TABLE OF CONTENTS
XX DIRECTOR’S FOREWORD Annette Bhagwati XX SPONSOR’S STATEMENT Ishibashi Hiroshi, Ishibashi Foundation
XX I THE TALE OF JAPANESE NARR ATIVE ART
XX II THE POWER OF FAITH
XX ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Khanh Trinh, Estelle Bauer, Melanie Trede XX LENDERS TO THE E XHIBITION
XX III POETS ON THE MOVE: THE ISE STORIES
XX NOTES TO THE READER XX IV LOVE AND INTRIGUE: THE TALE OF GENJI XX T HE MULTIFACETED WORLD OF JAPANESE NARR ATIVE ART: AN INTRODUCTION Khanh Trinh XX UNFOLDING TALES: AESTHETIC STR ATEGIES IN JAPANESE HANDSCROLLS Estelle Bauer XX N ARR ATING THROUGH TE X T AND IMAGE: CHAR ACTER AND SEQUENCE IN JAPANESE HANDSCROLLS Sebastian Balmes XX C REATIVIT Y, HISTORIOGR APHY, AND MASS PRODUCTION: THE WEALTH OF PICTORIAL NARR ATIVES IN SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY JAPAN Melanie Trede XX M ANGA FLOWS: READING THE PANELED SPREAD AGAINST HANDSCROLL AND WEBTOON Jaqueline Berndt
XX V H EROES V YING FOR POWER AND GLORY: THE TALE OF THE HEIKE
XX VI V ANQUISHING DEMONS: SHUTEN DŌJI AND R A JŌMON
XX V II IMAGINING CHINA
XX V III T HE REALM OF PARODY AND ENTERTAINMENT
XX IX COLLECTING JAPANESE ART IN EUROPE
XX C HECKLIST BIBLIOGR APHY INDE X CHRONOLOGY
Scheidegger & Spiess
TABLE OF CONTENTS
XX DIRECTOR’S FOREWORD Annette Bhagwati XX SPONSOR’S STATEMENT Ishibashi Hiroshi, Ishibashi Foundation
XX I THE TALE OF JAPANESE NARR ATIVE ART
XX II THE POWER OF FAITH
XX ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Khanh Trinh, Estelle Bauer, Melanie Trede XX LENDERS TO THE E XHIBITION
XX III POETS ON THE MOVE: THE ISE STORIES
XX NOTES TO THE READER XX IV LOVE AND INTRIGUE: THE TALE OF GENJI XX T HE MULTIFACETED WORLD OF JAPANESE NARR ATIVE ART: AN INTRODUCTION Khanh Trinh XX UNFOLDING TALES: AESTHETIC STR ATEGIES IN JAPANESE HANDSCROLLS Estelle Bauer XX N ARR ATING THROUGH TE X T AND IMAGE: CHAR ACTER AND SEQUENCE IN JAPANESE HANDSCROLLS Sebastian Balmes XX C REATIVIT Y, HISTORIOGR APHY, AND MASS PRODUCTION: THE WEALTH OF PICTORIAL NARR ATIVES IN SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY JAPAN Melanie Trede XX M ANGA FLOWS: READING THE PANELED SPREAD AGAINST HANDSCROLL AND WEBTOON Jaqueline Berndt
XX V H EROES V YING FOR POWER AND GLORY: THE TALE OF THE HEIKE
XX VI V ANQUISHING DEMONS: SHUTEN DŌJI AND R A JŌMON
XX V II IMAGINING CHINA
XX V III T HE REALM OF PARODY AND ENTERTAINMENT
XX IX COLLECTING JAPANESE ART IN EUROPE
XX C HECKLIST BIBLIOGR APHY INDE X CHRONOLOGY
Scheidegger & Spiess
FOREWORD
“In whose reign was it that a woman of rather undistinguished lineage captured the heart of the Emperor and enjoyed his favor above all the other imperial wives and concubines?”1 These words open The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari), one of the most famous novels in Japanese literature, written in the eleventh century by the lady-inwaiting Murasaki Shikibu. The story chronicles the handsome hero Prince Genji on his numerous amorous adventures, enriches them with descriptions of music and poetry, and thus conjures up a memorable account of life at the imperial court during the Heian period. Since its completion, The Tale of Genji has captured the imaginations of generations of artists, craftspeople, writers, and playwrights—it has become an inseparable part of Japanese culture. The life of Prince Genji has been adapted for noh drama, the popular performance arts of kabuki and the puppet theater and made into films. Today, Genji manga, anime, and video games attest to the ongoing relevance of this material and to its mutability across genres and periods. The starting point
(and inspiration) for all these adaptations, however, are often not just the words of the novel but also the precious illuminated handscrolls that celebrate its intoxicating mix of sensuality, drama, and splendor. Love, Fight, Feast—The Multifaceted World of Japanese Narrative Art is an exhibition on the art of such “story paintings” (monogatari-e) that draws from Japanese classical literature, folktales, and Buddhist scriptures. Despite its overwhelming importance in Japan, this genre is little known in the West. More than 100 works, some of which have never been on view in public, reveal a vast panorama of Japanese epics, love stories, legends, and fairytales. In these pictorial narratives or narrative images, art and literature are symbiotically linked. And so Love, Fight, Feast invites us to reflect on the visual potency of narratives—in the exhibition, we can appreciate how images and motifs migrate across the centuries, how they permeate both courtly art and everyday culture, and how they evoke these stories for their viewers and readers, replete with scenes, protagonists, or moral lessons. Sometimes they achieve this by using distinctive and canonized motifs, sometimes by bringing these moments alive in indulgent sceneries. In this way, they continually reconnect the familiar tales with their own present. To this day, these images serve as both inspiration and reference for artists. Love, Fight, Feast is not only an exhibition about images made to stories, however. It is also an exhibition about storytelling within the image. Among the most impressive works are illuminated handscrolls (emaki) measuring up to 14 m long on which the plot of a story unfolds. Here, imagery is intertwined with narration. The scrolls are at once a map and a timeline. Shifting perspectives invite viewers to explore and immerse themselves in the pictorial space from all sides: first we are in the midst of battle, then we follow the hero to the banks of a river; a view from above into a quiet chamber is disrupted by a monster in the adjoining room; we are guests at a poetry competition between the twelve animals of the East Asian zodiac, our eyes drawn to the spurned racoon dog who, his pride wounded, seeks revenge. Love, Fight, Feast transports us into this imaginative world, encouraging us to “read” these pictorial narratives and to resonate with the love, the anger, the wiles, the successes and failures of its protagonists. With its dramaturgical developments and changes of viewpoints that drive the plot as the picture unrolls, these illuminated handscrolls have frequently been seen as a precursor to manga or film. Yet it also speaks to another mode in which we experience and tell stories, one very familiar to us all: the emancipation of the viewer as an agent whose handling of the scroll gives rise to his
