Category: All Things Japanese

Utagawa Kunisada’s Ukiyo-e

Utagawa Kunisada (1786–1865) was one of the most successful designers of ukiyo-e woodblock prints in the 19th century, even surpassing his contemporaries Hokusai, Hiroshige, and Kuniyoshi.

Interestingly, while Hokusai was always held in high regard by foreign collectors, at the end of the Edo period (1603-1868) the other three were felt to be vastly inferior. However, in the 1930s, Hiroshige was reevalued, and in the 1970s, the works of Kuniyoshi followed and both began to be regarded as masters of the art just like Hokusai. Only Kunisada had to wait until the 1990s, when his reputation in the West was aligned with that of the Japanese.

About 60% of Kunisada’s works are prints of kabuki actors and scenes, another 15% are bijin-ga, images of beautiful women, and for some 15 years, he dominated portraits of sumo wrestlers and effectively a monopoly on scenes from “The Tale of Genji”. Here are some of his prints.

Flowery Kimono

Yesterday, I went with a friend to the exhibition “Secrets of the Kimono
The Advent of Yuzen Dyeing” currently on at the Museum of Modern Art in Kyoto. Besides numerous kimono created from the Edo period until today, they had maybe 50 “pattern books” from around 1700.

Those are woodblock prints showing kimono designs, and people could use them to order a kimono. All of them were in black and white and didn’t have a huge amount of detail. Many of them had a design centered on plants or floral design.

And my friend could name most of these! For somebody like me who barely knows roses from chrysanthemums, that’s absolutely impressive. If you want to try as well and you’re in Kyoto, the exhibition is until September 15.

The Sea and Poison

Shusaku Endo

Fukuoka University Hospital, during WWII. Dr. Jiro Suguro is a talented young intern working with tuberculosis patients. He has taken a liking to an elderly female patient and is shocked when Dr. Asai, one of the assistants, wants to perform a new procedure on her, which is likely to kill her. However, when a much younger patient dies at the hand of department head Prof. Hashimoto, the risky operation is postponed. Ostensibly to further research, but also to secure a promotion for the department head (and himself), Asai contrives a number of vivisections on a group of American prisoners. When Suguro is asked to assist at the operations, he is appalled, but at the same time unable to decline…

This book still haunts me, even though Endo avoids describing the actual murders of the Americans. Instead, we’re in the room when the operation on the young woman fails, so we have a pretty good idea what is happening later. Extremely insightful in the mind of a psychopath is the confession of Dr. Toda, another intern present at the operations. In the end, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Suguro, who seemed to be a genuinely caring person caught up in the whole thing against his will – and haven’t we all been there before?

Sadly, this novel was not created in a vacuum. Endo based it on a true story that happened in 1945 at Fukuoka University Hospital, where the survivors of a downed American plane were killed in the name of science.

Shusaku Endo was born in 1923 Tokyo, but lived in Manchuria for the first 10 years of his life. After his parents’ divorce, he returned to Japan, where he became a Catholic in 1934. From the time he was a student, he published his writing in literary magazines, and eventually he became chief editor of one of them in 1968. He often went abroad for work, and his perspective as an outsider and Catholic has strongly influenced his novels. He is considered part of the Third Generation, the third group of influential Japanese writers who appeared after WWII. Endo received the Akutagawa Prize for “White Men” in 1954 and the Tanizaki Prize in 1966 for “Silence”. He died in 1996.

You can get this book from amazon, but I’m warning you, even 80 years after the war, it’s not an easy read.

Folding Fans

To complement last Wednesday’s post, let’s talk about another ubiquitous Japanese summer accessory: Handheld fans.

The first use of hand fans can be traced back 4000 years to Ancient Egypt; already Tutankhamun cooled himself with those – or rather, had slaves who thus laboured for him.
In China, fans were invented around the 8th century BC, and from there, they eventually made it to Japan. Old tomb paintings from the 6th century AD count as the oldest depictions of fans in Japan currently known, but it’s conceivable that they were used much earlier.

At that time, all fans were rigid ones, nowadays known as uchiwa. Just like today, they were often made from silk or paper and became lavishly decorated. Nowadays, people wearing kimono stick their uchiwa into the back of their obi when they need their hands free. This makes these fans very popular with advertisers; sadly, these versions are usually made of cheap plastic. 

Trust the Japanese to take a foreign concept and improve upon it: The folding fan is a truly Japanese invention. Some time between the 6th and 9th century, the so-called akomeogi was created by tying thin strips of wood together. These fans could be quite large – about 30 cm in length – and were intended for ladies of the court. The number of blades an akomeogi could have was dictated by the rank of its owner, and soon, sumptuary laws had to be passed to curb excessive decorations. 

