exclaimed, “Umei!” Yedo slang for “splendid,” -which was at least unusual for a _No_ appreciator. Nobody seemed, I am -told, to criticise him when his good old heart was well recognised. -So in his own art. I can point out, even from Professor Conder’s -collection alone, many a specimen where the aristocratic aloofness of -air is often blurred by his plebeianism—for example in the pictures of -“Daruma,” “The Goddess Kwannon on a Dragon,” “Carp swimming in a Lake,” -and others; the meaning I wish to impress on your mind will become -clear directly when you compare them with the work of Sesshu, Motonobu, -and Okyo on similar subjects. And again I have enough confidence to -say that his elaborate pictures of red and green, after the Ukiyoye -school, were more often weakened by the classic mist; although he -did not wish to be looked upon as of that school, I think it was the -main reason that he rather failed as an Ukiyoye artist. I endorse my -friend to whom I praised and abused Kyosai lately only to get his true -estimation, when he declared that Kyosai could not become one of the -greatest artists of Japan simply from his inability to sacrifice his -versatility; that versatility was the kind we can only find in Hokusai. -He was the most distinguished example of one who failed, if he failed, -from excess of artistic power and impulse. - -[Sidenote: WEAKENED BY THE CLASSIC MIST] - -Any one who sees _Kyosai Gwaden_ will certainly be astonished by his -extraordinary persistence of study displayed in the first two volumes, -in which he shows encyclopedically the delicate shades of variety of -nearly all Japanese artists acknowledged great, from Kanaoka down to -Kuniyoshi, also specimens of Chinese masters inserted at intervals. -When I say that his artistic study was thorough even in the modern -sense, I mean he always went straight to Nature and reality to fulfil -what the pictures of old masters failed to tell him. _Kyosai Gwaden_ -tells, as an early adventure in Nature study, how he hid in a cupboard -a human head which he picked up from a swollen river and horrified -the family with his attempt to sketch it in his ninth year; when fire -broke out and swept away even his own house, he became an object of -condemnation, as he acted as if it were the affair of somebody else, -and was seen serenely sketching the sudden clamour of the fire scene. -The books contain somewhere a page or two of unusually amusing sketches -of his students at work on different living objects, from a frog and -turtle to cocks and fishes; Kyosai’s love of fun in exaggeration -(indeed exaggeration is one of the traits conspicuous even in his most -serious work) again is seen in the sketches, when he made a monkey -play at gymnastics and pull the hair of the earnest student with the -brush. I often ask myself the question of the real merit of realism -in our Japanese art, and further the question how much Kyosai gained -from his realistic accuracy; I wonder what artistic meaning there is, -for instance, when people, even acknowledged critics, speak with much -admiration of the anatomical exactness of those skeletons fantastically -dancing to the ghost’s music in that famous Jigoku-dayu picture. Let -me ask again what the picture would lose, supposing, for instance, the -most whimsical dancers around the courtesan’s gorgeous robe had two or -three joints of bone missing; is not Kyosai’s realistic minuteness, -which the artist was perhaps proud of displaying, in truth, rather a -small subordinate part in his pictures? He was already in the present -age, many years before his death, when many a weak artistic mind of -Japan only received, from the Western art, confusion and reasoning, but -not strength and passion. Now let me ask you: was it Kyosai’s artistic -greatness to accept the Western science of art? - -[Sidenote: THE REALISTIC MINUTENESS] - -He was never original in the absolute understanding as Sesshu, Korin, -in a lesser degree Harunobu and Hokusai were; it might be that he -was born too late in the age, or is it more true to say that his -astonishing knowledge of the old Japanese art acted to hold him back -from striking out an original line? Education often makes one a coward. -When I say that he was himself the sum total of all Japanese art, I do -not mean to undervalue him, but rather to do justice to his versatility -and the swing of his power. And it was his personality, unique and -undefinable, that made his borrowing such an impression as we feel it -in fact in his work. After all, he has to be judged, in my opinion, as -an artist of technique. - -I do not know what picture of his the Victoria and Albert Museum and -the British Museum have, except a few reproductions in books, which -impressed me as poor examples. It is not too much to say that Professor -Conder’s Kyosai book is the first and may be the last; there is no more -fit man than he, who as Kyosai’s student knew him personally during the -last eight years of his life. The book contains some good specimens -which belong to that period; but what I most wish to see, are the -pictures he produced in his earlier age. He is one of the artists who -will gain much from selection; who will ever publish a book of twenty -or thirty best pieces of his life’s production? - - - - - VII - - THE LAST MASTER OF THE UKIYOYE ART - - -Yoshitoshi Tsukioka, as Kuniyoshi’s home student of high talent in his -younger days, it is said, had a key to the storehouse entrusted to -his care, where Kuniyoshi treasured foreign colour-prints of saints -or devils strayed from a Dutch ship, Heaven’s gift most rare in those -days, which made him pause a little and think about a fresh turn for -his work. When we know that vulgarity always attracts us first and -most, provided it is new to us, we cannot blame Yoshitoshi much when -he reproduced in his work, indeed, stealing a march on his master, -an immediate response to the Western art, whose secret he thought he -could solve through varnishing. Doubtless it was no small discovery -for Yoshitoshi. And the general public were equally simple when -“Kwaidai Hyaku Senso,” his first attempt after the new departure, quite -impressive as he thought, was well received by them; when he went too -far in this foreign imitation through his little knowledge, as in his -“Battle at Uyeno,” he varnished the whole picture. We have another -instance that time is, after all, the best judge, as we know that -those pictures of Yoshitoshi’s early days, when he had not yet found -his own art, are most peacefully buried under the blessed oblivion and -heavy dusts to-day. You cannot make an art only by wisdom and prayer, -and it is better to commit youthful sin when one must, like Yoshitoshi, -with his period of foreign imitation, since his later work would become -intensified, chastened, and better balanced by his repentance. - -[Sidenote: THE SUCCESS OF FAILURE] - -To speak most strictly, Kuniyoshi should be called the last master -of the Ukiyoye school, this interesting branch of Japanese art -interpreting the love and romance of the populace, peculiarly developed -through the general hatred of the aristocratic people; but I have -reason to call Yoshitoshi Tsukioka the very last master of that school, -in the same sense that we call Danjuro or Kikugoro the last actors, -not less by the fact of the age, already heterogeneous, naturally -weakened for holding up the old Japanese purity, against which he -struggled hard to find an artistic compromise, than by his own gift. -I have often thought that, if he had been born earlier, he might have -proved himself another Hokusai, or, better still, if the time were -still earlier, when love and sensuality were the same word in peace and -prosperity, he would not have been much below Utamaro. If he failed, as -indeed he failed, now, looking back from to-day, it was the failure of -his age. Although it may sound paradoxical, I am pleased to say that -his failure was his success, because I see his undaunted versatility -glorified through his failure; he helps, more than any other artist, -the historian of Japanese art to study the age psychologically—in fact, -he serves him more than Hokusai or Utamaro. He is an interesting study, -as I said before, as the last master, indeed, as much so as Moronobu -Hishikawa as the recognised first master. I say Yoshitoshi failed, but -I do not mean that he was a so-called failure in his lifetime; on the -contrary, he was one of the most popular artists of modern Japan—at -least, in the age of his maturity; what I should like to say is that -the artistic success of one age does never mean the success of another -age, and Yoshitoshi’s success is, let me say, the success of failure -when we now look back upon