2024 is the Year of the Dragon in Japan (all over Asia, actually), and dragons are a popular motif in Japanese art. They have a special connection to Zen temples, where dragons are often depicted on the ceilings of their main halls. Since they are considered to live in water, placing their image there is a prayer for protection from fires (not very successfully, as history shows). Dragons are also thought to protect the Buddhist Dharma and to keep a watchful eye over the priests and congregation below them.
My favourite dragon painting is that of Kennin-ji, the oldest Zen temple in Kyoto, founded in 1202. In contrast, the painting was only created in 2000, so it has a very vibrant and modern feel to it and provides a stark contrast to the old temple hall. Here it is:
It’s actually two dragons intertwined instead of only one; one of them with mouth closed, the other one with mouth open, reminiscent of the guardian lions that can be found at many temple and even shrine entrances. They seem to fight over one single ball of treasure, which one of them holds proudly in a 5-clawed paw, something that is rare in Japan. Most dragon paintings here have only 4 or even just 3 claws, the use of the 5-clawed dragon was reserved for the Chinese emperor.
Anyway, the painting is stunning and whenever I go there, I spend some time sitting down and following the bodies of the dragons, trying to find all the parts and figuring out to which dragon they belong. Sadly, Kennin-ji has become very touristy (I remember when I first visited it, there was nobody there), so it’s less peaceful than it once was 10 years ago.
Today, I took advantage of the free admission to finally visit the “Garden of Fine Arts Kyoto”. It lies next to the Botanical Gardens on Kitayama Dori, which is probably the reason why there isn’t a single plant in sight…
Instead, it is an outdoors gallery on three underground levels, created with massive concrete slabs and pillars by architect Tadao Ando. It is home to eight large-scale ceramic reproductions of famous pieces, among them Michelangelo’s Last Judgement and Leonardo’s Last Supper. Because of the way the gallery has been set up, the art can be viewed from several levels and perspectives, giving new insights along the way (literally).
Throughout the place you can hear the gushing of water as it flows along walls into pools at the very bottom. You make your way down on gentle slopes and there are benches to sit and view the art pieces.
I’m not a fan of this kind of architecture, to be honest, and the Western art at least didn’t touch me either. I’m not sure why, maybe because the surroundings were so much different that what I’m used to. Also, there is the age of the reproductions to take into account, even though ceramic should be able to withstand quite some abuse. I couldn’t find anything definite, but apparently the gallery opened in the 1990s.
I did like the Choju Jinbutsu Giga, a long scroll from the 12th/13th century depicting frolicking animals; it is often called the first Japanese manga. Because these tiles lie under the walkways, they seem to be in better condition and that you can get really close is definitely a plus.
Overall, I’m not sure if I can recommend the Garden of Fine Arts. If you like Tadao Ando’s work, do check it out, it’s currently only 100 yen to view it. If you’re not into grey concrete slabs, you won’t miss much if you pass.
Shunga, “spring pictures”, are erotic images from Japan – mainly woodblock prints, but also paintings – that had their heyday during the Edo period (1603 – 1868). They depict all forms of love-making among the ordinary people from Japan’s urban centers who were also the main audience for these images. Shunga live not only by their stylized depictions of sex – greatly enlarged genitals, clothing or hairstyles that indicate the status of the portrayed persons – but also by their lively commentary that is included in the picture and lets the viewer listen to the conversation of the couple.
This large-scale book presents a history of shunga in the Edo period while explaining the meaning behind the illustrations that are given. It also lists a number of famous ukiyo-e artists who have produced shunga at some point (or throughout) their career, like Harunobu, Hokusai, Utamaro, and others. It provides a deeper insight into shunga that goes beyond the erotic aspect. The accompanying 140 illustrations are beautifully reproduced pieces taken mostly from the British Museum’s collection. The famous Hokusai print with the woman and the octopus is included, of course.