In the 16th century, sensu folding fans were introduced to Europe by Portuguese merchants, and while they were seen as a must-have fashion accessory for a long time, their popularity has declined greatly in the West.

File source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:36_shonosuke_1.JPG

However, hand fans were always more than just fashionable accessories to keep cool. In fact, the heavy akomeogi were rather unfit for that particular purpose. Instead, they helped their owner to hide from unwanted advances – or to send encouraging messages to more appreciated recipients. From the beginning, fans also had ritualistic uses in shinto ceremonies. One of these has been handed down (no pun intended) through gunbai – a military leader’s signal fan – all the way to modern sumo referees.

Speaking of ritualistic use, I must mention tea ceremony, of course. The tiny sensu there are never opened, yet are important in demarcating one’s space at various times during the ceremony.

And then are all the traditional Japanese performing arts where folding fans play a leading role. From noh and kabuki to Japanese kyomai dance they convey formalized emotions. In rakugo they are the only prop besides tenugui towels, and the harisen, a giant paper fan, is made only to hit people with in manzai comedy.

As I said above, hand fans are still an important accessory here in Japan. Sensu from fabric or paper come in thousands of different designs and make for perfect souvenirs. Fans entirely from bamboo create a lovely sound when used, and the large fans used in Japanese noh turn into decorative items. Whatever you go for, whatever you do with your fan – the choice is yours.

Revenge

Yoko Ogawa

A mother buying strawberry cakes for her son who died years ago. An old lady harvesting strangely shaped carrots from the field where she buried her husband. A lost woman stumbling into a museum of torture. A Bengal tiger dying in the arms of his caretaker. A mistress killing her lover when he doesn’t want to leave his wife…

This is a collection of 11 dark tales that are all connected with each other, and center around death. Together, they create a tapestry of connections between characters, showing how much our lives intersect and how we are influenced by the people surrounding us, whether we know them or not.

Yoko Ogawa was born in 1962, studied at Waseda university, and became a medical university secretary. After her marriage, unbeknownst to her husband, she began writing. She won the Kaien Literary Prize for her debut novel in 1988, and has since written more than 50 works. She has also won many prestigious literary prizes, among them all major Japanese prizes, as well as international awards.

Ogawa skilfully connects the stories through characters and places, but the reader has to do some work to see this. Give it a try and get the book from amazon.

Ring

Koji Suzuki

cover for "ring" by Koji Suzuki.

When news reporter Kazuyuki Asakawa’s 17-year-old niece and three of her friends die from a sudden heart attack at the very same time, he is determined to get to the bottom of it. He traces the strange coincidence to an eerie video the four watched one week before their deaths, which told them exactly what would happen – unless they perform a certain task.

This part of the video, however, has been erased, and Asakawa and his friend Ryuji race against time to find out what they need to do to save their own lives. When Ryuji dies unexpectedly, Asakawa have to make a final choice between whom to save: his family or mankind.

I borrowed this book from the library without realizing that it had been made into a horror movie in 1998, eventually spawning an entire franchise. I don’t usually read horror (or romance), but this book is very light on the genre elements and does its trick without blood and gore. However, a dark presence looms throughout, and once Asakawa and Ryuji take the video’s threat seriously, the pace never slackens. I would rather call this “thriller with supernatural elements” than outright horror, and I don’t regret picking this up.

Koji Suzuki was born in 1957 in Hamamatsu near Tokyo and majored in French at Keio University. After holding a number of odd jobs – one of them writing books on child-rearing sharing the expertise he acquired as house husband taking care of two daughters – he published his first novel in 1990. Rakuen (Paradise) won the Japan Fantasy Novel Award, and Ring was made into successful movies both in Japan and, eventually, in Hollywood. Suzuki is often called the Stephen King of Japan. When he’s not roaming Japan in his RV, he lives in Tokyo.

If you’re in for a suspenseful thriller at the edge of the horror genre, get this book (or the whole series) from amazon.

The World is Always…

Sorry for missing the post yesterday, I was kinda busy going to concerts. Yes, several, on a single day!

Yesterday, starting around noon, was the 11th edition of the “The world is Always…” (いつまでも世界は…) music festival. This year, there were more than 120 bands and solo artists performing in 21 venues throughout Kyoto’s inner city, including on the square before Kyoto City Hall.