it. I can distinctly remember even to-day -my great disappointment, now almost twenty-five years ago, as a most -ardent admirer of Yoshitoshi, when, appearing before the publisher’s -house as early as seven o’clock the morning after I had read the -announcement of his new picture of a dancer, I was told that the entire -set of copies was exhausted; his popularity was something great in my -boyhood’s days. It was in 1875 that he first took the public by storm -with his three sheets of pictures called “Ichi Harano,” an historical -thing which showed Yasumasa, a court noble, playing a bamboo flute -under the moonlight, perfectly unconscious of a highwayman, Hakama -Dare by name, following him, stepping softly upon the autumn grasses, -ready to stab the noble with his sword. The popularity of this picture -was heightened by the fact that Danjuro, the greatest tragedian of -the modern Japanese stage, wanted to reproduce the pictorial effect -in a play, and have Shinsuke Kawatake write up one special scene to -do honour to Yoshitoshi, under the title “Ichi Harano, by Yoshitoshi, -Powerful with his Brush.” It was a great honour indeed, such as no -artist to-day could expect to receive. We have many occasions, on the -other hand, when Yoshitoshi served the actors and his bosom friends, -Danjuro and Kikugoro, to popularise their art. Since the day of the -First Toyokuni, it had been the custom for the artists of this popular -school to work together with the stage artists. - -[Sidenote: THE CARVER AND PRINTER] - -Yoshitoshi brought out the series of three called “Snow, Moon, and -Flower,” two of them commemorating Danjuro in his well-known rôle -of Kuyemon Kezuri, and one Kikugoro in Seigen, whose holy life of -priesthood was disturbed by love beyond hope. Although I hesitate to -say they are the best specimens—yes, they are in their own way—they -have few companions in the long Ukiyoye annals as theatrical posters, -for which exaggeration should not be much blamed. The striking point -of emphasis in design, hitting well the artistic work, make them -worthy. I have them right before me while writing this brief note on -Yoshitoshi. I recall what I heard about the Kezuri picture; it is said -that the artist spent fully three days to draw this “hundred-days -wig,” to use the theatrical phrase. What an astonishing wig that rôle -had to wear. And what painstaking execution of the artist; and again -what wonderful dexterity of the Japanese carver and printer. At the -time when these pictures were produced it is not too much to say that -the arts of carving and printing had reached the highest possible -point—that is to say, they had already begun to fall. I am pleased to -attach a special value to them as the past pieces which well combined -those three arts. By the way, the name of the carver of those pictures -is Wadayu. Now, returning to Yoshitoshi and his actors-friends. The -former was always regarded by the latter as an artistic adviser whose -words were observed as law; Yoshitoshi was the first person Danjuro -used to look up when in trouble with the matter of theatrical design -in dress. I have often heard how the artist helped Kikugoro. This -eminent actor once had a great problem how to appear as Shini Gami, -or the Spirit of Death, in the play called _Kaga Zobi_, and asked -Yoshitoshi for a suggestion; and it is said that a rough sketch he drew -at once enlightened Kikugoro’s bewildered mind, and, as a result, -he immortalised the rôle. It was the age when realism, of course, in -more vague, doubtful meaning than the present usage, had completely -conquered the stage, the old idealistic stage art having fallen off -the pedestal. Certainly Danjuro, the first of all to be absorbed in -that realism which prevailed here twenty or twenty-five years ago, -did never serve the stage art for advancement, but, on the contrary, -it was the realism, if anything, that cheapened, trivialised, and -vulgarised the time-honoured Japanese art; but it seemed that there -was nobody to see that point of wisdom. It is ridiculous to know how -Danjuro insisted, as Tomonori, in the play of _Sembon Sakura_, that -the blood upon his armour should be painted as real as possible, and -troubled the great artistic brush of Yoshitoshi on each occasion -during the whole run of the play; but how serious the actor was in his -thought and determination! Again that realism was the main cause why -Yoshitoshi’s art failed to compete with the earlier Ukiyoye artists -like Shunsho, Utamaro, and even Hokusai; it was an art borrowed from -the West doubtless, when I observe how Yoshitoshi, unlike the earlier -artists, was delighted to use the straight, forceful lines as the -modern Western illustrators; the picture called “Daimatsuro” is a fit -example in which he carried out that tendency or mannerism with most -versatility. I daresay that his pictures, whether of historical heroes -or professional beauties, which were least affected by the so-called -realism or Western perspectives and observed carefully the old Ukiyoye -canons, limiting themselves in the most artistic shyness, would be only -prized as adorning his name as the last master; for the ninety per -cent. we have no grief for their hastening into blessed dusts. I have -in my collection the three-sheet picture called “Imayo Genji,” showing -the view of Chigoga Fuchi at Yenoshima, with the romantic posture of -four naked fisherwomen, which is dated very early in Yoshitoshi’s -artistic life, no doubt being the work of the time when he was still -a home student at Kuniyoshi’s studio or workshop; you can see the -artist’s allegiance to his teacher in those somewhat stooping woman -figures; there is no mistake to say that Yoshitoshi, at least in this -picture, had studied Hiroshige and Hokusai to advantage for the general -effect of rocks and fantastic waves. - -[Sidenote: “IMAYO GENJI"] - -Although it is clear that it is not a specimen of his developed art, -I have in mind to say that it will endure, perhaps as one of the best -Ukiyoye pictures of all ages, through its youthful loyalty to the -traditional old art and the painstaking composition for which the best -work is always marked. How artistically troubled, even lost, are his -later works, though once they were popular and even admired! - -[Sidenote: THE FAINT ECHO OF OKYO] - -Although he was, as I said above, most popular in the prime of his -life (by the way he died in his fifty-fourth year in June of 1892), -he had many years of poverty and discouragement when he complained -of the fact that he was born rather too late; his hardship, not only -spiritual, but material, soon followed after the happy period of -student life with Kuniyoshi, when his artistic ambition forced on -him independence. It was the time most inartistic, if there was ever -such a time in any country, when the new Meiji Government had hardly -settled itself on the sad ruins of the Tokugawa feudalism, under which -all prosperity and peace, even art and humanity, were buried, and the -people in general even thought the safety of their lives was beyond -reach, now with the so-called Civil War of Meiji Tenth, and then with -that or this. How could the artists get the people’s support under such -a condition of the times; indeed, Yoshitoshi fought bitterly for his -bare existence then. It was the time when he was extremely hard-up that -his home-students, Toshikage and Toshiharu, bravely served him in the -capacity of cook or for any other work; we cannot blame him that he -tried, with such pictures as the series called “Accident of the Lord -Ii,” to amuse and impress the people’s minds, which grew, in spite of -themselves, to love battle and blood. And the best result he received -from such work, happy to say for his art, was the realisation of -failure. But he was quite proud, I understand, when he published it, -and even expected a great sale. And when he could not sell it at all, -it is said, he determined that he would run away alone from Tokyo for -good, leaving his students behind. Although there is no record of its -sale to-day, I am sure that it did not sell well, or, in another way -of saying, it sold well enough to save him from the shame of running -away. Doubtless the people demanded pictures of such a nature, perhaps -to illustrate the time’s happening, as it was the time before the -existence of any graphic or illustrated paper, and to fill that demand -Yoshitoshi brought out a hundred pictures of battles and historical -heroes, more or less in bloody scenes, which are mostly forgotten. It -was in 1885 that he fairly well found his own art (good or bad) with -the historical picture, “Kiyomori’s Illness”; the chief character, the -Lord Kiyomori, suffered from fever and dream, as