or her own personal reading experience. At what speed does one follow the narrative, which sections of the picture catch the eye, which motifs and storylines does one wish to pursue in the pictorial space, or when and how does one “fast forward” or “rewind”? In this way, the illuminated handscroll already intones a variety of narrative techniques and pictorial experiences that have become the basis of computer gaming. In exploring the exhibition Love, Fight, Feast we understand that these great pictorial narratives and narrative images are testaments to a profound, clear-eyed perspective on human existence in this world, a perspective that has lost none of its pertinence for us today. The exhibition could not be possible without the generosity and collegiality of lenders and sponsors. My heartfelt thanks go to the colleagues in Amsterdam, Berlin, Brussels, Budapest, Cambridge, Coligny, Cologne, Dublin, Geneva, Hamburg, Heidelberg, Leipzig, London, Moscow, Nice, Paris, Saint Petersburg, Stockholm, Stuttgart, Turin, and Venice for the seamless collaboration, as well as the many private lenders in Switzerland and Europe who have made their treasures available to us. The exhibition was curated by Dr. Khanh Trinh, curator at Museum Rietberg, Professor Melanie Trede, University of Heidelberg, and Professor Estelle Bauer, INALCO Paris. My sincere thanks go to them for the concept and the realization of this wonderful exhibition. An exhibition of this scale can only be realized with the support of sponsors. I would like to thank the Schwyzer Foundation, first and foremost its president Conrad Schwyzer and its managing director Nicole Schwyzer, for their generous support, and the Ishibashi Foundation, its president Ishibashi Hiroshi, for their support of the catalogue production. Professor Sarah Kenderdine of the Laboratory for Experimental Museology at the EPFL deserves my sincere thanks for the excellent collaboration in the indexing of a set of scroll paintings. Albert Lutz has once again donated his time and artistic talent to produce an informative and attractive presentation of a battle screen. I would also like to take this opportunity to express my sincere thanks to the entire staff at the Museum Rietberg, for their hard work, commitment and dedication. In my thanks I also include all the external colleagues for their contributions to the preparation and realization of the exhibition and the catalogue. Annette Bhagwati Director 1
Murasaki, Washburn trans., 2015, p. 3.
7
FOREWORD
“In whose reign was it that a woman of rather undistinguished lineage captured the heart of the Emperor and enjoyed his favor above all the other imperial wives and concubines?”1 These words open The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari), one of the most famous novels in Japanese literature, written in the eleventh century by the lady-inwaiting Murasaki Shikibu. The story chronicles the handsome hero Prince Genji on his numerous amorous adventures, enriches them with descriptions of music and poetry, and thus conjures up a memorable account of life at the imperial court during the Heian period. Since its completion, The Tale of Genji has captured the imaginations of generations of artists, craftspeople, writers, and playwrights—it has become an inseparable part of Japanese culture. The life of Prince Genji has been adapted for noh drama, the popular performance arts of kabuki and the puppet theater and made into films. Today, Genji manga, anime, and video games attest to the ongoing relevance of this material and to its mutability across genres and periods. The starting point
(and inspiration) for all these adaptations, however, are often not just the words of the novel but also the precious illuminated handscrolls that celebrate its intoxicating mix of sensuality, drama, and splendor. Love, Fight, Feast—The Multifaceted World of Japanese Narrative Art is an exhibition on the art of such “story paintings” (monogatari-e) that draws from Japanese classical literature, folktales, and Buddhist scriptures. Despite its overwhelming importance in Japan, this genre is little known in the West. More than 100 works, some of which have never been on view in public, reveal a vast panorama of Japanese epics, love stories, legends, and fairytales. In these pictorial narratives or narrative images, art and literature are symbiotically linked. And so Love, Fight, Feast invites us to reflect on the visual potency of narratives—in the exhibition, we can appreciate how images and motifs migrate across the centuries, how they permeate both courtly art and everyday culture, and how they evoke these stories for their viewers and readers, replete with scenes, protagonists, or moral lessons. Sometimes they achieve this by using distinctive and canonized motifs, sometimes by bringing these moments alive in indulgent sceneries. In this way, they continually reconnect the familiar tales with their own present. To this day, these images serve as both inspiration and reference for artists. Love, Fight, Feast is not only an exhibition about images made to stories, however. It is also an exhibition about storytelling within the image. Among the most impressive works are illuminated handscrolls (emaki) measuring up to 14 m long on which the plot of a story unfolds. Here, imagery is intertwined with narration. The scrolls are at once a map and a timeline. Shifting perspectives invite viewers to explore and immerse themselves in the pictorial space from all sides: first we are in the midst of battle, then we follow the hero to the banks of a river; a view from above into a quiet chamber is disrupted by a monster in the adjoining room; we are guests at a poetry competition between the twelve animals of the East Asian zodiac, our eyes drawn to the spurned racoon dog who, his pride wounded, seeks revenge. Love, Fight, Feast transports us into this imaginative world, encouraging us to “read” these pictorial narratives and to resonate with the love, the anger, the wiles, the successes and failures of its protagonists. With its dramaturgical developments and changes of viewpoints that drive the plot as the picture unrolls, these illuminated handscrolls have frequently been seen as a precursor to manga or film. Yet it also speaks to another mode in which we experience and tell stories, one very familiar to us all: the emancipation of the viewer as an agent whose handling of the scroll gives rise to his
or her own personal reading experience. At what speed does one follow the narrative, which sections of the picture catch the eye, which motifs and storylines does one wish to pursue in the pictorial space, or when and how does one “fast forward” or “rewind”? In this way, the illuminated handscroll already intones a variety of narrative techniques and pictorial experiences that have become the basis of computer gaming. In exploring the exhibition Love, Fight, Feast we understand that these great pictorial narratives and narrative images are testaments to a profound, clear-eyed perspective on human existence in this world, a perspective that has lost none of its pertinence for us today. The exhibition could not be possible without the generosity and collegiality of lenders and sponsors. My heartfelt thanks go to the colleagues in Amsterdam, Berlin, Brussels, Budapest, Cambridge, Coligny, Cologne, Dublin, Geneva, Hamburg, Heidelberg, Leipzig, London, Moscow, Nice, Paris, Saint Petersburg, Stockholm, Stuttgart, Turin, and Venice for the seamless collaboration, as well as the many private lenders in Switzerland and Europe who have made their treasures available to us. The exhibition was curated by Dr. Khanh Trinh, curator at Museum Rietberg, Professor Melanie