I enjoyed learning about shunga. It is interesting that the vast majority of these images deal with consensual sex, and when prostitutes are depicted, they are always involved in a clandestine meeting with their secret lover instead of a client. In general, satisfying the woman seems to have been very important in real life too, and female sensual bliss is indicated by her curled toes in the images.
Rosina Buckland is currently the curator of the Japanese collections of the British Museum.
Whether you’re interested in the images or the historical background of shunga, this book is worth it either way. Get it from amazon.
Since its founding, Kyoto has been a hotbed for artists and craftspeople, and not even the move of the government to Tokyo could change that. While Kyoto’s number one craft remains the textile industry, numerous other artists have found a welcoming home here.
One of these was Kawai Kanjiro, one of the best-known ceramic artists from Kyoto. Although, technically, he is not a Kyoto person, since he was born in Shimane prefecture and only moved to the city after graduating. However, he lived and worked the rest of his life in Kyoto’s Gojozaka area, where he established his pottery workshop and rose to international fame. But let’s start at the beginning of his career.
Already at age 16, Kanjiro decided to become a potter and started to pursue this career. After having graduated from the Department of Ceramic Industry of what is now known as the Tokyo Institute of Technology, he moved to Kyoto to study at the Ceramic Research Institute and there acquired the scientific, chemical basics of making pottery.
However, the purely academic-theoretical approach did not satisfy him, so he taught himself the use of natural glazes and traditional methods used in Japan, China, and Korea. When he was 30, he bought a climbing kiln – a noborigama – at Gojozaka and put his knowledge into action in what is now known as his first period.
Yet, he was still not satisfied and felt that something was missing. Together with Yanagi Soetsu and Hamada Shoji, he founded the Mingei movement, a kind of back-to-the-roots of Japanese folk art, complete with Folk Crafts Museum in Tokyo (established in 1936). This second period is marked by pieces that are reminiscent of Japanese folk art – not just in design, but also in technique.
At this time, Kanjiro also began to write poetry and essays and started to experiment with other forms of expression. After WWII, in what became his third period, he also taught himself wood carving techniques. A number of large-scale pieces survived and they are marked by a shift towards more abstract designs.
Although Kawai Kanjiro soon became well-known in Japan and even abroad, he was not interested in personal fame. He rarely signed his pieces, noting that his style should speak for itself; he also eschewed taking part in prize events. The two Grand Prix Prizes at international exhibitions he received were due to friends submitting his pieces. Kanjiro also declined many honors of the Japanese government, like being named a “Living National Treasure”, which is one of the highest distinctions for Japanese artists.
Kawai Kanjiro died in 1966, but his adopted heir Hirotsugu, as well as his nephew Takeichi and his son Toru continued the family tradition of mingei pottery.
The former residence and workshop of Kawai Kanjiro, located in the Gojozaka neighborhood, the traditional potter’s district of Kyoto, opened as a museum in 1973. It was designed and remodeled by Kawai Kanjiro himself in 1937 and differs from the many machiya merchant houses of Kyoto in important ways. First of all, it was modeled after classical rural cottages rather than urban town houses, additionally, it shows some Western influences. The large room near the entrance, for example, has a wooden floor on one side and slightly raised tatami on the other, with a traditional irori sunken hearth as the centerpiece.
The house is quite large, and most of the rooms are accessible. At the rear of the house lies Kawai’s workshop where he created his pottery together with his son and apprentices. Also preserved and accessible is the large noborigama climbing kiln that has eight chambers and was built on/into the slope behind the house.
These are five novellas about (forbidden) love from 17th century Japan.
Seijuro in Himeji loses his father’s (financial) support and, instead of spending his time in the local pleasure districts, has to find serious work. There, he promptly seduces his master’s daughter Omatsu…
The Barrelmaker Brimful of Love tells of a happy marriage between two people from its beginning to the tragic end of Osen and her lover…
What the Seasons Brought the Almanac Maker is another happy marriage destroyed by an adulterous prank instigated by Osan, the wife…
The Greengrocer’s Daughter with a Bundle of Love meets a dashing young man after a fire burned down her house. When Oshichi loses sight of him, she is ready to commit a serious crime to see him again…
Gengobei, the Mountain of Love, is a samurai from Satsuma who only loves young boys. Enter Oman, who is determined to change his ways for her own happily ever after.