we have it in legend, -as a destiny brought from his endless brutality and covetousness; -the fact that Yoshitoshi’s mind was much engaged in the study of the -Shijoha school at that time will be seen, particularly in this picture, -of which the background is filled with the faint echo of great Okyo in -the drawing of the Emma, or Judge of Hades, the green demon, and other -things of awful demonstration. “Inaka Genji,” a picture to commemorate -the occasion of Ransen’s changing his name to Tanehiko, and “Ukaino -Kansaku,” a picture of the spirit of a dead fisherman being saved by -the holy prayer of the priest Nichiren, are the work of about the same -time. When Yoshitoshi began to publish his series of one hundred pieces -under the name of “Tsuki Hyakushi,” or “One Hundred Views of the Moon,” -his popularity almost reached high-water mark; I can recollect with -the greatest pleasure how delighted I was to be given a few of these -moon pictures as a souvenir from Tokyo when I was attending a country -grammar school, and I can assure you that my artistic taste and love, -which already began to grow, expressed a ready response to value. -Among the pictures, I was strongly attracted by one thing, which was -the picture of a crying lady alone in a boat, with a _biwa_ instrument -upon her knees; from admiration I pasted the picture on a screen, which -remained as it was during these twenty years, unspoiled, spotless, -and perfect, and I had the happy occasion to see it with renewed eyes -lately when I returned to my country home. I felt exactly the same -impression, as good as at the first sight of twenty years ago. Although -the series carry the title of moon, nearly all of the pictures have -no moon at all; it was the artistic merit of the artist to suggest -that they were all views of the moonlight. We can point out many -shortcomings in his work as a pure Ukiyoye artist; but, after all, -I think that nobody will deny his rare and versatile talent. If only -he had been born at the better and proper time! And if we must blame -his degeneration, I think it is quite safe to say that the general -public has to share equally in the criticism. He was an interesting -personality, full of stories and anecdotes, which the English people -would be glad to hear about when they are well acquainted with his -work; but I will keep them for some other occasion, because I wish at -present to introduce him simply through his work. Let it suffice to say -that he was humane and lovable, having a great faith in his own class -of people—that is, the plain street-dwellers; when I say he was, too, -the artist or artizan of Tokyo or Yedo, like Utamaro, Hokusai, and -Kuniyoshi, I mean that he was gallant and chivalrous, always a friend -of the lowly, and a hater of sham. - -[Sidenote: THE HATER OF SHAM] - -He was born in 1839, to use the Japanese name of the era, the Tenth -of Tempo, at Shiba of Yedo, present Tokyo. When a little boy, he was -adopted by the family of Tsukioka; his own name was Yonejiro. Like -other Japanese artists, he had quite many _gago_ or _noms de plume_; to -give a few of them, Ikkasai, Sokatei, Shiyei, and others. Although he -did not change his dwelling-place as Hokusai did, he moved often from -one house to another; it was at Miyanaga Cho of Hongo where he married -Taiko. He bought a house at Suga Cho, Asakusa, in 1885; but his -sensitive mind was disturbed when he was told by a fortune-teller that -the direction of his house was unlucky, and was again obliged to move -to Hama Cho of Nihonbashi, when he was taken ill with brain disease. -As I said before, he died in June of 1892. The students he left behind -include many artists already dead; to give the best known, Keishu -Takeuchi; Keichu Yamada and Toshihide Migita are the names of artists -still active to-day. - - - - - VIII - - BUSHO HARA[A] - - -[A] See the Appendix - -Often I tried to write about Busho Hara the artist (I use the term in -the most eclectic Japanese conception, because his art served more -frequently to make his personality distinguished through its failure -rather than through its success); that my attempt turned to nothing -was perhaps because my mind, solitary and sad like that of Hara, did -not like to betray the secret of the recluse whose silence was his -salutation. Besides, my heart and soul and all were too much filled -with this Busho Hara from the fact of his recent unexpected death—(by -the way, he was in his forty-seventh year, that interesting age for an -artist, as it would be the beginning of a new page, good or bad); and -I am, in one word, perfectly confused on the subject. When I wish to -think of his art alone, and even to measure it, if possible, through -the most dangerous, always foolish way of comparison with others, I -find always, in spite of myself, that my mind, even before it has -fairly started on his art, is already carried away by the dear, sweet, -precious memory of his rare personality. “Above all, he was rarest -as friend,” my mind always whispers to me every two minutes from the -confusion of my thought, this and that, and again that and this, on -him. To say that I think of him too much and for too many things would -be well-nigh the same as to say that I am unfitted to tell about him -intelligibly. I confess that I had a little difference with him on the -subject of his own art here and there, while I was absorbed in his -conversation or criticism (I always believed and said—did he dislike me -when I said that?—he was a better and greater critic than artist), now -by the cozy fire of a winter evening, then with the trees and grasses -languid with summer’s heat; he was the first and last man to whom I -went when I felt particularly ambitious and particularly tired, and I -dare say that he was pleased to see me. My own delight to have him as -my friend was in truth doubled, when I thought that his personality -and art, remarkable as they are honest, true, and sympathetic, were -almost unknown at home except in a little narrow community; as I said -before, he was a recluse. In England, many readers of Mr. Markino’s -book, _A Japanese Artist in London_, will remember Hara’s name, as it -is frequently repeated in the book; and a certain well-known English -critic had an occasion once or twice to mention his name and kindly -comment on his work in the _Graphic_. That was in 1906, when he was -about to leave London after a few years’ stay there. “Shall I go to -England again for a change or to take a few pictures of mine?” he often -exclaimed. England was his dream, as she is mine. How unfalteringly our -talk ran; every time the subject was England and her art. - -[Sidenote: HIS DREAM OF ENGLAND] - -“Now is it settled, let us suppose,” Hara would say in the course of -talk, slightly twisting his sensitive mouth, holding up straight back -his well-poised head (what a philosopher’s eyes he had, gentle and -clear), “that we shall go to England some time soon in the future. -Yes, we shall go there even if we are not begged by Japan to leave -the country. The most serious question is, however, where we shall -sleep and dine. I have had enough experience of a common English -boarding-house; I am haunted even to-day by the ghosts of Yorkshire -pudding and cold ham. And suppose that a daughter or a son of that -boarding-house might sing aloud a popular song every Saturday evening; -I should like to know if there is anything more sad than that. Still, -suppose that one next to you at table will ask you every evening how -your work might sell; certainly that will be the moment when you think -you will leave England at once for good. But it is England’s greatness -that she has art appreciators as well as buyers. Oh, where is the true -art appreciator in Japan, even while we admit that we have the buyers? -I will take a few pictures with me when I go to England next, and show -them to the right sort of people; really, truly, only London of all -the cities of the world has the right sort of people in any line of -profession. Besides, I should like to examine the English art again and -let the people there listen to my opinion; I was not enough prepared -for such a work when I went there last.” - -[Sidenote: THE ENEMY IN HIS OWN SELF] - -But I believe that his own self-education in art, which he most -determinedly started at the National Gallery, where he was forcibly -attracted by Rembrandt and Velasquez, must have been happily developed, -when the same _Graphic_ critic spoke of his “sensitive and searching -eyes,” and (printing Hara’s intelligent rendering of Rembrandt’s -“Jewish Merchant” on the page) said that it proved the painter was at -the root of the matter, and declared that the critic had rarely seen -better or more