Trede, University of Heidelberg, and Professor Estelle Bauer, INALCO Paris. My sincere thanks go to them for the concept and the realization of this wonderful exhibition. An exhibition of this scale can only be realized with the support of sponsors. I would like to thank the Schwyzer Foundation, first and foremost its president Conrad Schwyzer and its managing director Nicole Schwyzer, for their generous support, and the Ishibashi Foundation, its president Ishibashi Hiroshi, for their support of the catalogue production. Professor Sarah Kenderdine of the Laboratory for Experimental Museology at the EPFL deserves my sincere thanks for the excellent collaboration in the indexing of a set of scroll paintings. Albert Lutz has once again donated his time and artistic talent to produce an informative and attractive presentation of a battle screen. I would also like to take this opportunity to express my sincere thanks to the entire staff at the Museum Rietberg, for their hard work, commitment and dedication. In my thanks I also include all the external colleagues for their contributions to the preparation and realization of the exhibition and the catalogue. Annette Bhagwati Director 1
Murasaki, Washburn trans., 2015, p. 3.
7
THE MULTIFACETED WORLD OF JAPANESE NARR ATIVE ART: AN INTRODUCTION Khanh Trinh
fig. 1 Attributed to Tosa Hirochika (ca. 1439–1492) (painting) and Emperor Go-Hanazono (1419–1471) (script), The Tale of the Celestial Prince (Amewakahiko sōshi), detail, Muromachi period, mid-15th century, handscroll, ink and color on paper, 32.3 × 1082.9 cm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Museum für Asiatische Kunst, © Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Museum für Asiatische Kunst, photo: Jürgen Liepe
The use of pictures to communicate a story has a long tradition in Japan dating back over a thousand years with the earliest illuminated handscrolls being religious texts (sutras) imported from China in the eighth century. From at least the late tenth century in Japan, a genre of secular narrative painting—that is, paintings based on literary texts—emerged, evolved, and continued to captivate and inspire. The lady-in-waiting Murasaki Shikibu describes in her early eleventh-century novel The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari) how court aristocrats of the era found pleasure in looking at handscrolls illustrating folk tales such as The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter (Taketori monogatari) or romantic novels from China and Japan such as The Song of Lasting Sorrow (Chōgonka) (see cat. 91), and The Ise Stories (Ise monogatari) (see Part III).1 The distinctive format of these illuminated handscrolls (emaki) enabled a continuous, temporal development of a tale conveyed through a marriage of narrative texts and illustrations (fig. 1). As such, emaki draw comparisons to film and are seen by some scholars as a forerunner of Japan’s “story manga,” a claim not shared universally by experts of historical Japanese art and manga (see Jaqueline Berndt’s essay in this volume). But the global success of Japanese manga since the 1990s offered a portal to look behind the modern, giving us the opportunity to explore aspects of Japan’s historical material culture influenced by literature and to reflect more critically upon its relationship to the contemporary manga phenomena. In Japan, illuminated handscrolls are valued as representing an apogee in cultural achievement, borne out by the number of exhibitions at museums in the country’s major cities.2 The study of illuminated handscrolls constitutes an important field of art historical research in Japan, a situation different in the West where the collection, exhibition, understanding, and appreciation of this unique art form is modest by comparison.3 In Europe, for example, there have been only a handful of exhibitions dedicated to Japanese narrative painting in the past fifty years. All of them were smaller-scale shows drawn from permanent museum collections. In 2000, the Museum für Angewandte Kunst in Frankfurt hosted Mönche, Monster, Schöne Damen: Japanische Malerei, Buch- und Holzschnittkunst des 16. bis 18. Jahrhunderts (Monks, Monsters, Beautiful Women: Japanese Paintings, Books, and Woodblock Prints of the 16th to 18th Centuries), which centered on the literary aspects of the objects.4 Almost a decade later, in 2008, the 1000th anniversary of The Tale of Genji led to exhibitions both in Japan and abroad devoted to the visual culture occasioned by this literary masterpiece. In Europe, these included Genji monogatari—Il Principe Splendente nelle collezioni del Museo d’Arte Orientale di Venezia (2008),
and somewhat later, in 2015–2016, In Search of Prince Genji—Japan in Words and Image at the Hopp Ferenc Ázsiai Művészati Múzeum, Budapest.5 In 2019, the Museum für Ostasiatische Kunst, Cologne organized Geschichten erzählen (Storytelling), with a range of works in different materialities that highlighted a few canonical narratives such as The Ise Stories, The Tale of Genji, and The Tale of the Heike (Heike monogatari). These exhibitions demonstrate that, in Japan as in the West, the approach to Japanese narrative art has either been the focus on one medium (e.g., paintings or prints) or, if including a selection of diverse media, on one tale (e.g., The Tale of Genji). But the exhibition and accompanying publication Love, Fight, Feast—The Multifaceted World of Japanese Narrative Art at the Museum Rietberg takes a different view. It surveys the breadth of literary sources that has captured the imagination of generations of artists and artisans, and how they found creative solutions in visualizing them. The approximately twenty devotional and secular texts under discussion cover a broad spectrum, from legends of the karmic origins of temples and shrines, hagiographies of eminent religious masters, stories of love and intrigues at the imperial court to epics of internecine wars, fables and folk tales of anthropomorphic animals, sensational monsters, or shape-shifting supernatural beings. These are brought to life in over one hundred paintings, woodblock prints, illustrated printed books, lacquer objects, textiles, ceramics, and metalwork dating from the thirteenth to twentieth century, which are grouped thematically into eight thematic parts. This more all-inclusive perspective challenges the entrenched hierarchical distinction between fine and decorative arts commonly encountered in Western art historical practice (and adapted by Japan since the late nineteenth century). Moreover, the works in this publication—a number recently “rediscovered”—are drawn exclusively from over thirty European public institutions and private holdings to offer a glimpse of the collecting activities of Japanese art in Europe from the late nineteenth century to the present day. The inclusion of twelve short biographies of influential collectors who have molded the institutions that are today the repositories of Japanese narrative art in Europe also pays tribute to the enduring interest in Japanese narrative art here, an aspect that has often been overlooked or has attracted little attention in past publications and exhibitions. The multimedium perspective in Love, Fight, Feast has two objectives, first, to argue for the acknowledgment of “narrative art” as the more comprehensive and suitable nomenclature for all Japanese art objects that derive from or refer to a literary narrative, and secondly, to emphasize the rich diversity in iconography,