These five stories are filled with eroticism, even though they are quite tame from our modern perspective. What makes them special – groundbreaking in fact, when they were written – is the detailed depiction of the life and affairs of Japan’s lower class townspeople in the Edo period. At that time, having an affair outside of one’s class (in general: with a higher-class woman) was forbidden and punishable by death. Yet, four of five women carry on such affairs regardless, and seem to take their inevitable punishment in their stride.
All five stories are based on real events that often happened just a few years earlier. This familiarity to the readers may have been one reason why they were instant bestsellers – the other one being the eroticism – and Saikaku quickly became one of Japan’s best-known novelists and poets of the time.
Saikaku Ihara (1641 – 1693) was a citizen of Osaka, then as now one of Japan’s commercial centers with a thriving population. He was one of the first to write exclusively of the chonin, the townspeople and their (love) affairs, and he was extremely popular among the people.
Contemporary writers found his style less appealing: Basho famously thought Saikaku’s style vulgar and uninspired, for example. In any case, Saikaku was very prolific and known for his marathon poetry performances, where he composed hundreds of poems on the spot. The “Five Women” were published in 1686 and remain one of his most popular pieces.
If you’re in for something … well, not really erotic, but depicting “real” life in 17th century Japan, get this one from amazon.
In Japan, being, or at least: seeming “genki” and able to “ganbatte” at all times is very important. Of course, the hapless salaryman sitting at a desk for long hours of mind-numbing tasks needs the occasional pick-me-up.
Enter Japanese Energydrinks like these:
These particular bottles contain just a few sips of taurine or caffeine-infused drinks, and they can be found pretty much everywhere. The largest variety to be bought offline seems to be available in convenience stores, I guess that’s where many office workers go for a short break anyway. Of course, there are different prices to these energy drinks, depending on the quality and possibly the amount of the supplement contained.
What I found interesting is that they were less sweet than I had expected; so far, my exposure to energy drinks was limited to Red Bull (yes yes, the Austrian connection here). I’m not sure if I keep drinking those because at least caffeine doesn’t do anything for/with me – I could drink a cup of coffee now and go straight to bed without problems.
On the other hand, these little bottles were a gift from a friend of mine – is it a good sign if your friends think you could do with more energy?
It was a busy week with a great finale! Yesterday was Okafes, the World Music Festival in Kyoto’s Okazaki, and I spent most of my day there. The Okafes is an outdoors festival that invites musicians and dancers from Bali, Korea, Thailand, and of course, Japan to perform traditional music. It’s fun to watch and learn something new!
The highlight this year was Apetunpe, a female duo from Hokkaido singing Ainu tunes. Interestingly, they had no instruments, and the songs they brought along were canons (aka rounds) with a strong rhythm, which surprised me. Of course, they sing in the Ainu language, but even though I couldn’t understand anything, their soothing music touched me deeply.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find Apetunpe on youtube, but it seems that they are a part of a larger group called Marewrew, and they do have a few albums online. Here is Sikata Kuykuy, with a significantly more happy sound than what they performed yesterday.
Sorry for not writing yesterday, I was out all afternoon and came home soaking wet after dark. But since it’s a holiday today (Sports Day), I had some time for a recap. As you may know, thanks to WUIK, I count as “member of the press” and so I got a preview for the special exhibition “All About Toji” that started today. The preview lasted four hours, and it was worth every second, despite all the rain. Below are my impressions and some photos I took yesterday.