intelligent copy, and again to prove that Hara was not -merely a copyist or imitator, he also reproduced on the same page his -original work called “The Old Seamstress.” And I am doubly pleased to -find that the same English critic mentioned him somewhere as a “keen -and acute critic, but generous withal”; I was so glad to have Hara as -my friend for the rare striking power of his critical enlightenment -(Oh, where is another sane artist like himself?), even when he failed -to make a strong impression on me with his art. It was his immediate -question on his return home how to apply the technique of oil painting -he learned in London to Japanese subjects; if he failed in his art, as -he always believed and I often thought he did, it was from the reason, -I dare think, that he had indeed too clear a view of self-appraisal -or self-criticism under whose menace he always took the attitude of -an outsider towards his own work. How often I wished he were wholly -without that critical power, always hard to please, altogether too -fastidious! His artistic ambition and aim were so absolute and most -highly puritanic; as a result, he was ever so restless and sad with -his art, and often even despised himself. He had a great enemy, that -was no other but his own self; he was more often conquered by it than -conquering it. I have never seen in my life a more sad artist with the -brush, facing a canvas, than this Busho Hara. Besides, his poor health, -which had been failing in the last few years, only worked to make his -critical displeasure sharper and more peculiar; and he utterly lost the -passion and foolishness of his younger days. How often we promised, -when we parted after a long chat, which usually began with Yoshio -Markino, dear friend of his and mine in London, and as a rule ended -with reminiscences of our English life, that we would hereafter return -to our younger age, if possible to our boys’ days, and even commit the -innocent youthful sins and be happy; but when we met together again, -we were the same unhappy mortals, Hara with a brush, I with a pen. He -always looked comforted by my words when I told him my own tragedy -and difficulties to write poetry; both of us exclaimed at once with -the same breath and longed for life’s perfect freedom. How he wished -to cut away from himself and bid a final farewell to many portrait -commissions, and become a lone pilgrim on Nature’s great highway with -only his brush and oil; that was his dream. - -[Sidenote: AT THE HOSPITAL] - -Let me repeat again that he was sad with his brush only to make his art -still sadder; when he was most happy, it was the time when he left his -own studio to forget his unwilling brush and send his love imaginations -under the new foliage of spring trees and make them ride on the freedom -of the summer air. How he planned for future work while contemplating -great Nature; he was a dreamer in the true sense. And dream was to him -more real as he thought it almost practicable. I do not mix any sarcasm -in my words when I say that he was a greater artist when he did not -paint; he rose to his full dignity only when out of his studio; and it -was most unfortunate that I found him always ill when he was out of it. -But I will say that I never saw one like himself so well composed, even -satisfied, on a sick bed; that might have been from the reason that -his being absorbed in Nature, his thought and contemplation on her, -did not give an opportunity for bodily illness to use its despotism. -He gave me in truth even such an impression that he was glad to be -ill so he could lay himself right before the thought of great Nature. -Once in the spring of 1911 I called on him at the hospital, when -he successfully underwent a surgeon’s knife (he was suffering from -typhlitia); although he was quite weak then, he was most ambitious and -happy to talk on the beauty of Nature; and he said: “I almost wonder -why I did not become ill and lay me down on this particular bed of this -hospital before, and (pointing to the blue sky through the window with -his pale-skinned slender hand that was unmistakably an artist’s) see -how the eastern sky changes from dusk to milky grey, again from that -grey to rosy light. How often I wished you, particularly you, might -be here with me all awakening in this room, perhaps at halfpast three -o’clock; that is the time exactly when the colours of the sky will -begin to evolve. Thank God all the other people are sleeping then. At -such a moment I feel as if all Nature belonged to me alone in the whole -world, and I alone held her secrets and her beauty; I am thankful for -my illness, as it has made me thus restful in mind and allowed me to -carefully observe Nature, and build my many future plans. I can promise -you that I will whistle my adieu to the commissioned work, all of it, -when I grow stronger again, and become a real artist, the real artist -even to satisfy you. Oh, how I could paint the mysterious changes of -the sky which I have been studying for the last week!” - -Again I saw him in his sick-bed at his little home one afternoon; we -grew, as a matter of course, quite enthusiastic and passionate as our -talk was on art and artists; it was the foundation of his theory, -when he expanded on it, not to put any difference between the arts of -the East and the West; he seemed to agree with me on that day when I -compared even recklessly Turner with our Sesshu. Although he entered -into his art through the technique, I observed that he was speedily -turning to a Spiritualist; I often thought that he was a true Japanese -artist even of the Japanese school, while he adopted the Western -method. (It was the _Graphic_ critic who said that he was “perhaps the -ablest Japanese painter in our method who has visited our shores.”) -He and I saw that time the famous large screen by Goshun belonging -to the Imperial Household called “Shosho no Yau,” or “The Night Rain -at Shosho”; as our minds were still absorbed in its soft mellow -atmosphere and grey flashes of sweeping rain, we often repeated our -great admiration for that Goshun. “It’s not merely an art, but Nature -herself,” he exclaimed. The afternoon of the summer day was slowly -falling; the yellow sunbeams, like an elf or fairy, were playing -almost fantastically with the garden leaves; Hara was looking on them -absent-mindedly, and when he awoke from his dream, he said: “Suppose -you cut off a few of those leaves, even one leaf, with that particular -sunlight on them; they are indeed a great art. Who can paint them as -exactly they are? To prove it is a real art, when the artist is great -and true, a large canvas and big subject are not necessary at all; -one single leaf would be enough for his subject. I recall my first -impression of Turner’s work; I thought then that even one inch square -of any picture of his in the National Gallery would be sufficient to -prove his great art. I always vindicated his mastery of technique to -the others who had the reverse opinion; what made Turner was never his -technique. To talk about technique. I believe that even I have a better -technique than is shown in most of the pictures drawn by Rossetti; but -there is only one Rossetti in the world.” On my way home after leaving -him, I could not help wondering if he were not turning to a pessimist: -I was afraid that he was in his heart of hearts denying his own ability -and art. - -[Sidenote: TURNER’S GREAT ART] - -One day last September, when my soul felt the usual sadness with the -first touch of autumn, I received a note from Hara saying that his -stomach had been lately troubled, and he wished I would call on him as -he wanted to be brightened by my presence. I could not go then to see -him on account of one thing and another; and when I was told by one of -his friends and mine that Hara’s illness was said to be cancer, even in -its acute form, and that he was eagerly expecting my call, I hurried at -once to his house. He was very pale and thin. As I was begged by Mrs. -Hara at the door not to let him talk too much, as it was the doctor’s -command, I even acted as if I hated conversation on that day; it was -Hara (bless his sympathetic gentle soul) who, on the contrary, wished -to make me happy and interested by his talk. He talked as usual on -various arts and artists; when he slowly entered into his own domestic -affairs, he said: “I have decided to sell all my works of the last ten -years, good or bad, among my rich friends, and raise a sufficient fund -to provide for my old mother and wife; to have no child is at least a -comfort at this moment. I think I call myself fortunate since such a -scheme appears to be quite practicable; but if I could have even one -picture which I could