THE MULTIFACETED WORLD OF JAPANESE NARR ATIVE ART: AN INTRODUCTION Khanh Trinh
fig. 1 Attributed to Tosa Hirochika (ca. 1439–1492) (painting) and Emperor Go-Hanazono (1419–1471) (script), The Tale of the Celestial Prince (Amewakahiko sōshi), detail, Muromachi period, mid-15th century, handscroll, ink and color on paper, 32.3 × 1082.9 cm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Museum für Asiatische Kunst, © Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Museum für Asiatische Kunst, photo: Jürgen Liepe
The use of pictures to communicate a story has a long tradition in Japan dating back over a thousand years with the earliest illuminated handscrolls being religious texts (sutras) imported from China in the eighth century. From at least the late tenth century in Japan, a genre of secular narrative painting—that is, paintings based on literary texts—emerged, evolved, and continued to captivate and inspire. The lady-in-waiting Murasaki Shikibu describes in her early eleventh-century novel The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari) how court aristocrats of the era found pleasure in looking at handscrolls illustrating folk tales such as The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter (Taketori monogatari) or romantic novels from China and Japan such as The Song of Lasting Sorrow (Chōgonka) (see cat. 91), and The Ise Stories (Ise monogatari) (see Part III).1 The distinctive format of these illuminated handscrolls (emaki) enabled a continuous, temporal development of a tale conveyed through a marriage of narrative texts and illustrations (fig. 1). As such, emaki draw comparisons to film and are seen by some scholars as a forerunner of Japan’s “story manga,” a claim not shared universally by experts of historical Japanese art and manga (see Jaqueline Berndt’s essay in this volume). But the global success of Japanese manga since the 1990s offered a portal to look behind the modern, giving us the opportunity to explore aspects of Japan’s historical material culture influenced by literature and to reflect more critically upon its relationship to the contemporary manga phenomena. In Japan, illuminated handscrolls are valued as representing an apogee in cultural achievement, borne out by the number of exhibitions at museums in the country’s major cities.2 The study of illuminated handscrolls constitutes an important field of art historical research in Japan, a situation different in the West where the collection, exhibition, understanding, and appreciation of this unique art form is modest by comparison.3 In Europe, for example, there have been only a handful of exhibitions dedicated to Japanese narrative painting in the past fifty years. All of them were smaller-scale shows drawn from permanent museum collections. In 2000, the Museum für Angewandte Kunst in Frankfurt hosted Mönche, Monster, Schöne Damen: Japanische Malerei, Buch- und Holzschnittkunst des 16. bis 18. Jahrhunderts (Monks, Monsters, Beautiful Women: Japanese Paintings, Books, and Woodblock Prints of the 16th to 18th Centuries), which centered on the literary aspects of the objects.4 Almost a decade later, in 2008, the 1000th anniversary of The Tale of Genji led to exhibitions both in Japan and abroad devoted to the visual culture occasioned by this literary masterpiece. In Europe, these included Genji monogatari—Il Principe Splendente nelle collezioni del Museo d’Arte Orientale di Venezia (2008),
and somewhat later, in 2015–2016, In Search of Prince Genji—Japan in Words and Image at the Hopp Ferenc Ázsiai Művészati Múzeum, Budapest.5 In 2019, the Museum für Ostasiatische Kunst, Cologne organized Geschichten erzählen (Storytelling), with a range of works in different materialities that highlighted a few canonical narratives such as The Ise Stories, The Tale of Genji, and The Tale of the Heike (Heike monogatari). These exhibitions demonstrate that, in Japan as in the West, the approach to Japanese narrative art has either been the focus on one medium (e.g., paintings or prints) or, if including a selection of diverse media, on one tale (e.g., The Tale of Genji). But the exhibition and accompanying publication Love, Fight, Feast—The Multifaceted World of Japanese Narrative Art at the Museum Rietberg takes a different view. It surveys the breadth of literary sources that has captured the imagination of generations of artists and artisans, and how they found creative solutions in visualizing them. The approximately twenty devotional and secular texts under discussion cover a broad spectrum, from legends of the karmic origins of temples and shrines, hagiographies of eminent religious masters, stories of love and intrigues at the imperial court to epics of internecine wars, fables and folk tales of anthropomorphic animals, sensational monsters, or shape-shifting supernatural beings. These are brought to life in over one hundred paintings, woodblock prints, illustrated printed books, lacquer objects, textiles, ceramics, and metalwork dating from the thirteenth to twentieth century, which are grouped thematically into eight thematic parts. This more all-inclusive perspective challenges the entrenched hierarchical distinction between fine and decorative arts commonly encountered in Western art historical practice (and adapted by Japan since the late nineteenth century). Moreover, the works in this publication—a number recently “rediscovered”—are drawn exclusively from over thirty European public institutions and private holdings to offer a glimpse of the collecting activities of Japanese art in Europe from the late nineteenth century to the present day. The inclusion of twelve short biographies of influential collectors who have molded the institutions that are today the repositories of Japanese narrative art in Europe also pays tribute to the enduring interest in Japanese narrative art here, an aspect that has often been overlooked or has attracted little attention in past publications and exhibitions. The multimedium perspective in Love, Fight, Feast has two objectives, first, to argue for the acknowledgment of “narrative art” as the more comprehensive and suitable nomenclature for all Japanese art objects that derive from or refer to a literary narrative, and secondly, to emphasize the rich diversity in iconography,
fig. 2 Ogata Kōrin (1658–1716), Writing box (suzuribako) with Design of “Eight Bridges,” Edo period, early 17th century, wood, black lacquer, gold lacquer painting, lead, and mother-of-pearl inlay, 14.7 × 27.4 × 19.7 cm, Tokyo National Museum
materialities, functions, and expression modes that characterize Japanese narrative art.