According to the main organizer, Marmoru Nishijima (from “The Six Bullets”), his goal for this free festival was

I want people who don’t know music yet to listen to music.

So, technically, with my ongoing BATI-HOLIC obsession, I wasn’t really the target group for the festival, but I went anyway, and so did many other fans, and lots of people who wanted to try out something new (according to what I’ve seen on x/twitter).

I wasn’t really up for running around all afternoon, so I made my choice of three bands beforehand, all of which I had seen before:

Yuukai Kenchiku from Kyoto play what they call “Multi-Dimensional rocK: sublation of complex rhythm and simple melodies.” I would call it instrumental rock music where a flute is responsible for the main “vocal” of each song; there are also drums, guitar and bass, and a piano. Two years ago or so I saw a full solo concert, and I enjoyed it very much. Sometimes, instrumental music can get a bit monotonous over time and you get bored, but not here. Yuukai Kenchiku – it means “Melting Architecture”, btw. – have plenty of variety that even a 2-hour concert stays fresh and invigorating throughout.

Next on my list was So-on-g, Kyoto’s “Noise Temple”, founded 30 years ago. They play what I would call 70s glamour rock, and the band leader Nabe-san, complete with wig, make-up, and enormous legs (he’s tall even by Western standards) definitely fits the bill. They played at the Kyoto MUSE, one of the larger venues, and it was pretty much full house with lots of dedicated fans who knew all the songs already. The atmosphere was fantastic, it always is when there are many fans around. And I’m sure that even newbies to So-on-g got a kick out of Nabe-san coming down into the crowd during one of their last songs. I wasn’t one of them (newbies, I mean), it was my second time seeing them and hopefully, not the last time.

And finally and of course: BATI-HOLIC, Kyoto’s, no: Japan’s one-and-only taiko drum rock band! They were on after So-on-g, but most of the crowd changed in between. I was a bit worried that there wouldn’t be many people, but the place filled up nicely just before the concert started. However, except for two of my friends, who were standing in the front row with me, I didn’t recognize any other regulars. Then again, BATI-HOLIC often play in Osaka, Nara, and Kobe as well, and I’ve never been there.

I enjoyed myself, as usual, but I’ve since found out that the band weren’t 100& satisfied with their performance yesterday; maybe that’s because leader Nakajima-san was also involved in organizing the festival and was too stressed with other things? As for me, I was perfectly happy, although I would’ve appreciated if they had played longer than just 30 minutes…

Most bands only played 30-40 minutes concerts, and there was just as much time in between them. I guess that was so that visitors could move between the venues without missing (too much) of the fun, and also the bands had to set up their equipment and do a sound check that was longer than usual. Not to mention that they had to clear out the backstage areas, which seems to be tiny pretty much everywhere…

Anyway, I had a fun time yesterday, and I’m looking forward to the 12th edition of “The World is Always…” next year. And who knows, I may even find other bands I’d like to watch more of until then!

Saginomori Festival

Saginomori Jinja is the shrine in my neighborhood, and it’s celebrating their main festival every year on May 4/5. This year was the first time I dropped by, and it was quite different than the festivals of larger shrines I’ve been to before.

I arrived a bit too late to see the departure of the children’s mikoshi. Just like the larger one two hours or so later, it was carried through the neighborhood to the “otabisho” where it was resting over night.

While I was waiting for the adult’s mikoshi to arrive, I noticed that in front of the shrine, a cone of sand decorated with a branch of sakaki leaves. The sand represents mountains where the gods live, the sakaki plant is said to connect the human world with that of the gods, and the white tamagushi paper is meant to convey the believer’s wishes to the gods.

Altogether, this cone of sand is where the gods are invited to reside for the time of a shinto ceremony. Outside of shrines, they are often set up in empty lots when a ceremony is held before a house is built. So, as such, they can be seen quite often in Japan.

After the large mikoshi had arrived, it was moved before the main hall of the shrine, and was placed directly over the cone of sand with the sakaki branch. Then, the priests performed a short blessing of both the mikoshi and the people who carried it. Afterwards, the path from the main hall to the mikoshi was shielded by large tarps, so that the god of the shrine could be transferred to the mikoshi without being seen.

I have experienced this transfer ritual before at Yasaka shrine, but that was in the middle of the night, and the lights were turned off, so no need for the tarps then. Anyway, once the god rested inside the mikoshi, there were two performances of sacred kagura dance. And finally, accompanied by the beating of gongs and drums, the mikoshi was carried away again through the neighborhood to the otabisho.