proudly leave for posterity—that might be too -great an ambition for an artist of my class. Will you laugh at me when -I say how I wish to live five years more, if not five years, two years -at least, if not two years, even one year? It might be better, after -all, for me to die with hope than to live and fail.” With a sudden -thought he changed the subject; he thought, doubtless, he had no right -to make me unnecessarily sad, and resumed the talk on Hokusai and -Utamaro where he had left off a little while before. “I wish that you -will see Utamaro’s picture in my friend’s possession; it is, needless -to say, the picture of a courtesan. How that lovely woman sits! (Here -Hara changed his attitude and imitated the woman in the picture.) Oh, -these charming bare feet! That is where Utamaro put his best art; I -cannot forget the feeling that I felt with the most attractive naked -heels of the picture.” - -[Sidenote: HARA GONE TO HIS REST] - -I gave him many instances of doctors’ mistakes to encourage him, before -I left his house. I called on him two weeks or ten days later; but I -was not admitted to his presence, as the doctor had already forbade any -outside communication. At my third call I was told that he was growing -still worse; it was on October 29 that I made my fourth call, and I -found at once that the house had been somewhat upset. Alas, my friend -Busho Hara had gone already to his eternal rest! I rushed up to the -upstairs room where the cold body of the artist was lying; he could not -see or hear his friend. I cried. I was told by one of Hara’s friends, -who saw his last moment, how sorry he was that he did not see me when -his final end approached, and that he had begged him to tell me that he -was wrong in what he told me before about art. Now, what did he mean by -that? I already suspected, as I said before, that he was growing to -deny his own art; now I should like to understand by that final special -message to me that he wished to wholly deny all the human art of the -world against great Nature before his death. When he grew weaker and -weaker, I think that he found it more easy to dream of Nature; whether -conscious or unconscious, he must have been in the most happy state, -at least for his last days, as he was going to join himself with her. -I never saw such a dead face so calm, so sorrowless, like Hara’s; it -reminded me of a certain Greek mask which I saw somewhere; indeed, he -had a Greek soul in the true meaning. - -We six or seven friends of his kept a _tsuya_, or wake, before his -coffin, as is the custom, on the night of the 29th; the night rapidly -advanced when the reminiscences of this passed great artist were told -to keep us from falling asleep. One man was speaking of the story of -Hara’s friendship with Danjuro Ichikawa, the great tragedian of the old -_kabuki_ school of the modern Japanese stage. Once he played the rôle -of Benkei in “Adaka ga Seki,” which he wished Hara to draw; it was a -most unusual treat on the actor’s part to give the artist one whole -box at the Kabuki Theatre during fifteen days only for that purpose, -where he appeared every day not to draw, but to look at the acting. But -Hara very quickly sketched him one day at the moment when he thought -that the actor was prolonging his acting at a certain place to make him -easy to sketch; in fact, Danjuro made his acting in some parts stand -still for fifteen minutes. Strangely enough, the other actors who were -playing with him did not know that, while Hara rightly read the actor’s -intention and thought. Danjuro said afterwards that Mr. Hara understood -him through the power of his being a great artist. Did he draw the -picture and finish it? That is the next question. He did not, as was -often the case with Hara; he wrote the actor bluntly he was sorry that -this spirit was gone, making it impossible to advance. The one who told -the story exclaimed: “I never saw an artist like Hara so slow to paint, -or who found it so difficult to paint.” - -[Sidenote: SITTING AT THE SHOP FRONT] - -Among us there was a well-known frame manufacturer, Yataya by name, -who, it is said, was Hara’s very first friend in Tokyo, where he came -thirty years before from his native Okayama; he spoke next on his dear -friend: “He made his call on me at my store in Ginza almost every -night; he never came up into the room, but sat always at the shop -front. And there he gazed most thoughtfully on the passing crowd of -the street with his fixed eyes; he made himself quite an unattractive -figure especially for the shop front. ‘Who is that sinister-looking -fellow?’ I was often asked. I am sure that he must have been there -studying the people; his interest in anything was extremely intent. He -was a great student.” - -While I am now writing upon Hara, I feel I see that he is sitting at a -certain shop front, perhaps of Hades. Is he not studying the action of -the dead souls clamorous as in their living days? - - - - - IX - - THE UKIYOYE ART IN ORIGINAL - - -I often think the general impression that the best Ukiyoye art -reveals itself in colour-print has to be corrected in some special -cases, because the Ukiyoye art in original _kakemono_, though not so -well appreciated in the West, is also a thing beautiful; and I feel -proud to say that I have often seen those special cases in Japan. On -such occasions I always say that I am impressed as if the art were -laughing and cursing fantastically over the present age, whose prosaic -regularity completely misses the old fascination of romanticism -which Japan of two or three hundred years ago perfected by her own -temperament. Whenever I see it (mind you, it should be the best Ukiyoye -art in original) at my friend’s house by accident, or in the exhibition -hall, my heart and soul seem to be turning to a winged thing fanned by -its magic; and when my consciousness returns, I find myself narcotised -in incense, before the temple of art where sensuality is consecrated -through beauty. - -It is not too much to say that Shunsho Katsukawa, who died in 1792 -at the age of ninety-seven, gained more than any other artist from -the originals, through his masterly series of twelve pieces, “A -Woman’s Year,” owned by Count Matsura, a most subtle arrangement of -figures whose postures reach the final essence of grace perhaps from -the delicate command of artistic reserve, the decorative richness of -the pictures heightened by life’s gesticulation of beauty; whilst -the harmony of the pictorial quantity and quality is perfect. Behind -the pictures we read the mind of the artist with the critic’s gift -of appraising his own work. When we realise the somewhat exaggerated -hastiness of later artists, for example, artists like Toyokuni the -First, or Yeizan (the other artists being out of the question, of -course), Shunsho’s greatness will be at once clear. It may have been -his own thought to modify the women’s faces from the artless roundness -of the earlier artists to the rather emphatic oblong, from simplicity -to refinement, although I acknowledge it was Harunobu’s genius to make -the apparent want of effort in women’s round faces flow into the sad -rhythm of longing and passion, a symbol of the white, weary love; in -Harunobu we have a singular case of the distinction between simplesse -and simplicité. It was the old Japanese art to portray delicacy only -in the women’s hands and arms; but certainly it was the distinguished -art of Shunsho, with many other contemporary Ukiyoye artists, to make -the necks, especially the napes, the points of almost tantalising -grace; what a charm of abandon in those shoulders! And what a beautiful -elusiveness of the slightly inclined faces of the women! I am always -glad to see Shunsho’s famous picture, “Seven Beauties in a Bamboo -Forest,” owned by the Tokyo School of Art, in which the romantic group -of chignons leisurely promenade, one reading a love-letter, another -carrying a shamisen instrument, through the shade of a bamboo forest. -Not only in this picture, but in many other arrangements of women -and sentiment, Shunsho reminds me of the secret of Cho Densu of the -fifteenth century in his elaborate Rakan pictures, particularly in the -point that the figures, while keeping their own individual aloofness, -perfectly well fuse themselves in the alembic of the picture into a -composition most impressive. And you will soon find that when the -sense of monotony once subsides, your imagination grows to see their -spiritual variety. - -[Sidenote: “BEAUTIES IN A BAMBOO FOREST"] [Sidenote: THE WITHDRAWAL -FROM SOCIETY] - -It is rather difficult to see a best specimen of the originals of -Harunobu or even of Utamaro. I think there is some reason, however, to -say in the case