What is Japanese Narrative Art? None of the European exhibitions singled out above employ the word “narrative art” in their titles, a fact that might be explained by the association of the term by Euro-American audiences with illustrations of fictive stories, historical events, or depictions of scenes from daily life. Conversely, it would be difficult to find a corresponding Japanese term for the English “narrative art,” perhaps the closest being monogatari-e, or “story painting,” which originated in the Heian period (794– 1185) to signify paintings (e) that accompany a tale (monogatari). Monogatari-e of this period were almost exclusively in the handscroll format with alternating text passages and elaborate illustrations. Viewers would first read the text, then enjoy the painting that either visualized the preceding script or added another layer of meaning to the narration by evoking images not
20
previously described. 6 They were free to determine the pace of their engagement, scrolling back and forth at their leisure (see Estelle Bauer’s essay in this volume). In some cases, a handscroll comprised only images, with the accompanying text handwritten on a separate scroll or in a bound book. Over time, the category of monogatari-e was expanded to include paintings, either as single or contiguous scenes visualizing one or more episodes of a tale, in diverse formats: hanging scrolls, handscrolls, folding screens, fans, folded and bound books. Even pictorial sequences that are not based on a written or orally transmitted text, but rather narrate a story through the inclusion of figures and actions, such as Pictures from the Land of One Thousand Demons (Banki koku zu) (see cat. 104) or The Tale of the Monkeys (Saru no sōshi) (see cat. 101), are subsumed under monogatari-e. In its narrowest definition, therefore, the term monogatari-e was restricted to painted narrative illustrations. Despite efforts to promote the importance of illustrations in woodblock-printed books as further models for “narrative art,” especially those produced
from the seventeenth century onward, the view that monogatari-e only applies to the painted medium continues even today (see Melanie Trede’s essay in this volume).7 But to understand monogatari-e more fully as images that elaborate upon (or allude to) a story, we must move beyond painted and printed images to embrace designs on ceramics, metal and lacquer objects, and textiles that are equally important as part of a larger “iconic circuit.”8 Instead of restricting the definition of “narrative art” to only “narrative painting,” it should subsume all “narrative objects,” and it is within this context that the term “narrative art” is applied in Love, Fight, Feast. A characteristic example of one such “narrative object” is the spectacular storage box for writing implements (suzuribako) decorated with a design of the “Eight Bridges” (Yatsuhashi) by Ogata Kōrin (fig. 2). This rectangular lidded box is striking for its bold design. Eight bands of lead set against a lustrous black lacquer ground are wrapped diagonally around and across the top of the lid, down the side panel and then around the corner of the box’s front side to convey the image of a bridge made of eight zigzagging wooden planks across a field of irises in bloom. The leaves are represented in opaque goldcolored lacquer painting (maki-e) while the flowers are rendered with iridescent mother-of-pearl inlay. The ingenious composition and effective juxtaposition of materials on this extravagant box reverberates with a refined aesthetic sensibility and craftsmanship that justifies its designation as a National Treasure. But these also have a deeper, more nuanced meaning as an allusion to Episode 9 of the tenth-century classic The Ise Stories (see part III). It could be argued that the design, devoid of figures and actions in an aesthetic device called rusu moyō (“absent motif”), does not tell a story per se. Rather, it evokes the memory of a narrative. The eight wooden planks and the irises are such iconic elements that their depiction alone would immediately signal the narrative to any viewer familiar with the Ise tale.