There were more dance performances the next day in the afternoon. Apparently, the one with the three girls is quite difficult, and I could see them count the whole time!

The final dancer used a wooden snake as an accessory (here in her left hand), and when I asked, she confirmed that this was a special and used only in the year of the snake.

I didn’t see the return of the mikoshi to the shrine that evening, but it was probably the same ritual in reverse to get the gods back into the main hall. It was a nice experience, and even though there were many people from the neighborhood, it was not overly crowded. These local events are always fun to go to, and while the larger events are every bit as traditional, these smaller ones feel more… real, somehow.

All She Was Worth

Miyuki Miyabe

Jun and Shoko are set to get married. But when Jun finds out that Shoko had declared bankruptcy years earlier, she disappears without a trace. A relative on sick leave, inspector Honma, tries to track her down, but she is elusive, and then he discovers that Shoko might not be the person Jun had believed at all. In fact, it seems that Shoko was a new identity, assumed to escape loan sharks. How far had she gone to become somebody else – and will she do it again?

Written in 1992, the book explores the debt crisis many, not only young, people fell into when Japan’s bubble burst. And although some practices that are described are illegal today, the book feels modern and has a universal appeal.

Overall, I enjoyed the book, but I couldn’t understand how it was possible – as the book describes – for anybody to simply waltz into a city office and get somebody else’s family register, the most important document for a Japanese, without proof of identity. However, I have since learned that photo-IDs are a relatively new feature of Japanese bureaucracy and were not required at the time this book was written. This clarified a few things in hindsight.

Miyuki Miyabe was born in Tokyo in 1960 and started writing novels at the age of 23. In 1984, while working at a law office, she began to take writing classes and subsequently made her literary debut in 1987 with ‘Our Neighbour is a Criminal’, which won the 26th All Yomimono Mystery Novel Newcomer Prize and the Japan Mystery Writers Association Prize. She writes mysteries and historical fiction, among other genres, and her books were the basis for a number of films. All She Was Worth was her first novel translated into English.

Check out a fascinating mystery with undertones of social criticism and get it from amazon.

Kamisaka Sekka

Kamisaka Sekka was born into a samurai family in Kyoto in 1866 as Kamisaka Yoshitaka. His artistic talent was recognized early, and he started to study painting within the Shijo school when he was 16. Four years later, he began working as a designer at the Kawashima textile company. Through his father, who had worked at Kyoto’s court, he became a student of Kokei Kishi, an Imperial Household artist, with whom he studied crafts and design. Kishi introduced Sekka to the traditional Rimpa style of painting, and today, Sekka is considered the last great Rimpa artist of Japan.

Thanks to the popularity of his designs, he was employed by the Japanese government to visit Europe in 1901. He was meant to research European crafts before the Glasgow International Exhibition, where it was planned to exhibit contemporary Japanese crafts.

In Europe, Sekka was introduced to Art Nouveau, which heavily influenced his later style. He also wanted to get to the bottom of the Western infatuation with Japonism at the time, and in turn, tried to incorporate Western styles and design ideas into his own work.

When he was back in Kyoto, he revisited his teachings in the Rimpa style. By now, traditional Japanese art styles had become unfashionable – Japan was just as infatuated with everything Western as vice versa – and was determined to revive it, merging Japanese tradition with (imported) modernity.

By doing so, he created a unique visual language with bold colours and dynamic compositions that make his work easily recognizable. However, the themes of his paintings remained rooted in Japanese tradition: landscapes, animals, and depictions of seasonal flowers or festivals dominate his work.

He also never gave up designing utilitarian pieces like tea bowls, boxes, writing paper and cards and other items for daily use. His works can also be found on folding screens, fusuma doors in shrines and temples; and he created many pieces suitable for kakemono (hanging scrolls).

However, a series of 60 woodblock prints called Momoyogusa (A World of Things) is considered Sekka’s masterpiece. It was commissioned in 1909/10 by Unsōdō, a publishing company based in Kyoto that focuses on art books (and still exists today). His prints depict a variety of landscapes, flowers, and classical scenes from literature as well as Sekka’s own unique ideas.

Kamisaka Sekka worked in many fields throughout his life, and in 1905 he started teaching at the Kyoto City School of Arts and Crafts. He also set up the forerunners of what would later become the Kyoto Arts and Crafts Institute. In 1913, he became involved in the Koetsu-kai, a tea ceremony created in honour of Hon’ami Koetsu, who is considered the founder of the Rimpa style of painting. Kamisaka Sekka died in 1942, aged 77.