of Utamaro that he did not leave many worthy pictures -in original, because he made the blocks, fortunately or unfortunately, -a castle to rise and fall with; while I see the fact on the one side -that, while he was not accepted in the polite society of his time, -he gained as a consequence much strength through his restriction of -artistic purpose. There was nothing more ridiculous for the Ukiyoye -artists of those days than to intrude their work of the so-called -“Floating World” into the aristocratic _tokonoma_, the sacred alcove -of honour for the art of a Tosa or a Kano, and to attempt to call -themselves Yamato Yeshi, whatever that means. What wisdom is there -to become neutral, like Yeishi or in some degree Koryusai, who never -created any distinct success either as Ukiyoye artist or as so-called -polite painter. I can easily read the undermeaning how they were even -insulted, by the cultured class, when they tried to satisfy their own -resentment by such an assumption of Yamato Yeshi (“the Yamato artist,” -Yamato being the classic name of Japan); I see more humiliation in it -than pride. The contempt displayed toward them, however, was not so -serious till the appearance of Moronobu, who created his own art out of -their sudden descent; his realism accentuated itself in the portrayal -of courtesans and street vagrants of old Yedo, for the popular -amusement, at the huge cost of being criticised as immoral. The artists -before his day, even those to-day roughly termed the Ukiyoye artists, -were the self-same followers. To begin with Matabei, after the Kano, -Tosa, and Sumiyoshi schools successively, their work was strengthened -or weakened according to the situation by the irresistibility of -plebeianism; it is clear that the final goal for their work was, of -course, the _tokonoma_ of the rich man and the nobles. And it seems -that they must have found quite an easy access into that scented daïs, -if I judge from the pictures of the “Floating World” (what an arbitrary -name that!) that remain to-day. They had, in truth, no necessity to -advertise themselves as Yamato Yeshi, like some artists of the later -age who were uneducated and therefore audacious; and in their great -vanity wished to separate themselves from their fellow-workers; while -their work has a certain softness—though it be not nobility—at least -not discordant with the grey undertone of the Japanese room, doubtless -they lack that strength distilled and crystallised into passionate -lucidity which we see in the best colour-prints. When I say that -Moronobu was the founder of Ukiyoye art, I mean more to call attention -to the fact that the Japanese block print was well started in its -development from his day, into which process the artists put all sorts -of spontaneity, at once cursing creed and tradition. As for the Ukiyoye -artists, I dare say their weakness in culture and imagination often -turned to force; they gained artistic confidence in their own power -from their complete withdrawal from polite society. Such was the case -with Utamaro and Hiroshige. I wonder what use there was to leave poor -work in the original like that of Toyokuni and Yeizan, whose works -often serve only to betray their petty ambition. - -[Sidenote: HEREDITY SUPERSTITION] - -I have seen enough of the originals of this interesting Ukiyoye art, -beginning with Matabei and Katsushige; Naganobu Kano, the former’s -contemporary, is much admired in the series of twelve pictures, -“Merry-making under the Flowers,” with the illogical simplicity natural -to the first half of the seventeenth century. The fact that the name -“Floating World” did not mean much in those days can be seen in the -work of Rippo Nonoguchi or Gukei Sumiyoshi, whose classical respect -weakened the pictorial impression. Mr. Takamine, who is recognised as -the keenest collector of Ukiyoye art in Japan, has quite an extensive -collection of the works of Ando Kwaigetsudo (1688-1715), Anchi Choyodo, -Dohan Kwaigetsudo (early eighteenth century), Doshu Kwaigetsudo, Doshin -Kwaigetsudo, Nobuyuki Kameido, Rifu Tosendo, Katsunobu Baiyuken, and -Yeishun Baioken, all of them contemporaries of Doshu. Although their -merit is never so high, even when not questionable, we can imagine that -their work must have been quite popular, even in high quarters; among -them Dohan might be the cleverest, but as a Japanese critic says, his -colour-harmony is marred by ostentatious imprudence. I have seen the -best representation of Sukenobu Nishikawa in “Woman Hunting Fireflies,” -soft and delicate. The other artists I came to notice and even admire -are Choshun Miyakawa, Masanobu Okumura, Shigemasa Kitawo, and other -names. I think that the time should come when the original Ukiyoye -art, too, should be properly priced in the West; we are still sticking -to our hereditary superstition that no picture is good if we cannot -hang it in the _tokonoma_, where we burn incense and place the flowers -arranged to invoke the greyness of the air. But I wonder why we cannot -put an Utamaro lady here on the Japanese _tokonoma_. - - - - - X - - WESTERN ART IN JAPAN - - -The Japanese works of Western art are sometimes beautiful; but I can -say positively that I have had no experience of being carried away by -them as by good old Japanese art. There is always something of effort -and even pretence which are decidedly modern productions. I will say -that it is at the best a borrowed art, not a thing inseparable from -us. I ask myself why those artists of the Western school must be loyal -to a pedantry of foreign origin as if they had the responsibility for -its existence. It would be a blessing if we could free ourselves in -some measure, through the virtue of Western art, from the world of -stagnation in feeling and thought. I have often declared that it was -the saviour of Oriental art, as the force of difference in element is -important for rejuvenation. But what use is it to get another pedantry -from the West in the place of the old one? I have thought more than -once that our importation of foreign art is a flat failure. It may be -that we must wait some one hundred years at least before we can make -it perfectly Japanised, just as we spent many years before thoroughly -digesting Chinese art; but we have not a few pessimists who can prove -that it is not altogether the same case. Although I have said that -the foreign pedantry greatly troubles the Japanese work of Western -art, I do not mean that it will create the same effect as upon Western -artists. I am told the following story: - -[Sidenote: THE TAIHEIYO GAKWAI CLUB] - -A year or two ago a certain Italian, who had doubtless a habit of -buying pictures (with little of real taste in art, as is usually the -case with a picture-buyer), went to see the art exhibition of the -Taiheiyo Gakwai Club held at Uyeno Park, and bought many pictures on -the spot, as he thought they were clever work of the Japanese school. -Alas, the artists meant them to be oil paintings of the Western type! -The Italian’s stupidity is inexcusable; but did they indeed appear to -him so different from his work at home? The saddest part is that they -are so alien to our Japanese feeling in general; consequently they have -little sympathy with the masses. It is far away yet for their work to -become an art of general possession; it can be said it is not good art -when it cannot at once enter into the heart. It is not right at all to -condemn only the Western art in Japan, as any other thing of foreign -origin is equally in the stage of mere trial. I often wonder about -the real meaning of the modern civilisation of Japan. Imitation is -imitation, not the real thing at all. - -There are many drawbacks, as I look upon the material side, to the -Western art becoming popular; for instance, our Japanese house—frail, -wooden, with the light which rushes in from all sides—never gives it an -appropriate place to look its best. And the heaviness of its general -atmosphere does not harmonise with the simplicity that pervades the -Japanese household; it always appears out of place, like a chair before -the _tokonoma_, a holy dais. Besides, the artists cannot afford to -sell their pictures cheap, not because they are good work, but because -there are only a few orders for them. I believe we must undertake the -responsibility of making good artists; there is no wonder that there is -only poor work since our understanding of Western art is little, and we -hardly try to cultivate the Western taste. If we have no great art of -the Western school, as is a fact, one half the whole blame is on our -shoulders. - -[Sidenote: PERCEPTION OF REALISM] - -Here my mind dwells in more or less voluntary manner upon the contrast -with the