The Characteristics of Japanese Narrative Art One salient feature of Japanese narrative art is its remarkably wide-ranging subject matter: karmic origins tales of a deity or places of worship, romantic novels, warrior epics, folk stories, and hagiographies of eminent religious or political figures. While the majority of the underlying texts have remained largely unaltered over the centuries, their visualizations differ greatly depending on the pictorial formats, the reason for production, the artistic lineage and creativity of the painter, artisan, or designer, and even the tastes of the person or
persons who commissioned the piece and the intended audience. The decisions regarding which scenes to depict and which text passages to include, how much space to allocate a scene, how to position the images in relation to the script as well as which materials (paper or silk, pigments, gold and silver leaf) to use would have been dictated by the patron(s), the artist(s), and the scribe(s) involved (see also Sebastian Balmes’s essay in this volume). Other important agents who contributed to the production process and the prestige of the completed item were a scholar-poet, who edited the text, and a consultant or “go-between” in charge of liaising with the various participating parties.9 For audiences then and today, the presentation of a handscroll or album not only provided intellectual and visual enjoyment but it also yielded practical information about the socio-economic background and the motivations of those who commissioned the work, and the creativity of the painter. The key role played by the patron in shaping the scope, style, and imagery of a narrative work becomes clear in a comparison of the album entitled Excerpts from The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari kotoba) in the British Library (see cat. 43) with a group of fragments illustrating The Tale of Genji known as the “Moriyasu Handscrolls,” today dispersed among a number of private collections (see cat. 39–41 & 59). While both depict the fifty-four chapters of the classic Genji tale, they differ in materiality, iconography, and stylistic execution. The British Library album consists of fifty-four text excerpts written in a fluid, cursive kana script on a square poem card (shikishi), and fifty-four lyrical paintings by Sumiyoshi Jokei (1599–1670). Although the identity of the patron is not known, he was most probably a member of the court of Emperor Go-Mizunoo (1596–1680; r. 1611–1629), judging from the names and titles of the imperial princes and high-ranking court nobles who were the scribes and who are identified on the narrow light-green slips attached in the upper right corner of each text page. Go-Mizunoo was recognized for his scholarship in the classics, having written three commentaries on The Tale of Genji and two volumes on The Ise Stories. He was an influential figure in the revival of Heian-period courtly culture in Kyoto during the first half of the seventeenth century.10 Such annotated albums would have been coveted prestige items at elite gatherings for poetry composition, flower arrangement, incense ceremonies, and bridal trousseaus (see also cat. 42). The “Moriyasu Handscrolls,” named after its patron Taira Moriyasu (ca. 1626–1682) was not the product of a courtly coterie, rather a work commissioned by a person of some standing with only loose ties to the court aristocracy. Moriyasu sought to reproduce the entire text of the Genji tale with several illustrations for each of the fifty-four
21
fig. 2 Ogata Kōrin (1658–1716), Writing box (suzuribako) with Design of “Eight Bridges,” Edo period, early 17th century, wood, black lacquer, gold lacquer painting, lead, and mother-of-pearl inlay, 14.7 × 27.4 × 19.7 cm, Tokyo National Museum
materialities, functions, and expression modes that characterize Japanese narrative art.
What is Japanese Narrative Art? None of the European exhibitions singled out above employ the word “narrative art” in their titles, a fact that might be explained by the association of the term by Euro-American audiences with illustrations of fictive stories, historical events, or depictions of scenes from daily life. Conversely, it would be difficult to find a corresponding Japanese term for the English “narrative art,” perhaps the closest being monogatari-e, or “story painting,” which originated in the Heian period (794– 1185) to signify paintings (e) that accompany a tale (monogatari). Monogatari-e of this period were almost exclusively in the handscroll format with alternating text passages and elaborate illustrations. Viewers would first read the text, then enjoy the painting that either visualized the preceding script or added another layer of meaning to the narration by evoking images not
20
previously described. 6 They were free to determine the pace of their engagement, scrolling back and forth at their leisure (see Estelle Bauer’s essay in this volume). In some cases, a handscroll comprised only images, with the accompanying text handwritten on a separate scroll or in a bound book. Over time, the category of monogatari-e was expanded to include paintings, either as single or contiguous scenes visualizing one or more episodes of a tale, in diverse formats: hanging scrolls, handscrolls, folding screens, fans, folded and bound books. Even pictorial sequences that are not based on a written or orally transmitted text, but rather narrate a story through the inclusion of figures and actions, such as Pictures from the Land of One Thousand Demons (Banki koku zu) (see cat. 104) or The Tale of the Monkeys (Saru no sōshi) (see cat. 101), are subsumed under monogatari-e. In its narrowest definition, therefore, the term monogatari-e was restricted to painted narrative illustrations. Despite efforts to promote the importance of illustrations in woodblock-printed books as further models for “narrative art,” especially those produced
from the seventeenth century onward, the view that monogatari-e only applies to the painted medium continues even today (see Melanie Trede’s essay in this volume).7 But to understand monogatari-e more fully as images that elaborate upon (or allude to) a story, we must move beyond painted and printed images to embrace designs on ceramics, metal and lacquer objects, and textiles that are equally important as part of a larger “iconic circuit.”8 Instead of restricting the definition of “narrative art” to only “narrative painting,” it should subsume all “narrative objects,” and it is within this context that the term “narrative art” is applied in Love, Fight, Feast. A characteristic example of one such “narrative object” is the spectacular storage box for writing implements (suzuribako) decorated with a design of the “Eight Bridges” (Yatsuhashi) by Ogata Kōrin (fig. 2). This rectangular lidded box is striking for its bold design. Eight bands of lead set against a lustrous black lacquer ground are wrapped diagonally around and across the top of the lid, down the side panel and then around the corner of the box’s front side to convey the image of a bridge made of eight zigzagging wooden planks across a field of irises in bloom. The leaves are represented in opaque goldcolored lacquer painting (maki-e) while the flowers are rendered with iridescent mother-of-pearl inlay. The ingenious composition and effective juxtaposition of materials on this extravagant box reverberates with a refined aesthetic sensibility and craftsmanship that justifies its designation as a National Treasure. But these also have a deeper, more nuanced meaning as an allusion to Episode 9 of the tenth-century classic The Ise Stories (see part III). It could be argued that the design, devoid of figures and actions in an aesthetic device called rusu moyō (“absent motif”), does not tell a story per se. Rather, it evokes the memory of a narrative. The eight wooden planks and the irises are such iconic elements that their depiction alone would immediately signal the narrative to any viewer familiar with the Ise tale.