From 794, Toji, the “Western Temple” and its 5-story pagoda marked the entrance to Heian-kyo, the then-new capital of Japan. Today it still stands (unlike its sister temple to the east) just south of Kyoto station, and this month, it celebrates the 1200 anniversary of Shingon Buddhism.
The monk Kukai, after his death revered as Kobo Daishi, was given Toji temple in 823 and expanded it greatly. He also oversaw the construction of several buildings, among them the pagoda that is now a landmark of Kyoto. Although there are several large temples in Kyoto affiliated to Shingon Buddhism, Toji remains the headquarters of Shingon Buddhism to this day.
Sadly, most of the temple’s original buildings were destroyed one time or another by earthquakes, typhoons, or fires. They have been rebuilt, however, sometimes even according to old plans, and many now count among Japan’s National Treasures.
The preview started out with a short press conference in a building adjacent to the abbot’s quarters. While it looks fairly recent outside and has a lovely garden, I was taken by the modern paintings on top of the fusuma. They reminded me of Insho Domoto, but were actually by a contemporary artist called Taisuke Hamada.
We were then free to walk the temple grounds. First stop: The Miedo, aka Daishi-in, which was originally the residence of Kobo Daishi, even though the current building is from 1390. Instead of a Buddha, it has a statue of Kobo Daishi; people come and worship him all the same.
The Homotsukan temple museum is home to temple treasures. This time, letters from Kukai are on display, as well as letters from emperors to the temple and some treasured mandala. For me, however, the most spectacular exhibit was on the second floor: an enormous 6m-tall statue of Kannon, Goddess of Mercy, with her 1000 arms. The statue was once housed in another building, but was greatly damaged when a fire destroyed the hall. It took years to reconstruct her, and one can only imagine how impressive it must have looked like before the fire.
The sub-temple Kanchin-in was home to the temple’s guest house, built in 1359. It is a very large complex with interlocking building and boasts wall paintings by one of its famous guests: Miyamoto Musashi. The eagle painting shows its age, but the bamboo still looks fresh. I liked the little gardens that are fit between the buildings, and in a more modern part that has several tearooms, there were more paintings by Taisuke Hamada, this time depicting seasonal scenes.
The main part of Toji Temple consists of three buildings in a large garden: The Kodo Lecture Hall was established by Kobo Daishi in 825; the current building is from 1491. Inside is an unusual three-dimensional mandala with 20 Buddhist statues, also created by Kobo Daishi and all centred around a seated Dainichi Nyorai. Personally, I prefer the statues of the so-called Wisdom Kings, they are much more dynamic in expression and posture than the serene seated Buddhas.
Three Buddhas make up the entire interior furnishings of the Kondo Main Hall, just south of the Kodo, which was commissioned by Hideyori in 1603. It shows the distinct architectural style of the Momoyama period.
The 5-storied pagoda is the symbol of Toji Temple and one of Kyoto’s landmarks. The current one is from 1644, built under the 3rd Tokugawa Shogun, Iemitsu. Its shock-absorbing construction is said to have inspired similar designs used in Tokyo’s Skytree. On the ground floor, are four seated Buddha statues, each facing a different cardinal direction. The interior of the pagoda is covered in colourful patterns and paintings, in stark contrast to its dark and sombre exterior. I wonder what the other floors may have inside, but these are off limits at all times.
Finally, there were two more exhibitions of beautiful close-up photographs of statues and buildings of Toji temple which I greatly admired – I wish I could take photos like these. There were also two brand-new mandalas by a contemporary artist, which, to be honest, I didn’t find that good, but they were dedicated to the temple on this day.
For me, the best things were the Kannon statue, the 3D mandala and the interior of the pagoda as well as Kanchiin House as a whole. It was my first time entering the buildings of Toji Temple and I can wholeheartedly recommend it!
If you’re in Kyoto this October, do take the time to visit this exhibition “All About Toji” where you can see all this with a single ticket and a special audio guide in English.