Japanese art, while I walk through the gallery of Western -art of the Taiheiyo Gakwai Club of this year in Uyeno Park. There are -exhibited more than two hundred, or perhaps three hundred pieces—quite -an advance in numbers over any exhibition held before; but I am not -ready to say how they stand on their merit. I admit, at the outset, -that the artists of the Western school have learned well how to make -an arrangement no artist of the pure Japanese school ever dreamed to -attain; and I will say that it is sometimes even subtle. But I have -heard so much of the artistic purpose, which could be best expressed -through the Western art. Are they not, on the other hand, too hasty and -too direct to describe them? Some of their work most nakedly confesses -their artistic inferiority to their own thought. What a poor and even -vulgar handling of oil! I have no hesitation to say that there is -something mistaken in their perception of realism. (Quite a number -of artists in this exhibition make mistakes in this respect.) Indeed -there is no word like realism (perhaps better to say naturalism) which, -in Japan’s present literature, has done such real harm; it was the -Russian or French literature that taught us the meaning of vulgarity, -and again the artists, some artists at least, received a lesson from -these writers. It is never good to see pictures overstrained. Go to the -true Japanese art to learn refinement. While I admit the art of some -artist which has the detail of beauty, I must tell him that reality, -even when true, is not the whole thing; he should learn the art of -escaping from it. That art is, in my opinion, the greatest of all arts; -without it, art will never bring us the eternal and the mysterious. -If you could see some work of Nakagawa or Ishii exhibited here, you -would see my point, because they are somehow wrong for becoming good -work, while they impress with line and colour. I spoke before of effort -and pretence; such an example you will find in Hiroshi Yoshida’s -canvases, big or small, most of them being nature studies. (By the way, -this Yoshida is the artist who exhibited two great canvases, called -“Unknown,” or “World of Cloud,” painted doubtless from Fuji mountain, -overlooking the clouds at one’s feet, and “Keiryu,” or “The Valley,” at -the Government exhibition with some success some years ago.) I am ready -to admit that the artist has well brought out his purpose, but the true -reality is not only the outside expression. His pictures are executed -carefully; but what a forced art! This is the age when all Japanese -artists, those of the Japanese school not excepted, are greatly cursed -by objectivity. Some one has said that the Japanese dress, speaking of -Japanese woman as a picture, does serve to make the distance greater. -I thought in my reflection on art that so it is with the Japanese art. -And again how near is Western art, at least the Japanese work of the -Western school! Such a nearness to our feeling and mind, I think, is -hardly the best quality of any art. I have ceased for some time to -expect anything great or astonishing from Wada or Okada or even Kuroda; -we most eagerly look forward to the sudden appearance of some genius -at once to frighten and hypnotise and charm us and make the Western art -more intimate with our minds. - -[Sidenote: THE SPIRITUAL INSULARITY] - -I amused myself thinking that it was Oscar Wilde who said that Nature -imitates art; is not the nature of Japan imitating the poor work of -the Western method? Art is, indeed, a most serious thing. It is the -time now when we must jealously guard our spiritual insularity, and -carefully sift the good and the bad, and protect ourselves from the -Western influence which has affected us too much in spite of ourselves. -Speaking of the Western art in Japan, I think I have spoken quite -unconsciously of the general pain, not only in art, but in many other -things, from which we wish we could escape. - -After I have said all from my uncompromising thought, my mind, which -is conscious to some extent of a responsibility for Japan’s present -condition in general, has suddenly toned down to thinking of the -short history of Western art in Japan, that is less than fifty years. -What could we do in such a short time? It may even be said that we -did a miracle in art as in any other thing; I can count, in fact, -many valuable lessons (suggestions too) from the Western art that we -transplanted here originally from mere curiosity. Whether good or bad, -it is firmly rooted in Japan’s soil; we have only to wait for the -advent of a master’s hand for the real creation of great beauty. It -seems to me that at least the ground has been prepared. - -Charles Wirgman, the special correspondent sent to the Far East from -the _Illustrated London News_, might be called the father of Western -art in Japan; he stayed at Yokohama till he died in 1891 in his -fifty-seventh year. He was the first foreign teacher from whom many -Japanese learned the Western method of art; Yoshiichi Takahashi was one -of his students. Before Takahashi, Togai Kawakami was known for his -foreign art in the early eighties; but it is not clear where he learned -it. Yoshimatsu Goseda was also, besides Takahashi, a well-known student -of Wirgman, and Shinkuro Kunizawa was the first artist who went to -London in 1875 for art study, but he died soon after his return home in -1877 before he became a prominent figure in the art world. - -When the Government engaged Antonio Fentanesi, an Italian artist of -the Idealistic school, in 1876, as an instructor, the Western school -of art had begun to establish itself even officially. This Italian -artist is still to-day respected as a master. He was much regretted -when he left Japan in 1878. Ferretti and San Giovanni, who were -engaged after Fentanesi, did not make as great an impression as their -predecessor. However, the time was unfortunate for art in general, as -the country was thrown into disturbance by the civil war called the -Saigo Rebellion. The popularity which the Western art seemed to have -attained had a great set-back when the pictures were excluded from the -National Exhibition in 1890. But in the reaction the artists of the -Western school gained more vigour and determination; Shotaro Koyama, -Chu Asai, Kiyowo Kawamura, and others were well-known names in those -days. Kiyoteru Kuroda and Keiichiro Kume, the beloved students of -Raphael Collin, returned home when the China-Japan war was over; they -brought back quite a different art from that with which we had been -acquainted hitherto. And they led vigorously the artistic battle; the -present popularity at least in appearance is owing to their persistence -and industry. The Government again began to show a great interest -in Western art; it sent Chu Asai and Yeisaku Wada to Paris to study -foreign art. Not only these, many others sailed abroad privately or -officially to no small advantage; you will find many Japanese students -of art nowadays wherever you go in Europe or America. - -[Sidenote: THE GOVERNMENT’S INTEREST] - -We were colour-blind artistically before the importation of Western -art, except these who had an interest in the so-called colour-print; -but the colour-print was less valued among the intellectual class, as -even to-day. Our artistic eye, which was only able to see everything -flat, at once opened through the foreign art to the mysteries of -perspective, and though they may not be the real essence of art, -they were at least a new thing for us. There are many other lessons -we received from it; it seems to me that the best and greatest value -is its own existence as a protest against the Japanese art. If the -Japanese art of the old school has made any advance, as it has done, -it should be thankful to the Western school; and at the same time the -artists of foreign method must pay due respect to the former for its -creation of the “Western Art Japonised.” It may be far away yet, but -such an art, if a combination of the East and West, is bound to come. - - - - - APPENDIX I - - THE MEMORIAL EXHIBITION OF THE LATE HARA - - -The memorial exhibition of Busho Hara, a Japanese artist of the Western -school, held recently in Tokyo to raise a fund for his surviving family -as one of its objects (Hara passed away in October, 1913, in his -forty-seventh year), had many significances, one of which, certainly -the strongest, was in contradiction of the general understanding that -Western paintings will never sell in Japan; even a trifling sketch -in which the artist only jotted down his momentary memory fetched -the most unusual price. Hara is a remarkable example of one who -created his own world (by that I mean at least the buyers, though not -real appreciators) among his friends through his personality, which -strengthened his work; paradoxically we shall say he was an artist well -known and utterly unknown; and when I say he was an utterly unknown -artist, I have my thought that he never even once exhibited his work to -the public, and his often defiant spirit and high aim made him scorn -and laugh over people’s ignorance on art. How he hated the Japanese art -world where real merit is no passport at all. But Hara’s friends are -pleased to know from this exhibition the fact that even the public he -ever so despised are not so unresponsive to his art, whose secret he -learned in London. - -Hara was, sad to say, also an artist whose Western art-work, like -that of some other Japanese artists to whom quite an excellent credit -was given in their European days, much declined or, better to say, -missed somehow the artistic thrill since he left England in 1906. Why -was that? What made him so? Was it from the fact that there is no -gallery of Western art old or new in Japan where your work will only be -belittled after you have received a good lesson there? or is it that -our Japanese general public never have a high standard in the matter -of art, especially of Western art? I think there are many reasons to -say that the passive, even oppressive air of Japan, generally speaking, -may have a perfectly disintegrating effect on an artist trained in the -West; it would not be wholly wrong to declare that the real Western -art founded on emotion and life cannot be executed in Japan. Hara made -quite many portraits by commission since that 1906, some of which -were brought out in this exhibition. As they are work more or less -forced, we must go to his other works for his best, which he executed -with mighty enthusiasm and faith under England’s artistic blessing. -He writes down in his diary, the reading of which was my special -privilege, on January 2nd of 1905, the following words: “At last -Port Arthur has fallen. When the war shall be done that will be the -time for our battle of art against Europe to begin. Oh, what a great -responsibility for Japanese artists!” - -Hara made a student’s obeisance toward Watts among the modern masters, -whose influence will be most distinctly seen in one of his pictures -in this exhibition called “The Young Sorrow” (the owner of this -picture is Mr. Takashi Matsuda, one of a few great art collectors in -Japan), in which a young sitting nude woman shows only her beautiful -back, her face being covered by her hands. What a sad, visionary, -pale clarification in colour and tone! Hara writes down when his -mind was saturated with Watts at Tate’s or somewhere else: “What an -indescribable sense of beauty! Art is indeed my only world and life. -Again look at the pictures. How tender, how soft, and how warm in tone -and atmosphere! And how deep is the shadow of the pictures! And that -deep shadow is never dirty.” Again he writes down on his visit to -Tate’s on a certain day: “It was wrong that I attempted to bring out -all the colours from the beginning at once, and even tried to finish -the work up by mending. There is no wonder my colours were dead things. -We must have the living beauty and tone of colours; by that I do never -mean showy. I must learn how to get the deep colour by light paint.” -While he was saturated with Watts, he on the other hand was copying -Rembrandt at the National Gallery. Hara’s copy of “The Jewish Merchant” -is now owned by the Imperial Household in Tokyo. This copy and a few -other copies of Rembrandt were in the exhibition. And Hara was a great -admirer of Turner. Markino confesses in his book or books that it was -Hara who first opened his spiritual eyes to Turner. At this memorial -exhibition Turner is represented by Hara’s copy of Venice. There was in -the exhibition “The Old Seamstress,” which I was pleased to say was -one of Hara’s best pictures. Whenever I see Hara’s pictures of any old -woman, not only this “Old Seamstress,” I think at once that what you -might call his soul sympathy immediately responded to the old woman, -since Hara’s heart and soul were world-wearied and most tender. - -Markino has somewhere in the book the following passages: “First few -weeks I used to take him round the streets, and whenever we passed some -picture shops he stopped to look through the shop window, and would -not move on. I told him those nameless artists’ work was not half so -good as his own. But he always said: ‘Oh, please don’t say so. Perhaps -my drawings are surer than those, and my compositions are better too. -But the European artists know how to handle oils so skilfully. I learn -great lessons from them.’” - -Indeed when he returned home he had fully mastered the technique of -handling oils from England, where he stayed some four years. It is -really a pity that Hara passed away without having fully expressed his -own art in his masterly technique, which he learned with such sacrifice -and patience. His death occurred suddenly at the time when he was about -to break away from his former self and to create his own new art ten -times stronger, fresher, and more beautiful. - -I wish to call the readers’ attention to Yoshio Markino’s _My -Recollections and Reflections_, which contains the most sympathetic -article on Busho Hara. - - - - - APPENDIX II - - THE NERVOUS DEBILITY OF PRESENT JAPANESE ART - - -When I say that I received almost no impression from the annual -Government Exhibition of Japanese Art in the last five or six years, -I have a sort of same feeling with the tired month of May when the -season, in fact, having no strength left from the last glory of bloom -(what a glorious old Japanese art!), still vainly attempts to look -ambitious. Although it may sound unsympathetic, I must declare that the -present Japanese art, speaking of it as a whole, with no reference to -separate works or individual artists, suffers from nervous debility. -Now, is it not the exact condition of the Japanese life at present? -Here it is the art following after the life of modern Japan, vain, -shallow, imitative, and thoughtless, which makes us pessimistic; the -best possible course such an art can follow in the time of its nervous -debility might be that of imitation. - - * * * * * - -When the present Japanese art tells something, I thank God, it is from -its sad failure; indeed, the present Japanese art is a lost art, since -it explains nothing, alas, unlike the old art of idealistic exaltation, -but the general condition of life. It is cast down from its high -pedestal. - - * * * * * - -I do not know exactly what simplicity means, when the word is used -in connection with our old art; however, it is true we see a peculiar -unity in it, which was cherished under the influence of India and -China, and always helped to a classification and analysis of the -means through which the artists worked. And the poverty of subjects -was a strength for them; they valued workmanship, or the right use of -material rather than the material itself; instead of style and design, -the intellect and atmosphere. They thought the means to be the only -path to Heaven. But it was before the Western art had invaded Japan; -that art told them of the end of art, and laughed at the indecision of -æsthetic judgment and uncertainty of realism of Japanese art. It said: -“It is true that you have some scent, but it is already faded; you -have refinement, but it is not quite true to nature and too far away.” -Indeed, it is almost sad one sees the artists troubled by the Western -influence which they accepted, in spite of themselves; I can see in -the exhibitions that many of them have long ago lost their faith by -spiritual calamity, and it is seldom to see them able to readjust their -own minds under such a mingled tempest of Oriental and Occidental. Is -it not, after all, merely a waste of energy? And how true it is with -all the other phenomena of the present life, their Oriental retreat and -Occidental rush. - - * * * * * - -The present Japanese art has sadly strayed from subjectivity, the only -one citadel where the old Japanese art rose and fell; I wonder if it is -not paying a too tremendous price only to gain a little objectivity of -the West. - - - _Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury, - England._ - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Spirit of Japanese Art, by Yone Noguchi - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPIRIT OF JAPANESE ART *** - -***** This file should be named 62252-8.txt or 62252-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/2/5/62252/ - -Produced by ellinora, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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