The Characteristics of Japanese Narrative Art One salient feature of Japanese narrative art is its remarkably wide-ranging subject matter: karmic origins tales of a deity or places of worship, romantic novels, warrior epics, folk stories, and hagiographies of eminent religious or political figures. While the majority of the underlying texts have remained largely unaltered over the centuries, their visualizations differ greatly depending on the pictorial formats, the reason for production, the artistic lineage and creativity of the painter, artisan, or designer, and even the tastes of the person or
persons who commissioned the piece and the intended audience. The decisions regarding which scenes to depict and which text passages to include, how much space to allocate a scene, how to position the images in relation to the script as well as which materials (paper or silk, pigments, gold and silver leaf) to use would have been dictated by the patron(s), the artist(s), and the scribe(s) involved (see also Sebastian Balmes’s essay in this volume). Other important agents who contributed to the production process and the prestige of the completed item were a scholar-poet, who edited the text, and a consultant or “go-between” in charge of liaising with the various participating parties.9 For audiences then and today, the presentation of a handscroll or album not only provided intellectual and visual enjoyment but it also yielded practical information about the socio-economic background and the motivations of those who commissioned the work, and the creativity of the painter. The key role played by the patron in shaping the scope, style, and imagery of a narrative work becomes clear in a comparison of the album entitled Excerpts from The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari kotoba) in the British Library (see cat. 43) with a group of fragments illustrating The Tale of Genji known as the “Moriyasu Handscrolls,” today dispersed among a number of private collections (see cat. 39–41 & 59). While both depict the fifty-four chapters of the classic Genji tale, they differ in materiality, iconography, and stylistic execution. The British Library album consists of fifty-four text excerpts written in a fluid, cursive kana script on a square poem card (shikishi), and fifty-four lyrical paintings by Sumiyoshi Jokei (1599–1670). Although the identity of the patron is not known, he was most probably a member of the court of Emperor Go-Mizunoo (1596–1680; r. 1611–1629), judging from the names and titles of the imperial princes and high-ranking court nobles who were the scribes and who are identified on the narrow light-green slips attached in the upper right corner of each text page. Go-Mizunoo was recognized for his scholarship in the classics, having written three commentaries on The Tale of Genji and two volumes on The Ise Stories. He was an influential figure in the revival of Heian-period courtly culture in Kyoto during the first half of the seventeenth century.10 Such annotated albums would have been coveted prestige items at elite gatherings for poetry composition, flower arrangement, incense ceremonies, and bridal trousseaus (see also cat. 42). The “Moriyasu Handscrolls,” named after its patron Taira Moriyasu (ca. 1626–1682) was not the product of a courtly coterie, rather a work commissioned by a person of some standing with only loose ties to the court aristocracy. Moriyasu sought to reproduce the entire text of the Genji tale with several illustrations for each of the fifty-four
21
The “Moriyasu Handscrolls” of The Tale of Genji An extraordinary set of illuminated handscrolls of The Tale of Genji is the “Moriyasu Handscrolls,” so named after Taira Moriyasu (act. 1626–1682), the man who commissioned the work.1 Moriyasu (also pronounced “Seian”) was a member of the upper middle-class and his interests ranged from religion to poetry and epic narratives. To enhance the prestige of his Genji scrolls, he asked court dignitaries to contribute the calligraphy for the opening text passages in the first handscroll that illustrate one chapter (each chapter is illustrated in at least three scrolls); the remaining texts in the scroll were brushed by less eminent individuals. Based on the six surviving chapters of the “Moriyasu Handscrolls,” it is believed that the entire set might have exceeded 200 scrolls with more than 1,000 paintings. In a colophon appearing at the end of the first chapter and dated to 1655, Moriyasu explains his intent to illustrate the novel in its entirety such as had never been done before.2 That there are no known handscrolls depicting sections after Chapter 10, “A Branch of Sacred Evergreen” (Sakaki), suggests that this ambitious project was never completed. The iconography of most of the paintings is idiosyncratic, including funerals or scenes alluding to Genji’s love for Lady Fujitsubo, the consort of his father, Emperor Kiritsubo. In fact, recent research by this author has determined that the choice of scenes is based on a “timeline” of Genji’s age from the Muromachi period that served as a reading aid. It represented a
152
41 Scene 30 from Chapter 10, “A Branch of Sacred Evergreen” (Sakaki) from the “Moriyasu Handscrolls” of The Tale of Genji Edo period, after 1655 Framed fragment of a handscroll Private collection
major departure in Genji imagery in highlighting all the stages of Prince Genji’s life, from the pivotal to the least notable, from the most moving to the most controversial.3 The style of the paintings also reflects a singular sensibility rare in the Genji visual tradition, and the paintings measuring up to 2 m in length. The existence of this set demonstrates that individuals who were not necessarily members of the elite (and therefore often ignored by art historians) were also capable of launching aspiring large-scale projects. The three fragments reproduced here are from Chapter 10. The first (Scene 8) takes place following the death of the emperor, Genji’s father (cat. 39). Sitting in a room that opens onto a garden, a lady-inwaiting and the Princes Hyōbu and Genji contemplate the beauty of the snowy landscape and exchange poems to express the sadness over their loss. The pine tree and its scattered needles symbolize the emperor’s passing while the ice-covered pond is compared to a mirror that no longer reflects the emperor’s august visage. Fujitsubo appears in her apartment in mourning dress, a rarely used device of portrayal in Genji pictures. Her gray garment echoes that worn by Genji, highlighting the ties between the two former lovers— that is, their connection with the emperor and the birth of the young prince resulting from their secret affair. In the second image (Scene 27), two men, also in mourning robes, sit face to face in a large reception room perpendicular to a covered hallway (cat. 40). The gray robes of a most likely high-ranking woman is
visible through the semi-transparent bamboo blinds drawn in gold ink. The scene could refer to the imminent fall of Genji and his clan: the moon and the flowers in the garden signal autumn, a season befitting the uncertainty of events. The third fragment (Scene 30) presents an episode that will prove decisive to Prince Genji and his later unfortunate exile (cat. 41). But the tone is equally colored by wry humor. The Minister of the Right, the head of the clan opposed to Genji, is finally given the opportunity to rid himself of the prince when he discovers that Genji has spent the night with his daughter, Oborozukiyo, who is promised to the emperor. The painting opens on the right with Genji’s head peeking out from the bedcovers in his lover’s quarters, listening to the father’s interrogation of his daughter. Although caught in a delicate predicament, Genji laughs inwardly at the minister’s impulsive reaction, behavior unbecoming for someone of his rank. In the scene depicted, the minister holds a love letter from Genji. Oborozukiyo is having trouble retaining her composure; ultimately Genji’s bluish sash left hanging on her robe will betray her amorous liaison. The painter has fully exploited the handscroll’s horizontal format and compositional device of “blownoff roofs” (fukinuki yatai), which offers a view of the three protagonists in three distinct spaces. The ladies-in-waiting form an agitated grouping around Oborozukiyo, as if to underscore the young woman’s anxiety.