It was full moon last Friday, and because this harvest moon is considered the most beautiful in Japan, there are moon viewing parties at many shrines and temples in Kyoto. This time, my friend from Tokyo joined me for the kangetsu at Matsunoo Taisha all the way out in the Western part of Kyoto.
It started off with a fairly short religious ceremony with prayers and a dance ritual by a miko shrine maiden. These dances are meant to attract the gods to the shrine, so they can take part in the ceremony and can later enjoy the performances that are put up for the gods (and earthly visitors as well). While those can vary and include martial arts or theater for example, at Matsunoo Taisha, visitors usually are treated to concerts for moon viewing.
First, there was a shakuhachi – bamboo flute – concert. I like shakuhachi very much, and they do have a plaintive sound that is essentially built-in. Still, I felt that the music wasn’t chosen well, it felt more appropriate for a slumber party, and that’s not the point of moon viewing. Something more upbeat would have suited the occasion better; surely there must be fun modern pieces for shakuhachi as well.
Afterwards, a koto & shinobue duo came on stage, and the mood lightened considerably. As I’ve explained before, koto is a zither-like instrument, and the shinobue is also a bamboo flute, but much smaller and with a higher pitch. The combination was fun and light-hearted, exactly what my friend and I expected.
At last, the main attraction and the reason why we went all the way out to Matsunoo Taisha in the first place: Wadaiko drums. I had planned this the moment I found out that one of the Bati-Holics (lead singer Nakajima) would perform with his students, and I was not disappointed. Altogether there were five groups performing one song each, and finally, there was some power behind the music, literally.
By then, the moon had risen over the dance stage and the shrine was packed with fans and friends of the players (mostly female laypeople except for the teachers) and the atmosphere was very lively, as always when taiko are involved. The free cup of sake did help too, I’m sure. Of the five pieces, one of them stood out to both my friend and me, and we were later told by the owner of the taiko school who organizes these concerts every year that it was his wife’s song (sorry, Nakajima-san).
We skipped the haiku contest at the end, but it was a lovely night just as well. The weather was pleasant, and even though I only got home past 11, I didn’t need the jacket I brought. My friend was also glad she came; it was her very first traditional moon viewing in a shrine. Things are indeed very different in Kyoto and Tokyo…
Japan, 1936: The testament of excentric painter Heikichi Umezawa reveals his disturbing fascination with his own daughters. He describes his plan of killing all seven of them and to use the most beautiful body part of each to create Azoth – the perfect woman. Since Heikichi is dead, nobody is taking this seriously – until the Umezawa girls suddenly disappear and their mutilated bodies are found exactly where Heikichi had planned.
Japan, 1976: For 40 years, the nation has been obsessed with these so-called “Zodiac Murders”, but they are still unsolved. Then, amateur sleuth Kazumi Ishioka gets his astrologer friend Kiyoshi Mitarai onto the case. Together, they try to unravel the mystery and follow the leads where they take them – to an unexpected solution and one final death.
The first 24 pages of the book – Heikichi’s testament – are, quite frankly, terribly written, and I struggled to get through them. In hindsight, this was on purpose, though. Because once the story turned to the two amateur detectives, things did look up. It was interesting to watch them decipher the hints, even though the actual solution happens off the page, which I don’t particularly like. However, the final reveal of the by now aged killer and the motive came as a shock to me.
Twice towards the end of the novel, the author inserted himself with notes in which he challenges the reader: “All pieces are in place, can you solve the puzzle?” I didn’t care for that at all, but other people may enjoy this.
Soji Shimada was born in 1948 in Hiroshima prefecture. “The Tokyo Zodiac Murders” was his first book in 1981, and it was shortlisted for the Edogawa Rampo Award, a Japanese prize for crime fiction. Since then, Shimada has published numerous books and short stories, including the case books of the two sleuths on which this books focuses. In 2009, aged 61, he received the Japan Mystery Literature Award for his lifetime achievement.
If you’re in for a locked room mystery with a twist at the end, get this one from amazon.