The three fragments were acquired by three private collectors from the Galerie Janette Ostier in Paris. This important postwar dealer of Japanese art acquired the six handscrolls illustrating Chapter 10 at the Parisian auction house Hôtel Drouot. The gallery subsequently divided up the thirty-one paintings and sold them separately in 1980. To date, nine have been found but twenty-two paintings are still in unknown collections.4 (EB)
1 2 3 4
Alternatively known as the illuminated handscrolls of The Phantom Genji (Maboroshi no Genji monogatari emaki). Yoshikawa, 2010, pp. 87–89. Bauer, 2019. A catalogue published by the Galerie Janette Ostier has recorded each of the paintings. Galerie Janette Ostier, 1980.
153
The “Moriyasu Handscrolls” of The Tale of Genji An extraordinary set of illuminated handscrolls of The Tale of Genji is the “Moriyasu Handscrolls,” so named after Taira Moriyasu (act. 1626–1682), the man who commissioned the work.1 Moriyasu (also pronounced “Seian”) was a member of the upper middle-class and his interests ranged from religion to poetry and epic narratives. To enhance the prestige of his Genji scrolls, he asked court dignitaries to contribute the calligraphy for the opening text passages in the first handscroll that illustrate one chapter (each chapter is illustrated in at least three scrolls); the remaining texts in the scroll were brushed by less eminent individuals. Based on the six surviving chapters of the “Moriyasu Handscrolls,” it is believed that the entire set might have exceeded 200 scrolls with more than 1,000 paintings. In a colophon appearing at the end of the first chapter and dated to 1655, Moriyasu explains his intent to illustrate the novel in its entirety such as had never been done before.2 That there are no known handscrolls depicting sections after Chapter 10, “A Branch of Sacred Evergreen” (Sakaki), suggests that this ambitious project was never completed. The iconography of most of the paintings is idiosyncratic, including funerals or scenes alluding to Genji’s love for Lady Fujitsubo, the consort of his father, Emperor Kiritsubo. In fact, recent research by this author has determined that the choice of scenes is based on a “timeline” of Genji’s age from the Muromachi period that served as a reading aid. It represented a
152
41 Scene 30 from Chapter 10, “A Branch of Sacred Evergreen” (Sakaki) from the “Moriyasu Handscrolls” of The Tale of Genji Edo period, after 1655 Framed fragment of a handscroll Private collection
major departure in Genji imagery in highlighting all the stages of Prince Genji’s life, from the pivotal to the least notable, from the most moving to the most controversial.3 The style of the paintings also reflects a singular sensibility rare in the Genji visual tradition, and the paintings measuring up to 2 m in length. The existence of this set demonstrates that individuals who were not necessarily members of the elite (and therefore often ignored by art historians) were also capable of launching aspiring large-scale projects. The three fragments reproduced here are from Chapter 10. The first (Scene 8) takes place following the death of the emperor, Genji’s father (cat. 39). Sitting in a room that opens onto a garden, a lady-inwaiting and the Princes Hyōbu and Genji contemplate the beauty of the snowy landscape and exchange poems to express the sadness over their loss. The pine tree and its scattered needles symbolize the emperor’s passing while the ice-covered pond is compared to a mirror that no longer reflects the emperor’s august visage. Fujitsubo appears in her apartment in mourning dress, a rarely used device of portrayal in Genji pictures. Her gray garment echoes that worn by Genji, highlighting the ties between the two former lovers— that is, their connection with the emperor and the birth of the young prince resulting from their secret affair. In the second image (Scene 27), two men, also in mourning robes, sit face to face in a large reception room perpendicular to a covered hallway (cat. 40). The gray robes of a most likely high-ranking woman is
visible through the semi-transparent bamboo blinds drawn in gold ink. The scene could refer to the imminent fall of Genji and his clan: the moon and the flowers in the garden signal autumn, a season befitting the uncertainty of events. The third fragment (Scene 30) presents an episode that will prove decisive to Prince Genji and his later unfortunate exile (cat. 41). But the tone is equally colored by wry humor. The Minister of the Right, the head of the clan opposed to Genji, is finally given the opportunity to rid himself of the prince when he discovers that Genji has spent the night with his daughter, Oborozukiyo, who is promised to the emperor. The painting opens on the right with Genji’s head peeking out from the bedcovers in his lover’s quarters, listening to the father’s interrogation of his daughter. Although caught in a delicate predicament, Genji laughs inwardly at the minister’s impulsive reaction, behavior unbecoming for someone of his rank. In the scene depicted, the minister holds a love letter from Genji. Oborozukiyo is having trouble retaining her composure; ultimately Genji’s bluish sash left hanging on her robe will betray her amorous liaison. The painter has fully exploited the handscroll’s horizontal format and compositional device of “blownoff roofs” (fukinuki yatai), which offers a view of the three protagonists in three distinct spaces. The ladies-in-waiting form an agitated grouping around Oborozukiyo, as if to underscore the young woman’s anxiety.
The three fragments were acquired by three private collectors from the Galerie Janette Ostier in Paris. This important postwar dealer of Japanese art acquired the six handscrolls illustrating Chapter 10 at the Parisian auction house Hôtel Drouot. The gallery subsequently divided up the thirty-one paintings and sold them separately in 1980. To date, nine have been found but twenty-two paintings are still in unknown collections.4 (EB)
1 2 3 4
Alternatively known as the illuminated handscrolls of The Phantom Genji (Maboroshi no Genji monogatari emaki). Yoshikawa, 2010, pp. 87–89. Bauer, 2019. A catalogue published by the Galerie Janette Ostier has recorded each of the paintings. Galerie Janette Ostier, 1980.
153
318
104 Sumiyoshi Hirotsura (1793–1863) Pictures from the Land of One Thousand Demons (The Night Procession of One Hundred Demons) Edo period, mid-19th century Handscroll Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris
319
318
104 Sumiyoshi Hirotsura (1793–1863) Pictures from the Land of One Thousand Demons (The Night Procession of One Hundred Demons) Edo period, mid-19th century Handscroll Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris
319